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Distorted Truths & Pretty Lies
TINLEY BLAKE
Chapter One
NOLAN
Speeding through the streets with one hand on the wheel, I fumble through my purse in search of the ringing cell. Of all the times for my phone to not connect automatically to the car, it would be when I’m running late. The light changes from glowing green to stark red in a flash. I hit the brakes, tires locking up. My steering wheel shakes with the effort, but I stop just across the white line and take a deep, settling breath before answering the call.
“Hey, Dad, I’m almost there.”
“Okay, dear. I’ll go ahead and grab our table. Water?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say, hanging up just as the light changes back to green.
Parking is tight when I pull up to Bakers, but I manage to squeeze my coupe in without hitting anyone. When I step through the door, the hostess greets me with a nod. She doesn’t bother asking my name. My dad and I have been coming here for years, always on the second Thursday of the month, and we always sit at the same table. To be honest, they probably have our food prepared before we even arrive. Grilled chicken salad for me and three-cheese lasagna for Dad.
He's sitting there now. When he sees me enter, he stands and opens his arms. I step into them, breathing in his familiar scent and fighting back the urge to cling to him. After the last few days I’ve had, I could stay in his embrace. Safe. But that would lead to questions I don’t have the answers to, so I pull back, paste a smile to my face, and sit across from him.
“How’s school?” He takes a sip of his sweet tea and then places the glass back on the table.
“Good. Stressful, but good.” It’s always the same questions followed by the same answers. Every week.
How is school?
Good.
How is work?
Great.
It’s a routine I crave, especially right now. Every other aspect of my life is slowly falling apart around me. I need this—a quiet moment suspended in time just for us. No distractions. No interruptions.
Our food arrives all too quickly, and I’m placing the napkin in my lap when dad’s cell phone rings. He glances at it on the table, worry etching into his features. It’s obvious he needs to take the call, but we decided long ago to not let anyone or anything interrupt our standing date. He presses the button on the side, silencing the tone, but it continues vibrating against the wooden tabletop.
“You can take it if you need to,” I tell him.
He sighs and stands. “I’ll be just a second, dear. Promise.”
I nod and pick up my fork. Dad steps away from the table but doesn’t go far. I can still hear his side of the conversation.
“Yes, I understand. Of course. I’ll be right there,” he says, running a hand through his short clean-cut hair.
With great effort, I hide my shock and dismay at the thought of cutting this short. We always take this time away from our busy lives to show up for each other. Whoever was on that call must have immense pull if Dad plans to go now. He places the phone back on the table, but not before I see the name across the screen. Four innocent letters connect to form a name I both hope to never hear nor see again. Dad opens his mouth to apologize, but I cut him off.
“Let’s have lunch boxed up. We can finish at the office,” I offer, preventing him from having to explain.
His shoulders slump in relief.
If only he knew.
I’d hoped to sneak in a few sly questions about King over lunch. It was a long shot, as getting Dad to give up any information on his clients was always tough. But this was better. If I played it right, I might get answers all on my own.
We walk back to his office since it’s right across the street. The atmosphere when we enter is slicing. Everyone in the building is on edge, not a single voice raised above a whisper. My heart races in my chest with every step closer to Dad’s office.
“Pierce.” His voice cuts through me.
“King. Good to see you again,” Dad says, taking King’s hand in his own. “Have you met my daughter?”
