The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson
FIFTY-FOUR
Do you know what the Little Mermaid and I have in common?
We both want to be part of your world.
—JULIA B.
Piper went into hyperdrive. “How serious is he? Would he do this?”
“He would probably gnaw off his own hand for that kind of money.” I flopped my head back on the couch.
After I’d explained what my father wanted, Chris had called Piper immediately and she’d met us at the Wilson place an hour later. Even though it was almost midnight, she’d come dressed to impress in a deep-blue power dress, killer heels, and her game face. She must roll out of bed ready to take on the world.
“The timing of this sucks. Chris is supposed to be interviewed tomorrow”—Piper peeked at her watch and winced—“make that today, with Phoebe Mayfield at KRRE about the Children’s Heart Fund fundraiser. This will overshadow it, and after he just got back in their good graces.”
It wasn’t fair. My father, and by association, me, could ruin it all for Chris.
“Mae, can you call your father and tell him we’ll have an answer by tonight? That will buy us some time, I hope.”
“What are our options?” Chris asked. He was sitting in the chair across from me, his mood unreadable as it had been since I’d told him all of it.
“If we ignore him…” Piper began.
I cut her off. “He’ll sell it, and he won’t feel bad about it at all.”
Chris pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Nice guy.”
“The best,” I muttered. “I’m so proud.”
“In that case, he sells it to the highest bidder, we could deny it.” Piper picked up the copy of the contract my father had left. Our signatures were clear and legible. It wasn’t the original, but it was a copy of it. “But this looks pretty damn legit. I’m good, but I don’t know if even I can talk our way out of this.”
Chris leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. “And it’d just be another lie.”
Piper paced the room. “Our other option is to give him what he wants. Pay him the money. But I have a feeling if we do that, he’ll just keep coming back.”
Like cockroaches and bad movie remakes.
My eyes drifted to Chris and my heart twisted. Wasn’t that part of the problem? I was part cockroach, biologically speaking. As long as I was connected to Chris, my father would have a connection to him too.
“Piper’s right. You cannot pay him,” I said, my voice firm. “What if you blamed it all on me somehow?”
“What do you mean?” Piper asked.
Chris shifted in his chair. I felt his eyes on me, but I ignored the pull to look at him. Refused to remember that just two hours ago, we’d danced, and he’d said things that terrified me in good ways.
“You say that I duped Chris. I agreed to the engagement, but it was all just an excuse to blackmail him.” Nervous energy forced me out of my seat. I circled the room. “Think about it. You make me the bad guy. Make people feel sorry for Chris. He gets to go on with his life, keep working with the charity.”
Piper thought about it before nodding hesitantly. “That could work. I mean, we’d have—”
Chris cut her off, his voice low. “What about you?”
“I’ll go back to my life. I have work and Mama, and Iris will need help with college next year. It will be like it was… before.”
There’d be backlash. I’d probably be the most hated woman in Two Harts since JoBeth Cockran ran off with the Cupcake King leaving his wife with six kids to raise on her own. But it wouldn’t last forever.
Chris’s gaze was piercing. “That sounds terrible.”
“I know this will surprise you, but there is life after Chris Sterns.”
But if I were honest, it was going to be terrible. Because I’d gone and broken that stupid contract. This wasn’t just a business arrangement anymore, and it hadn’t been for a long time. My foolish heart liked Chris’s smiles and his stupid opposable thumbs and the way he got under my skin and listened to me and somehow managed to be a soft spot for me to land when I didn’t even know I needed one. So, yeah, it was going to be horrible.
But I didn’t have a choice. I had to do this. For him.
“Piper”—he didn’t take his eyes off me—“can I talk to Mae alone?”
“Yeah, sure.” Her gaze bounced between the two of us, brow creased. “But let’s make a decision soon.”
After she left, I wandered back over to the couch and sat, keeping my voice brisk. “What did you need to talk about?”
He stood up and stalked over to me, coming to a stop so close, I had to crane my head back to see him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I know this isn’t turning out the way we planned, but now we can quit all the lying. You get to go back to your life.” I ignored the twisting pain in my chest. “That’s what was always going to happen.”
His death stare grew in deadliness. I flopped back onto the couch. He bent and boxed me with his arms, one hand on the couch arm, the other on the back of the sofa by my head.
“Who’s lying now?” he asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. We need a plan. I have a plan. The plan is good.”
He brought his face closer to mine. “You do like your plans, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You know what else you like? Being a martyr.” He flung that out there like a red cape in front of a bull.
I flushed. “Excuse me?”
“You are a martyr. You live in this town spending all your time, all your energy, taking care of people,” he said, his voice growly.
“I do not like the tone of your voice right now, buddy.”
“Your mother, your sister, Ali, and the library—it’s all your responsibility. No one else. God forbid if you ask someone for help. I bet I’m just another checkmark on your list, right?”
I grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Why is that wrong? You’re supposed to take care of the people you love, you idiot.”
Too late, I realized what I had just implied.
Chris’s smile was pure satisfaction and I felt it in my toes. “Oh, Sprinkles. I heard it. You can’t take it back.”
“You heard nothing,” I snapped.
“Shut up,” he said about two seconds before his mouth was on mine.
This kiss was angry, and that suited me just fine. I was angry, too. I was not a martyr, and I hadn’t meant to imply that I loved—
Chris pulled back and scowled. “Stop thinking.”
“You can’t tell me to stop thinking.”
“I can when it’s messing with me kissing you.” One second, he was standing above me, the next he was on the couch with his hands on my shoulders. “Stop thinking and kiss me this time.”
“Fine,” I said a mere half-second before our lips met again. He was really good at this kissing thing, and I lost myself in the small, soft touches that turned bolder. The way he tasted like the cinnamon gum he always had in his pocket. How the hair at the back of his neck tickled. He kissed me until all the anger drained out and I felt warm and a little drunk.
He pulled back slowly, his eyes soft. “This is the way I like you best. Just-kissed. But I also like you best when you’re sarcastic or when you don’t let me get away with anything and when you scrunch up your nose because you’re annoyed at me.”
“Chris…”
“No, wait. Listen to me. I’ve worked my ass off to play football. I’ve worked hard at being a good son and brother. I’ve worked hard to help those kids in the hospital. I’ve worked hard to be a man of integrity. I’ve worked hard my whole life, and it paid off. I’ve always thought no one could outwork me.”
He turned to me, his face earnest and so beloved I felt my eyes grow hot with tears.
“Until I met this librarian in a random small town who works circles around me. The craziest part? No matter how hard she works, it’s never enough but she never gives up. It’s humbling. I am humbled by you, and I am amazed every day by your tenacity and perseverance. I am in awe of how fiercely you love people. I want to be one of those people. I want to be able to take care of you sometimes. Not because you need someone to take care of you, but because I want to. Because that’s what we do when we love someone.”
“Chris,” I whispered, swiping at a tear on my cheek. “Please stop making this so hard.”
“I’m not letting you get away with this,” he said, stubbornly.
“Me?”
“Or him. Not him either.”
“I don’t see any way out of this.”
“If you want something bad enough, you find a way. Might not be logical, but it’s the truth.” He gazed into my eyes intensely, but I got the feeling he was seeing something else, feeling for solutions to a very messed-up problem. His smile appeared slowly but it came just the same. “Listen to me. Don’t do anything, okay? I have a plan.”
“What?”
He stood, determination written all over his face. “Promise? Just sit tight. Don’t contact your dad. Just wait, okay?”
“Okay,” I said slowly, standing. “I’ll wait.”
“Good.” He pressed a short, hard kiss to my mouth. Grinning, he tapped my nose and he was gone.