All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(39)
Author: M. Leighton

“Twenty-one,” I mutter again.

“Sloane! Shut it!” Dad yells.

His snappy command is the last straw. This is exactly what I’m trying to get away from—being treated like a child who has no voice, no brain. But no more! This is my chance to really make him see. It couldn’t come at a worse time, of course, but it’s still my chance to prove something to my father. And I’m going to take it.

“Dad, he’s right. About everything,” I say, drawing the attention of two sets of eyes that were glaring at each other. Now they’re focused on me.

“Sloane, I—”

“I know, Dad. I know every argument, every reason, every explanation. I know you love me. I know you want what’s best for me. And I know you don’t want to let me go. I know. I get it. I really do.” I reach out and take his hand in mine, meeting his sharp gaze. “But you have to, Dad. I need for you to let me go.”

I don’t look away and neither does he. I want him to see me, to really see me right now. I want him to see that I love him and I respect him, but that I need this. I need to live. I need to decide things for myself, make my own decisions and my own mistakes.

I don’t know how many long, tense minutes pass with the three of us standing in front of the house this way. Too many. But, finally, Dad exhales and I see the fight leave him again. And for the first time ever, I see him give in to me.

“It’s only because I love you so much. You know that, right?”

I smile up into my father’s handsome, worried face. “Of course I know that. Why do you think I’ve put up with it all these years?”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful. Always, Sloane. Have some respect for the life and the time you’ve been given.” He glances quickly at Hemi over my shoulder. “Make good choices.”

“Dad, that’s all I want to do—enjoy life. And I can’t do that locked away in an ivory tower.”

“I know, I know. It’s just hard. Hard to let go. I hope to God you have kids one day so you’ll know what it feels like.”

“I hope to God I do, too,” I admit with a trace of sadness.

Dad squeezes my hand and then looks back at Hemi again. “I’m trusting you with one of the most precious treasures I have. Don’t make me come after you.”

Hemi nods. “I understand, sir.”

I stretch up on my toes to give my dad an impulsive kiss before I run into the house to make a little overnight bag and grab my books for tomorrow. I feel scatterbrained, like the adrenaline coursing through my body is preparing me for action rather than deliberate thought. But one thing I am having no trouble thinking of is Hemi. And where I’ll be spending the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – Hemi

“What the hell were you thinking, man?” I ask myself in the silence that surrounds me in the car. For the hundredth time, I look in the rearview mirror to make sure Sloane’s still back there.

Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m thinking. Or if I’m thinking at all. I know better than to get involved with Sloane. Especially now. And especially in an anything-other-than-sexual way. But pulling up to find her standing in front of her house in the middle of the night, seeing the bullet holes in the siding, walking through a sea of brass shell casings to get to her—holy shit! That moment was…profound. I was shocked. And, for whatever reason, a little afraid—for Sloane and of losing her. And there was guilt. Of course there was guilt. It was nearly overwhelming. What if something I’ve done, however inadvertently, caused this? Put Sloane in danger? How the hell could I ever live with myself?

The desire to get her out of there was strong. Damn strong. I’m thankful for my normally somewhat dispassionate nature. It allowed me to be confident and nonchalant in front of her father and never let on what I was truly feeling. So that’s good. But now…now I’m on my way to my house with a girl I shouldn’t be messing with, who’s part of a family I’ve got a beef with. And she knows none of this. Yet I’m bringing her to my home. That’s reallllly pretty stupid.

There’s no turning back now, though. I see my turn up ahead. I drive along the street that I’ve driven for the past two years and pull into the driveway in front of the rental house I’ve called home for the past two years, all with Sloane following behind me.

I cut the engine, take a deep breath and get out of my car. I walk back to Sloane’s, opening the back door to pull out the bag I saw her dump in there earlier.

“Damn, this thing weighs a ton. What do you have in here, a body?”

Sloane slides out from behind the wheel, grinning up at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

A tense silence falls down between us as we walk up the cobblestone driveway toward the front door.

“This is beautiful,” Sloane says as she looks up at the two-story entry of the Mediterranean style structure.

“Thanks.”

“Yours?”

“Of course it’s mine. We don’t just pick a house and make ourselves at home.”

Sloane rolls her eyes. “I know that, smart ass. I was asking if you own it.”

“No, it’s a rental, nosey.”

“Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying. You’re so secretive. I know very little about you. I don’t even know your last name, for God’s sake.”

I stop in front of the quietly babbling fountain that sits to the left of the front door. “Does that bother you?”

She shrugs, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “No.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes fly to mine. “No, seriously. Everyone is entitled to their secrets.”

“But?”

“No, buts,” she says, looking down again as I step toward her.

“What are your secrets, Sloane,” I ask, hooking my finger under her chin to lift until she’s forced to look at me.

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets, now, would they?”

I search her face. She’s beautiful and innocent and somehow mysterious. She hides a lot. I can tell. And I think she’s seen a lot. I can tell that, too. Maybe a lot of pain. Too much for someone like her. For some reason, it makes me want to take it away. And it makes me feel like shit that I might be bringing her more.

“I guess not,” I reply softly. “But those aren’t the important things anyway, are they? You know me, whether you know my last name and my life story or not. And I know you. I know that you’re strong and willful, and that you taste like honey when you melt in my hand.”