The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (19 page)

I have no intention of calling this girl, but Kimberley will want Trinna’s number. It’s the one way to placate Kimberley what with all the other stuff she’s bound to call me out on.

Kimberley is a collector of facts. She always has been. It pays off in her line of work. So she’ll want the girl’s number for reference at least because that’s how Kimberley works. She’s thorough, and she teaches her clients to be that way too, even when they make the stupidest of mistakes like this one today.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Trinna stoops and picks up a robe off the floor and puts it on.

I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s half-dressed now. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

She lights up a cigarette and swings away at the smoke and gets this wry smile. Apparently, it’s her way of apologizing for the smoke. “So a baseball player, huh? That must pay big.”

Shit.

“It has its moments. Depends on the contract, who you play for.” I’m wary by her sudden interest in my paycheck.

“So, who do you play for, Elvis?” She looks completely sincere as if she believes my name is Elvis.

Why would I give her that name?

A memory stirs but then it’s gone.

I wave the smoke away from my face with a backhand move. “I play in the minors. The Eagles? Know them?”

She shakes her head at my lie while I attempt to breathe.

Tread carefully here.

Where is Kimberley? I need her right the fuck now.

As if on cue, my cell rings again. I shoot Trinna an apologetic look for the interruption. “Ready?” I say into the phone.

“Okay, we’re out in the alley about fifty feet from the back door. Black limo. Hard to miss. Let’s go, lover-boy. Tell her good-bye, kiss her warmly, and get the hell out of there.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

“Yes. On my way.”

I sweep my lips across Trinna’s willing mouth, promise to call her, and take a few precious seconds to look around and make sure I have all the things I came with—wallet, ID, meds, clothes, shoes, shirt, condoms. I give her one last shy smile and head out the back door of this girl’s house that I plan on never seeing again.

Breathe.

Thirst rages up my throat and this overwhelming guilt for what just happened comes out of nowhere again. The guilt I cannot explain. I take another deep breath and start to envision Kimberley’s angry face even before I see it.

I actually sprint towards the limo and manage to get inside and slam the door before the paparazzi get wind of us parked in the alley and immediately rush our way. The limo speeds off as the first reporters and their cameramen reach the alley.

I’ve done this before.

My ears hum. Kimberley’s talking, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying nor do I attempt openly acknowledge the blond guy sitting next to her.

“I
said
this is Dr. Bradly Stevenson, my husband.
Brad.
” Kimberley is surprisingly all smiles and I, for one, am glad for the presence of Dr. Bradly Stevenson because otherwise Kimberley would most likely be tearing my face off with her sharpest fingernails right about now. They twitch on her lap as it is.

After Kimberley provides the driver with an address, he tells us it will be about an hour drive and then he rolls up the window between us and him.

Silence follows.

A reprieve of two minutes is unceremoniously granted. I take a tiny breath.

“Now,
that
was a major fuck-up. How do I know this?” Kimberley asks. “Well, the papers are running this on just about every sports page in the nation this morning. Nicely done. I mean if you want to fuck things up royally with Tally this is certainly one of the ways to do that.”

“Who’s Tally?” I venture to ask when there’s a lull in Kimberley’s tirade.

“What?
Who’s Tally
? Are you
serious
? Are you
fucking
with me again already, Linc?
Really
?”

“No. I don’t know who you’re talking about.
Really
.”

“Holy shit. I might actually kill your father for this. I swear!”

Brad decides to chime in. “Kimmy, he doesn’t
know
. Ease up. Let’s just head to Malibu and sort this all out. But call his dad and tell him to lie low too. And you’d better call Tally too.”

I’ve never seen Kimberley actually follow someone's orders on command, but she does.

“Fine,” she says through her teeth. “I’ve already left two messages for Tally. I guess I’ll call Davis.” She frowns and bites at her lower lip and just sits there. Brad kisses the inside of her wrist and tells her everything is going to be all right.

I watch the two of them interact somewhat fascinated but then begin to feel this unexpected envy and raging guilt all over again.
What is this?

“Linc,” Kimberley says sadly. “This is a nightmare. Truly.” She sighs. “All right. Let me make some phone calls and see if we can get ahead of this on any level.” She moves to the other side of the limousine away from me and Brad and starts dialing.

Her husband grants me with another sympathetic but curious look.

I give Dr. Bradley Stevenson an obliging handshake and finally introduce myself properly because he appears to be on my side, on our side. “Sorry about interrupting your vacation,” I say slowly. “I understand I interrupted your honeymoon with my accident in October too. Sorry.”

“No worries. It was time to return to the States. She can’t be gone too long.” He shakes his head in wonder and smiles. “I was lucky to talk her into a few weeks away as it is. Anyway, there’s the place in Malibu. Her best friend is letting us use it. That’s where we’re going now. It’s big enough. We can all stay there. That’s my doctoral advice to you anyway.”

“A
doctor
. Right.”

“A psychiatrist, actually.”

“Ah…so that’s why she brought you. You treat my special brand of crazy, Doc?”

“I treat all special kinds of mental health issues. We don’t like the word
crazy
.”

“I bet not.”

“Kimberley briefly gave me some of your background. I’m here as a
friend
just like Kimberley is to you. I actually practice psychiatry in the state of New York, although I should get my license for California too,” Brad says more to himself. “I’ve helped a number of Kimberley’s friends.”

“
Really?
Free of charge and everything?” I say sarcastically.

“I know you’re pissed. It’s a rough deal having your life fall apart, losing some of your past, and yet having everybody expecting you to remember it. But I can help you. My specialty is neuropsychology, and I’ve put it to good use in my practice.” He eyes me directly. “I’m pretty good.”

“I bet you say that to all Kimmy’s closest friends.” He laughs at my insolence. Eventually, I do too. I like this guy. And after more than two months in LA at Beau Wilson’s camp where nothing has helped with my pitching, I’m a little desperate. I look at him intently before saying, “I still can’t throw a baseball, Doc. Can you help with that?”

“I think I can, yes.” Brad nods with an air of confidence I haven’t felt in months.

Kimberley stops herself from dialing and looks over at me intently from the other side of the limo in response to what I’ve just said. “Still no fast ball?” She asks looking worried.

I shake my head side-to-side. Just admitting to the failure seems to lift a phantom weight from my shoulders. The publicist and the psychiatrist both watch me closely now. I fold my arms across my head to try and ease the pain, but the headache just gets a little worse. “Can’t throw a baseball, and have now landed on the front pages of every sports page in America,” I say with a groan throwing my arms up in the air, “what else could possibly go wrong?”

Kimberley looks like she already knows, but she won’t tell me any more even when I ask.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

You Belong With Me -TALLY

“So he finally closed on the house—a nice one in Sea Cliff of all places. He’s like five blocks away from Rob Thorn’s parents. Tally, are you
listening
to me?”

“Yes. So he closed on the house. He’s a busy guy but what does that have to do with me?” I shrug for emphasis indicating I don’t care, but my shoulders shake betraying me.

It’s been more than two months almost three since the line drive and the accusations from Linc’s dad about me that followed. October, November came and went. It’s almost Christmas. Life goes on. It’s incredibly slow and painful, but it goes on, just like all the Zen people say it does.

Lo and behold, some real estate agent confirms my story about the big wonderful house sale to her secret client—the infamous baseball player—and it turns out to be an all-cash deal just like I told them. The missing six million dollar mystery is no more.

And life goes on. Did I mention that?

“All cash deals are normally rushed through,” Marla is saying. She’s the expert on real estate agents now. Apparently, this is a future career path. I say nothing. “But I guess he had some work done on it. Interior painting, a few remodels including the addition of a dance studio…”

Marla’s last words slam into me.
Chink goes the armor. Clink goes the heart. Swish goes the breath.

Her mouth closes and forms a thin straight line as does mine.

“A dance studio how nice. That’ll come in handy for him,” I finally say rewarding her with a withering look that says-let’s-not-talk-about-this-anymore, but she keeps babbling. I move away from her on the off chance I’ll be able to tune her out.

The Linc of old loved me. The new one? That one? He doesn’t know to care, apparently. I haven’t heard one word from him. Not one. My ability to care and even love him is on life support at this point. I’m breathing one day at a time. It’s been more than two months since I saw him last. No calls from him. No emails. No texts. No voicemails.
Whatever.
It’s been seventy-one days without communication.
But who’s counting?

I’ve had plenty of time to think. My thoughts are mostly centered around coming up with cruel and unusual punishments to wield upon both Lincoln Presley and his father. I don’t share this vengeful part of myself with Marla. Instead, I just stare at her, waiting, until she finally stops talking after finally realizing I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

“Like I said,” I say slowly, “what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Linc’s dad accused you of a horrible thing, but the mystery of the missing six million was easily solved by you.”

“By
me
.
Months ago
, I might add. So what now?”

“At the very least, Linc owes you an apology, even if his dad won’t give you one, about all of that…at least. I told him as much when he called to talk to Charlie the other day and again when he called this morning.”

“You
talked
to him?”