Twisted Truths: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 2 Page 3

  “That’s going to suck, but you can try out some new looks with wigs.”

  “And my eyebrows.”

  “You’re lucky microblading is in.”

  I chuckle, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You know, it might not even be cancer.”

  “I know,” I breathe out. “It’s just with my mom’s death and my family history…” I trail off, brushing the sand off my palms before I plant them behind me and lean back. “I feel like this was always going to be my fate.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, really. But I wish you wouldn’t say it.”

  “Why not?”

  Harlow shudders. “Because then my fate may be to become my mother. Sometimes I’m scared I already am.”

  “Harlow.” I inch closer to her, my eyebrows dipping.

  She offers me a weak smile. “It’s okay, Zoe. Just know that I’m here for you. I won’t let you drown.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What else are friends for?”

  * * *

  “It’s lobular carcinoma in situ.” Dr. Salinas explains as I grip the phone against my ear.

  “Cancer,” I murmur, my heart falling to my feet.

  “Not quite,” Dr. Salinas says. “The most important thing is that we caught it early. Very early. LCIS is a buildup of abnormal cells in the milk ducts of the breasts, the lobules. The cells haven’t spread beyond the lobules into any breast tissue. It’s mostly a marker for an increased chance of developing invasive breast cancer. However, given your BRCA results and your family history, your results are more alarming than someone without increased odds.”

  “What’s the treatment?” I breathe out, some of the feeling returning to my arms and legs now that the worst of my fears are assuaged. I’m not going to die right this moment; I just have another odd stacked against me moving forward. More weight to lift and carry as I continue walking uphill, into the glaring sunlight, with no water and no one to share the load.

  “With many patients, just increased monitoring, additional mammograms, and hormonal therapies. Given your situation, you may wish to consider a prophylactic mastectomy.”

  “I’m already considering a prophylactic oophorectomy. What the hell kind of a woman will I be? No boobs, no ovaries, no family.”

  Dr. Salinas sighs gently over the line. Her next words are infused with compassion, yet they somehow make me feel worse. “It’s 2020, Zoe. There are so many ways to create a family, so many options available to men and women with various health challenges. I’d like to talk in person, schedule some additional testing. I’d also like to refer you to a psychologist who specializes in patients with breast cancer and loved ones supporting them.”

  “I have two more months here,” I reply, the thought striking me as odd even as I say it.

  So what? Who cares? It’s just a job.

  Only it’s not. How can it be just a job when it’s literally the only thing I have left that belongs to me?

  It’s my legacy. It’s the financial stability I will leave to my father in case my next round of test results is bleaker.

  “Zoe,” Dr. Salinas cautions.

  “I need to see this through. I need to complete it. Please, what can I do over the next two months?”

  “I would ask that you take some time to think about what we’ve discussed. Speak with your family and friends—”

  “I need two months, Dr. Salinas.”

  “Okay,” she agrees, but I catch the disappointment in her tone. “We will set you up for a mammography there. I will schedule some additional tests here for when you return in two months. In the meantime, I strongly encourage you to speak with a therapist. If you’re uncomfortable seeing one where you are, I can recommend some colleagues who do phone sessions. I’ll also send over some literature on the preventative procedures so you can familiarize yourself with them. If you have any questions, concerns, or change your mind about anything at any time, call.”

  “Okay. I will. And thank you.”

  “Confide in someone, Zoe. This is not something you want to keep to yourself.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll email everything over to you.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Salinas. ‘Bye,” I hang up the phone, drop my head into my hands, and breathe.

  Lobular carcinoma in situ.

  In the grand scheme of all the fearful thoughts I’ve considered, it’s not too bad. I can handle this. Many women have diagnoses like this and continue to live perfectly healthy lives.

  But you’re not most women.

  The odds are stacking up, one domino at a time, and eventually, the entire, elaborate design will collapse.

  When, though? This year? In five years? Once I find my happily-ever-after?

  I already did and I let it go. Because I knew, deep down, that it would end in a diagnosis. Yes, this isn’t the worst-case scenario, and for that, right now, I’m grateful. Next time, though, it could be.

  Placing the phone on my desk, I pace back and forth in front of my bed.

  No, there is no happily-ever-after for me. I won’t bring another person into my life to share this heartbreak with. I won’t produce children who will live their entire lives weighed down with sickening worry and unrivaled stress.

  This is no way to live. Scared. Anxious. Pessimistic.

  Unable to commit to the man I love. Unable to give him the one thing he wants more than anything in the world. Unable to live up to my own biological purpose.

  The best thing for a woman like me to do is to try to help the people I care about. To be there for them. To push them to achieve their dreams. To make their journeys easier.

  Dad. Charlie. Eli.

  I can do that for them. I can leave them something to remember me by.

  But I can’t saddle them with my burden. I won’t create a future I won’t live to see. Instead, I’ll keep my head down and focus on the work. On what needs to be done. On what I can do now, in this moment, before it’s too late.

  * * *

  “How are you doing?” Harlow asks, handing me a green smoothie.

  “Better.” I take a long sip. “At least now I know my diagnosis and can move forward.”

  “You’re really strong, Zoe. When you messaged me the other day, I had no idea all the things you were dealing with.”

  “Struggling, you mean.” I roll my eyes, taking a gulp of my smoothie.

  “Handling.”

  I cut her a look.

  “I’m serious. You’re one of the strongest women I know.”

  I stab the bottom of my cup with the straw. “I’m ready to get back to training. Focus on the now. How’s Eli doing?”

  “He punched Gray in the face yesterday.”

  “What?” My brow furrows as panic races through me. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  “You weren’t fine yesterday.”

  “Oh God. Is it because of Natalie? Because of —” I bite my tongue, knowing there’s no way Eli would have shared Natalie’s secret with anyone else. Not even with me, if the situation hadn’t seemed so dire.

  “Gray goaded him into a reaction, then told him to channel that anger and energy into the scene.”

  “What did Gray say to him?” I question, my smoothie forgotten.

  “Something about taking you off of Eli’s hands if Eli is too twisted up over you to play his role.”

  Confusion rocks through me. “Preston mentioned me? “But—”

  “But it got the job done. Eli snapped, nearly broke Preston’s nose, and then nailed the scene.”

  “Oh my God.” I clasp my hand to my heart, unsure of what to make of Harlow’s story. “Do you think it was just jealousy or—?”

  Harlow points a finger at me. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Downplay Eli’s feelings for you. You know he cares about you, a lot. He told me he mentioned making things real between y’all, trying for a proper relationship. I’ve known Eli for four years,
and you’re the first woman he’s ever even considered something permanent and monogamous with.”

  Her words fill me with a sick satisfaction that’s quickly wiped out by the dull ache that accompanies anything related to Eli. “I can’t do this to him. My diagnosis isn’t as bad as I expected, but there’s still a long road ahead with a lot of unknowns.”

  Harlow sighs, fiddling with her nose piercing. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do, and I have no idea how you’re managing everything, but you’re not giving Eli any credit.” She bites her lip. “In the past, I’d get why. He wasn’t the type of man who deserved it. But the way he is with you…” Harlow stares at me, eyes wide, her sincerity bursting forward. “He’s different with you, Zoe. Just… know that with you, he’s a better version of himself.”

  I kick the toe of my sandal against the ground. “Thank you, Harlow. Honestly. Thank you for listening and being here and caring about me. I love Eli. I haven’t even told him yet, but I do. That’s why it’s better this way. I want him to have the life he dreams of, and he’s never going to have that with me.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I do. I do know it.”

  “But loving someone is huge.”

  “Not huge enough for me to ruin his future.”

  Harlow sighs. “How are you doing with everything, otherwise? It must be hard being so far from home when you receive disturbing news.”

  “It is. My dad and Charlie are crazy worried, but I think this time on my own is good for me to think through all of my options.”

  “Are you talking with anyone?”

  “Yes. My doctor is setting me up with a therapist who does phone sessions.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know if you need anything, I’m here.”

  “Thank you.” I squeeze Harlow’s arm, beyond grateful that she turned out to be such a true friend. “I’m ready to move forward with what I came here to do. How’s Eli’s training with Brooke been going?” I know he crashed Brooke’s personal training sessions the last few days as things between us fell apart.

  “He misses you.” Harlow polishes off her smoothie before standing from the bench. “Brooke’s Pilates obsession is driving him nuts.”

  I laugh. “Tell him I’ll be back today. Training at 5PM?”

  “I’ll let him know.” Harlow smiles, tipping her head toward the elevators.

  We begin walking, but she shoots surreptitious glances in my direction.

  “Just spill it, Harlow.”

  She smiles, but her eyes are worried, her fingers tugging at her nose ring again. “I just want you to know that Eli… he’s not…” She chews the corner of her mouth, considering her words carefully. “He’s not the Eli you got to know. He’s the guy you met at the bar that first night.”

  My heart twists as I freeze, absorbing the meaning behind her words. He’s back to being distant and aloof. He’s really done with me.

  It’s really over. Because I fucked it all up.

  No, I did the right thing. I set him free.

  “That’s fine. It’s better we have boundaries anyway.”

  “Zoe,” Harlow sighs, her finger pressing the elevator call button. “Is this really what you want?”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “The best for who?”

  “For Eli.”

  * * *

  “Ah, there she is. Ready to work, sweetheart?” His tone is hard as I approach him on the beach.

  He’s already waiting, his arms crossed over his chest, his head angled to the side. Sunglasses hide his eyes but his jaw is tight, his lips rolled into a thin line.

  God, I’ve missed him. Even though I know he’s glaring at me behind his lenses, even though he probably hates me, my blood still warms at the sight of him. Nerves rattle through my veins, my stomach swirling with apprehension and doubts. Why did I think I could do this? Work with him and not be with him? Be near him but not the way I desire?

  He looks good. His biceps are on full display, his shoulders rolling as he shifts his weight. He squares his hips toward me, his feet planted firmly in the sand, like a tree. Immovable. I wish I could swing from his branches. I wish I could taste the sweet fruit he produces.

  As the space between us closes and the air zaps with tension, I know he will no longer shelter me from any storms. He’s done with me.

  Just like I wanted.

  “Are you, Hollywood?” I keep my voice measured.

  He nods, his arms dropping to his sides. “What’s the plan for today?”

  I run him through the circuit and pull out my stopwatch.

  Eli pushes himself hard, performing each exercise with precision and determination. It’s easy to admire him. He’s incredibly impressive— not just his strong build and rippling muscles, but his determination, his ability to focus on the task at hand and commit to it one-hundred and ten percent.

  He's doing a hell of a better job being unaffected by me than I am by him.

  “Nice job, Eli.” I force myself to be professional as he finishes the last set of exercises with the core sliders.

  “Holt’s fine,” he bites out, lifting an eyebrow.

  My words freeze in my throat as a coldness sweeps through my stomach. Slick and vile, making me feel like I might be sick. I exhale slowly, tapping my fingers against my thighs to steady myself.

  You wanted boundaries. You wanted this.

  “Okay then; nice work today, Holt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got some things on my schedule, so I’ll message you the times that work best for me.”

  “Oh, the schedule said 6PM, but—”

  “Like I said, I’ve got some things going on.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s fine, right? I mean, you’re here because I hired you to do a job. Other than the training, your schedule should be clear.”

  “It is,” I murmur, my gaze dropping to the sand. I focus on a seashell, the beautiful swirl of muted colors, to halt the tears I feel burning the backs of my eyelids.

  I hurt him. He’s protecting himself.

  But God, does it rip through me. His words, his glare, his unaffected stance, as if I’m nothing more than a bug he’d like to step on.

  His actions are in direct opposition to the story Harlow told me, making me wonder if she’d heard it wrong. Maybe he doesn’t care one way or the other. Maybe I hurt him too deeply to care about me at all.

  “Good.” His voice is clipped and I chance another look at him.

  He’s not looking at me. For the first time since we’ve met, his gaze is taken with something else. His expression transforms from surly to almost beaming as he looks over my shoulder.

  “Hey babe.” He lifts a hand in greeting.

  Dread drops into the pit of my stomach and my shoulders tense. Without even turning around, I know who it is.

  It has to be her. Natalie Beck.

  “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be finished,” her voice calls out, all sunshine and unicorns.

  I turn my head, biting down hard on my tongue when I see her.

  She’s still stunning. Beautiful blond hair. Brilliant blue eyes. They drink Eli in before turning to me. The moment our gazes collide, she offers me a sweet smile and a little wave. Why the hell does she have to be so nice?

  Mom liked her.

  Eli moves to stand beside her, his palm skimming the small of her back. “I’m done now. Hungry?”

  She nods, offering him a quick grin before turning back to me. “Are you going to introduce us, Eli?” I can tell she doesn’t recognize me. Why would she? I was sopping wet in a stolen robe the last time she saw me, and the time before that, I was thirteen.

  He falters, and for the briefest of moments I see hesitation sweep over his features. He knows that I know her. He knows she was the person my mom liked in her final days.

  “Babe, this is my trainer, Zoe. Zoe, this is Natalie.” He stares at me, his eyes hard a
nd daring. A challenge.

  I hate that he calls her “babe.” I hate that he’s touching her. I hate that he’s taunting me, with her of all people. He shoots me his trademark cocky look, waiting for me to respond. He wants me to tell Natalie that we know each other. He wants me to fill up the silence with a story of our shared history.

  Memories from that time in my life, memories that pain me to recall, even now, float into my mind. Sadness and grief flow through my veins, causing my throat to thicken until I’m unable to form words.

  “Great to meet you, Zoe.” Natalie smiles, offering me her hand.

  I stare at it for a long beat, remembering the way her hands once held Mom’s. Working a swallow, I open my mouth just as Eli winks at me.

  He fucking winks.

  I snap my mouth closed and offer a tight-lipped smile, placing my hand in hers. “You too.” I focus on Natalie as I murmur, “Enjoy your dinner.” Then I turn away to gather the equipment.

  I don’t chance another glance at Eli, but I feel him watching me, his gaze pinned in between my shoulder blades.

  I won’t give him what he wants. The reaction. The accusation. The satisfaction of knowing how much it hurts me to see him and Natalie together. To witness him caring for her again.

  No, I won’t give in for anyone.

  I keep my cool, ignoring Eli’s presence until he and Natalie walk back to the hotel.

  Staring at the ocean, I calm my erratic breathing and harden my heart until I’m as numb as a glacier.

  4

  Eli

  “What was that?” Natalie lifts an eyebrow, gesturing toward the beach once we’re seated at Achara.

  “What’s what?”

  “Your little show, with the trainer.”

  “Zoe,” I sigh.

  Natalie’s eyebrow lifts higher.

  The moment the hotel doors closed behind us, I dropped my hand from her back. Natalie had given me a knowing glance but didn’t comment.

  It was childish to want to make Zoe jealous, even though I wanted her green with envy, spitting and swearing and staking her goddamn claim.