Two is a Lie Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Disclaimer

  1

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  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

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  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Up Next

  Three is a War

  Other Books by Pam Godwin

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About Pam Godwin

  Copyright © 2017 by Pam Godwin

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Artist: Okay Creations

  Interior Designer: Pam Godwin

  Editor: Lesa Godwin, Godwin Proofing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author.

  Visit www.pamgodwin.com

  If you have not read One is a Promise, STOP!

  The books in the TANGLED LIES series are not stand-alones.

  They must be read in order.

  One is a Promise

  Two is a Lie

  Three is a War

  Spineless.

  Bloodless.

  The early morning fog constricts me with ghost-like arms. The milky pall drapes over my backyard, swallowing the weak light of sunrise and contorting my sense of reality.

  This moment, this entanglement of two distinct parts of my life, can’t be happening.

  The vibrating silhouette of my past paces a few feet away, staring at me like an ethereal presence.

  Cole. My first love. My greatest loss.

  My second chance stands beside me, his expression as naked as his upper body, chilling in the cold mist.

  Trace. He’s supposed to be my new beginning. My future.

  Dark hair versus blond, brown eyes clashing with blue, Cole and Trace couldn’t look more different from each other. But the emotions coiling their postures and tightening their faces are the same. Pain, fear, desperation, and most of all, unbridled rancor. The anger between them is so potent it crackles the air.

  I hug my waist tightly, shaking in my attempt to stifle the tears.

  Cole’s alive.

  Trace knew there was a chance he’d come back.

  And they look like they’re seconds from killing each other.

  My entire body is a heartbeat, pulsing heavily, painfully, flaring every cell and nerve ending. I think it’s my muscles twitching or maybe overworked blood vessels. I think I’m in shock.

  They watch me as if waiting for me to do something. Send them away? Have a nervous breakdown? Stab them with a sharp object? Any of those things are possible. But first, I need to pull my shit together and demand some answers.

  The questions pile up in my throat, some screaming louder than others. Why did Cole disappear for over four years? And why didn’t Trace tell me he knew Cole or that they were best friends? Why didn’t he tell me Cole might come back?

  “I need you to put aside your animosity for each other and give me the truth.” I pace the driveway alongside my house, my breaths huffing in white clouds as I try to gather my thoughts. Circling back, I stop in front of Trace. “If you’ve been watching over me since Cole left, you knew how badly I—” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “You knew I was hurting. Why didn’t you tell me there was a chance he was alive?”

  “There are a lot reasons why I couldn’t.” Trace wipes the blood from his lip where Cole punched him. “First and foremost, it would’ve endangered your life.”

  “What does that even mean?” My mind jumps to CIA, special forces, or some secret organization within the government.

  “It’s classified.” Cole inclines his head away from me, depriving me of eye contact and closing himself off. “The less you know, the safer you are.”

  “The less I know…” I echo in a hollow voice. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to not know? When you stopped calling and emailing, it gutted me. Then a stranger showed up at my door and told me you died in an explosion.” My breaths quicken, chopping up my words. “The pain is indescribable, Cole. I wanted to die a thousand times over.” I angrily swipe at the moisture on my cheeks and turn to Trace. “And you didn’t tell me shit.”

  “I had no concrete information.” Trace’s scowl deepens. “I was operating on assumptions and—”

  “But you knew there was a chance, and that chance—”

  “Could’ve brought you more pain.” He leans toward me, all rock-jawed and blazing eyes. “Let’s say I broke protocol and told you he could’ve been alive. It would’ve raised your hopes, and you would’ve waited and waited.” He straightens and squares his shoulders. “What if I was wrong? If he never showed up, what then? It would’ve made things so much harder for you. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Because you wanted her for yourself,” Cole seethes, launching toward Trace.

  “Stop!” I dart forward, pulse racing.

  Cole spins away and plunges his fingers in his hair.

  “If you hit him again, we’re done.” I press a hand against my throat, fighting for every painful breath. “Understand?”

  With his back to me, Cole tenses. Then he drops his head and nods.

  “He’s right,” Trace says, low and scratchy. “When I watched over you the first year he left, I became enamored. Obsessed. I wanted you, irrationally and hopelessly. Then I watched you mourn him for the next two years, and I still wanted you. But I had no intentions of pursuing you. You know this, Danni, given the lengths I went to push you away.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to push her away,” Cole roars, “if you hadn’t made contact in the first fucking place!”

  The thunder of his voice is loud enough to rattle my bones and bring all my neighbors outside.

  The moment I have that thought, Virginia calls out from the rear of her house next door. “Danni?”

  “Everything’s fine, Virginia.” Squinting at Cole, I whisper, “What am I supposed to tell her? How do I explain your reappearance?”

  What do I tell my sister, my parents, and everyone else in my life? Maybe he won’t be around long enough to say anything. I press the heel of my hand against the pang in my chest.

  “I have a cover story.” Cole grabs his duffel bag from the driveway and strides toward my back door. “For now, just…don’t say anything.”

  When he slips inside my house, I approach the short metal fence between the backyards and bend over it to see Virginia.

  “What’s all that ruckus?” She stands in her doorway, wearing a flowery robe and house slippers, her white hair rolled in pink curlers.

  “It was me.” Trace leans beside me and braces his forearms on the fence. “Good morning, Virginia.”

  “Don’t good morning me, young man.” A cane appears in her hand and she points it at him. “I know that wasn’t you hollering.”

  Fuck. She can’t see shit, but her hearing is better than mine on most days.

  “He has a cold.” I grab Trace’s hand and pull him away from the fence. “I’m taking him inside before it gets worse.”

  “Hm, well…” Suspicion creaks through her voice. “Make sure he drinks hot tea and gargles salt water.”r />
  “Got it.” I release Trace’s hand and head toward the back door.

  As I reach it, he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls my back to his chest. “I’m not letting you go.”

  My heart pounds, and I compulsively slide my fingers over his against my hip. I love him so fucking much, but that love feels trampled and wounded beneath a thousand unanswered questions.

  “It killed me to watch you grieve for two years.” He rests his forehead against the back of my head. “But I couldn’t give you hope without knowing with absolute certainty he was coming back. I needed to see you heal.”

  Warmth fills my chest, expanding my ribs. His constant concern for me is one of the countless reasons I fell in love with him. But… “You proposed to me, knowing he might come back. What did you think would happen?”

  “Proposal or no proposal, there was no stopping what was happening between us.” He turns me in his arms and cradles my face in his hands. “The day you told me you loved me changed everything.”

  Our eyes connect and fasten. Whenever I tumble into that blue gaze, it doesn’t matter where I’ve been or how far I have to go, because this is the moment, the bright spark of belonging and grace, that’s worth fighting for.

  I don’t understand the enigma of love, only that it holds me hostage, cares for and worships me, abandons and breaks me, and always lures me back for more. I’m greedy for it. For him.

  “I feel deceived, Trace. By both of you.” I grit my teeth. “I don’t know what to think about your omissions and secrets. And Cole better have a damn good reason for disappearing, for letting me believe he was dead all this time.”

  “He’ll have the best reason of all.” His voice is gruff, dejected, as his attention drifts over my shoulder at the closed door behind me. “Protecting you is the only reason he would’ve stayed away.”

  I step back, anxious to go inside and get answers, but Trace tightens his grip on my jaw.

  “I’m not giving up on us.” He bends his knees, putting us at eye level. “I will never ever walk away from you.”

  I can only nod. His declaration both thrills and terrifies me.

  Since Cole didn’t die, does that mean I’m engaged to two men? What if I can’t forgive either of them? What if I lose them both in the end?

  My heartbeat quickens, stomping through my veins. What am I going to do?

  Deep breath. Cole owes me a lot of answers. He left me for over four years, and it’s going to take a saving children from a burning building type of excuse to abolish everything he put me through.

  When I open the back door, he’s not in the dance studio. I’m trembling with anxiety by the time I reach the kitchen. I still don’t see him, but he’s here somewhere. In my house, in the home we shared, where we made so many memories together. I met him right outside the front door. Kissed him goodbye on the porch. Mourned him for years within these walls. My mind is having a helluva time accepting his resurrection.

  I pause at the coffee maker, desperately needing caffeine for the impending conversation.

  “I dropped my mug on the driveway,” I say numbly.

  “I’ll clean it up later.” Trace removes three cups from the cabinet.

  “Cole drinks his—”

  “The same way you do.” His expression empties, matching the detachment in his tone. “Cream, no sugar.”

  “Don’t do that.” I touch the stiff muscles in his forearm. “I hated that cold mask when I met you. I don’t want to see it ever again.”

  “I’m struggling to hold myself together, Danni.” He grips the edge of the sink and stares out the kitchen window. “At some point over the last six months, I convinced myself he was dead, hoping with everything inside me you wouldn’t be put in the position you’re in now.”

  By position, he means decision. The choice he demanded I make two months ago.

  If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?

  At the time, I chose Trace. He was my future. But that was before I knew a future with Cole was still possible.

  “I’m going to make the coffee.” Trace straightens and focuses on the task. “So you can have a few minutes to talk to him alone. I know you need that, and I trust you.”

  His tone is soft with sincerity, not a hint of warning or conjecture. He’s trying to make this easier, for my sake.

  “Thank you.” Lingering behind him, I ache to press a kiss to the bare skin on his spine, but I’m conflicted.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, and I can’t let myself get bowled over by longing, dread, and all the other things I’m feeling right now.

  In the hallway, I peek into the dining room, expecting to find Cole with his motorcycle where he left it all those years ago. But he’s not there, so I head to my bedroom and pause on the threshold.

  He stands in the doorway of my closet with his back to me. The lift of his shoulders, the sound of his exhales, and the intoxication of his living, breathing presence catapults me into the one emotion I hadn’t let myself feel yet.

  Happiness.

  I linger in the moment, savoring the soul-deep elation curling through my insides. No matter what happens or what he’s done, I will forever be grateful for his life.

  Raising a hand, he touches the hangers that once held his clothes. His fingers trail along the crisp shoulders of suit jackets and collared shirts that belong to another man. His posture tenses, and a tremor shakes down his spine.

  “Your things are boxed up in the basement.” I slip into the tiny room, circle the bed, and stop within arm’s reach behind him. “I didn’t get rid of anything.”

  He stiffens, and his hands lift to palm the doorframe on either side of his head, as if seeking the support to stay upright.

  With a stomach full of nerves, I ghost my fingers over the back of his t-shirt, taking in the protruding ridges of his ribs. “Why are you so thin?”

  “I’ve been separated from my heart for four and a half years.”

  The fierce wound inside me cries out, begging to be soothed. “I’ve been here, Cole. Where have you been?”

  “Hiding.” A ragged breath shudders through him. “I was being watched. Everything I did was monitored, tracked, and recorded. I can’t—” He drops his hands, fisting them at his sides. “That’s all I can tell you.”

  “You have to give me more than that. Something I can grab onto. Who was watching you? Please, Cole. Talk to me.”

  He whirls toward me and wraps his arms around my back, giving me a glimpse of his damp, bloodshot eyes before he buries his face in my neck. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

  Tell me I haven’t lost you.

  Cole’s plea whispers through me, igniting an ache in my throat.

  “Be very careful what you ask of me.” I push against his chest, breaking his embrace. “I lost you. I moved on. It took me years. Years of unimaginable heartache—”

  “I don’t have to imagine it. I lived it!” He paces through the room, panting and gripping the back of his neck. “I would never move on from you. You’re it for me. My beginning. My end. My fucking forever. If you died, even if I saw your lifeless body with my own eyes, I wouldn’t move on. And I sure as hell wouldn’t marry someone else.”

  The raw, unrestrained pain in his words punches me straight through the heart, and I gasp.

  “Clearly, you don’t share my feelings.” He glares at the ring on my hand.

  I share his feelings in every way, and guilt stabs me anew. I never saw his body. I just blindly believed he was gone. Should I have questioned more? Dug harder?

  A sob rises up, threading my voice. “I didn’t—”

  Something blurs in my periphery. Before I can blink, Cole is slammed against the wall, choking in the shackle of Trace’s hand.

  “Never talk to her that way again.” Trace shoves harder against Cole’s throat, punctuating his point. “She’s suffered enough.”

  The thick concentration of testost
erone clots the air and locks my joints. Though I’ve seen Trace attack a man once before, I’m immobilized by the calmness in his movements. He strikes, neutralizes, and commands, without showing a single sign of being winded or agitated.

  Cole grips the fist around his throat and closes his eyes. His body slumps, and an anguished sound escapes him.

  “I’m so sorry, Danni,” he whispers, seeking me with unguarded misery in his gaze.

  I share that feeling deeply, because despite the lies and unanswered questions, I love him. But that doesn’t mean I can walk away from Trace.

  When I nod my acceptance of Cole’s apology, Trace releases him and steps back.

  Cole sags against the wall, tucking his chin and gripping his knees. I’ve never seen him look so defeated and shattered.

  The instinct to go to him urges my legs to move, but I fight it. I can’t choose sides until I’ve heard the truth. Not that I’m capable of choosing. My heart wants both. But my damn heart got me into this mess. I need to use my brain to find a way out.

  Trace hands me a mug of coffee from the dresser and kisses the top of my head.

  “Thank you.” I turn to Cole and gesture at the other two mugs. “He brought you a cup.”

  As Trace steps into the closet and pulls on a t-shirt, Cole trudges toward the dresser and stares at the mugs with a slack expression.

  “I can’t drink coffee,” he says, lifting it to his lips, “without thinking about the morning we met.”

  My smile trembles, and my insides cave in. Will this ever stop hurting? I can’t see how. There’s no resolution that brings both of them happiness, and that’s what I need. I need them to be happy again.

  Dressed in a collared shirt and jeans, Trace emerges from the closet and sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his spread knees, head tilted down. I can’t see his face, but I know those glacial eyes are angled toward Cole, scowling as intensely as his mouth beneath the mantle of his brow.

  My bedroom isn’t big enough for the three of us, and as the seconds tick by, the space grows smaller, tighter, pressing against my chest. Unbidden, my foot taps, drawing attention to my churning nerves.