Page 145 of The Next Lie

“I’m not leaving her alone long.”

I glance toward the bench. Reva is still there, head bent, one hand brushing at her cheek like she is angry there might be tears on it.

Cal studies me for a moment, then he starts down the path with a nod. I fall in beside him because refusing would give him too much satisfaction.

We stop near the brick wall where the hedges open toward the pool. The house is behind us. Reva is still within sight if I turn my head.

Cal leans one shoulder against the wall. “I’m going to say something, and you’re going to hate it.”

“I already hate most things.”

“My intentions talk was awkward enough when I only thought I was having it with one man.”

I look at him.

He holds up a hand. “I know. She’s grown. She chooses. You all have apparently formed some kind of… coalition.”

I barely keep from smiling.

Cal’s eyes sharpen. “But I raised her.”

“Yes.”

“And I lied to her. I know that. She knows it. You know it. Everybody in this city probably knows it by now.” His voice roughens. “I still raised her.”

“I have not forgotten.”

“Then hear me.” He steps closer. “She has spent her whole life surviving other people’s decisions. I don’t care how much money you have, how many men you command, how much power is attached to your name. If you make loving you another thing that happens to her without her consent, I will put you in the ground.”

I believe him.

“My intentions,” I say, “are for her to live long enough to decide whether she wants me.”

Cal’s eyes narrow.

“She will not be a prisoner here,” I continue. “She will not be a decoration. She will not be managed into silence. I will keep her alive, and I will give her something solid enough to push against while she figures out who she is with the truth in her hands.”

“That sounds rehearsed.”

“It isn’t.”

“What happens when she runs?”

“I follow.”

“When she breaks your rules?”

“Honestly, you don’t want to know.”

Cal’s mouth moves. A small sound comes from behind the hedge. I close my eyes.

Cal’s expression shifts into a smirk that makes me briefly understand why Reva threatens people. She steps into view, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

“How touching,” she says. “Two grown men in a garden discussing my agency like it’s a property line.”

Cal turns toward her. “Reva⁠—”

“No.” She points at him. “You do not get to do the father-at-the-door-with-a-shotgun routine. I am a big girl. I have a job. I pay taxes. I have seen more naked strangers than a mortician. I do not need you asking anyone about intentions like my virginity is stored in a hope chest.”