Page 17 of The Taste of Deceit

“What do you mean you have no idea?”

A smirk pulls at my mouth as I switch lanes.

“I know this is a difficult concept for a guy like you to grasp, Boss, but I don’t actually monitor my girlfriend’s whereabouts every second of every day.”

Mikey stares at me for a second. We both know exactly what I’m implying. Katie could tell him she’s running to Target for shampoo, and somehow he’d know what aisle she was standing in twenty minutes later.

“Fuck you,” he says.

I grin and focus on the road. I’ve known Mikey long enough to know that’s about as close to admitting I’m right as he’s ever going to get.

Chapter 7

Sarah

My laptop has been open on my lap for the better part of an hour. I’ve spent that time trying very hard not to think about Luca, his family, or the secret sitting between Katie and me. Instead, I’m curled up on the couch in one of Luca’s hoodies with a blanket pulled over my legs, reading through USC’s master’s program in counseling.

Three years ago, I graduated with a degree in psychology and every intention of getting my master’s. Instead, I took a job at the bar while I figured out my next step.

The problem is that I ended up liking it more than I was supposed to.

I like the people. I like the chaos. I like walking in and knowing exactly what my day is going to look like. Somewhere along the way, a temporary job became my actual life, and every time I thought about graduate school, it felt easier to tell myself there was always another year.

Now, for the first time in a long time, I’m wondering if I’ve run out of excuses.

Not that I’ve talked to Luca about any of this. He has never once suggested I quit. He’s never complained about the hours or the customers or the fact that I get home long after midnight some nights. He’d never tell me what to do, yet I have a feeling the idea of me spending my days in a counseling office sounds a hell of a lot better to him than spending them breaking up arguments between drunk strangers.

A line about trauma-informed counseling catches my attention. For a split second, all I can see is a beam overhead, moonlight slipping through the cracks in the barn wall, and a man’s weight crushing the air from my lungs.

I blink hard and look back at the screen. Tuition. Clinical hours. Application deadlines. Real things. Present things. Things that exist here instead of seventeen years old in a barn that smells like hay and dirt. The counselor I saw after everything happened once told me that healing wasn’t the absence of memories. It was learning they couldn’t drag you back there forever. Most days, she was right.

I stare at the screen for another minute before grabbing my phone and calling Daddy.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“You doing anything fun on your day off?”

“How do you always remember stuff like that?”

“You’re my little girl.”

Warmth spreads through my chest.

“You know, most people eventually stop keeping track of their grown children every second of every day.”

“Most people don’t have you.”

I laugh softly, but the truth is, he’s right.

I’ve spent enough time around other people to know not everyone grows up with a father like mine. A father who never missed a birthday, a school play, or a softball game. A father who still calls to check in and somehow remembers my work schedule better than I do. A father who has spent my entire life making sure I know exactly how loved I am. Somewhere along the way, I stopped assuming everyone’s dad was like that.

I smile and pull the blanket tighter around my legs.

“You know, Luca has never ridden a horse.”

He lets out a rough laugh.