We Don't Leave by Emerald O'Brien

Author:Emerald O'Brien [O'Brien, Emerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emerald O'Brien

17

Can he be honest and tell me he’s been here? I might feel more comfortable believing other things he says if he can just admit that.

He frowns and glances up at me, twisting the lid off the bottle of Glayva. “Why do you ask?”

Not a real answer.

“I found your watch here.” I stride to the bar cart and pick it up, dangling it in the air.

“Oh, wow, you found it!” He sets the bottle down and rushes over, taking it from me, marvelling at it. “I must have left it here a long time ago.”

“That’s what I thought,” I mutter as he gazes at the inscription on the back with a little smile. “But I think we would have seen it while we were here last time. Then I saw the cigarette butts on the deck out back.”

His frown lines deepen as he draws his attention away from the watch and focuses his deep blue eyes on me. “You know I don’t smoke anymore. I haven’t since before we got married.”

I march to the sliding glass door and pull it open, a light lilac scent washing in with the breeze. I point to the little pocket between the door and the deck. Two cigarette butts linger. “They’re your brand.”

He steps outside and squats before me, picking one up. He squints at it and then up to me against the sunlight. “I haven’t smoked since before we bought this place. I don’t know how they got here.”

“Pretty weird coincidence, isn’t it?” I fold my arms over my chest. “Sid, if you’re trying to hide something from me, I need you to stop.” My own voice scares me as it trembles. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He stands and reaches for my arm, but I step further back inside. “Hayden, I’m serious. I don’t know how these got here, I haven’t been up without you, and I’m sorry I lost the watch, but I’m so glad you found it.” His voice is even-toned, reassuring, but I don’t want to be placated. I don’t know what to believe anymore, and since I can’t believe my own eyes, I stare up into his, searching them for answers. His expression lacks any sort of desperation that might be needed to convince me if he’s lying.

He places his hands on my upper arms and squeezes lightly, walking backwards, leading me back outside. Our footsteps clunk against the deck boards. I squint to see his face against the hot orange sun as it sinks into the horizon. Calm, cool, and in control, as usual.

“I need you,” he says, moving me to the outdoor sectional across from the barbecue, “to sit here, and wait until I bring us our drinks.”

I sit on the edge of the sectional, wringing my sweaty hands together, and he darts back inside the cottage, closing the sliding door behind him.

What if he knows I know about the body? What if he’s trying to convince me I’m wrong

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