The Lie by Natalie Wrye (primary phonics books .txt) 📕

So, I tried not to think about it at all.

I didn’t know how much longer the car would hold together. Perhaps it would give out as I was driving up the long, winding driveway to the Connecticut estate.

Sabrina and I managed to bring the car to a stop. At least, I thought we had. I had no idea how long we’d been driving, and there was no way of knowing how far we’d come. My watch had stopped ages ago. The digital clock on the dashboard had given up the ghost long before. At some point, the car must have been going over eighty miles an hour, but my speedometer only went up to one hundred, so I wasn’t sure. I had to be close to the estate, though. How many miles could there be before we hit the driveway?

I turned the wheel to the left.

Now, the Benz was swerving all over the road, with one of its tires replaced—swapped out with the spare from Sabrina’s truck.

The spare was barely holding on.

Every time I would turn the wheel, I would hear a ping from underneath the car. I was going to need to replace some of the suspension when I got back.

When we finally make it up the estate driveway in one piece, I turn to Sabrina in the passenger seat. Her face is pale, slack with fear.

“You all right, Bri?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she moans.

Throwing the car into Park, I help Sabrina out of the car.

Pushing back her dark brown hair, I kneel by her side, hating myself.

And hating whoever is behind the Lemony Snickets-like series of unfortunate events. I pat Sabrina’s back as she peers at me, brown eyes wide.

“What are we supposed to do?” She asks. “This all of a sudden feels like the set-up from a bad joke.”

“I don’t know,” I say. My heart is beating in my ears. I feel like any second I might wind up feeling faint myself.

It’s all too much.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my body shakes.

I’m not going to think about what could happen if I don’t fight it, don’t fight the fear that’s threatening to overtake me every time I think of the danger of what could have happened—what would have happened had I not saved us from a deadly crash.

“What the hell is going on?” Sabrina asks me through heaves.

I hold on tighter to her hair as she coughs over the driveway. I glance up towards the house. “I don't know,” I admit. “But I'm going to try to find it. Right the fuck now.”

I carry her up the steps and deposit her in her room, a cool towel over her forehead and a bucket, as promised, by her bed where she lays.

And then I start down the hall toward the pool, hoping that Lachlan is nearby.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

I make my way down the stairs to the pool area. The pool is clear and sparkling blue. I have a moment, a brief flash of serenity. I swear I can see all the way to the bottom. The deep-red tiles of the poolside look as though they’re on fire. I turn away from the pool, the sight of it making me woozy. I pass a few lounge chairs, adrift in their own little pool of sunlight.

And to no surprise, I find Lachlan, avid swimmer that he is, headed to the pool area, a towel wrapped around his muscular arm.

“Hey,” I say, pivoting towards my old friend. “You got a minute?”

“I have all the time in the world,” he says, glancing up, surprise in his eyes at seeing me. “What's up, Fletch?”

“We need to talk.”

“Sure.” He stands straighter in his black swimming trunks. “What about?”

A tall, sandy-haired man, Lachlan is muscled and lean. His smile is easy, and his smile is quick. He's easy to like. Too easy.

Maybe I was wrong about Lachlan. Maybe not.

I need to find out.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

“I need to know what you know," I say, stepping closer to Lachlan, my voice low, my fists balled.

"About?" he asks, taking a step back.

"About someone purposely trying to wreck my family. Or me. Or both.” I study his eyes. "You familiar with a lawyer by the name of Frank Levins? Works for my grandfather's company? The one that saved your family's?"

“No,” he says. The word is simple. But there is something in the tone of his voice that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He knows something. He’s hiding something. I know it in my bones. But whatever it is, he’s not telling.

“Yeah, that’s fine," I say. “Lie right to my face. It's not like we've been friends for years or anything…”

“Fletch,” he says, his voice low, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. I think you are. Sorry, that is……if you're keeping something from me,” I reply icily, my fingertips tingling. “And I think you know more than you're saying, Lach. I don't want to beat it out of you……but God help me, I will, if it comes to that."

Lachlan eyes me. "Did you forget that I taught you everything you know about Krav Maga?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Have you forgotten that I used to kick your ass at it?"

"Haven't forgotten that either. I'll just pray to Elvis Presley's spirit that this will be the first time I win."

"Or…maybe I'll just wind up kicking Elvis Presley's spirit's ass along with yours too."

"If it comes to that, yeah." I take a step closer. "So, what's it going to be, Lach? You fighting me and old rockstars' ghosts…or you going to give me the truth? Because I've got places to be and one sister's hair to hold back, so let me know now.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text message from Kev, some cryptic text about the bar being closed.

A text that makes no sense.

The bar is never closed on Sundays.

Kev, you idiot.

Stashing my cell