Lying Out Loud

Chapter 32

I didn’t hear from him.

I didn’t expect to, but Amy did.

“I thought he would call,” she said. “I was sure he would.”

“See, this is why you need someone like me in your life,” I said. “You are too optimistic for your own good, Amy Rush.”

She sat down next to me on the bed. “Maybe after spring break … Maybe he’s just busy with his dad in DC.”

That was possible. The news coverage did make it seem like they were pretty busy. Ryder and Senator Cross had posed for photos with some foreign diplomats, and Greg Johnson had done a whole story about it.

Senator Cross might not have represented our region, but that hadn’t stopped Ryder from becoming a bit of a local celebrity.

As much as seeing him on the screen had made me ache, it had also made me happy. In the photos, Ryder looked genuinely pleased to be there with his dad. I hoped that meant they were working things out.

Amy wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rested her head on top of mine. “If he can forgive his dad, maybe he’ll —”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t give me a reason to hope. I screwed up, Amy. He has no reason to forgive me…. I told him I loved him, Amy. And he didn’t say it back.”

“He’s an idiot,” she said.

“He’s not, but thank you.”

As much as it had sucked to lose Ryder, I knew I was lucky to have Amy back. Knowing how much I’d hurt her over the past few months still made me sick. She was, without question, the most important person in my life. And the most selfless friend I could have asked for.

I knew she didn’t fully trust me yet, but we’d find our way back eventually. And no matter what, I would never, ever let anything — a boy, a lie, or my own insecurities — get between us again.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said as she untangled herself from me. “For locking us in a room together and helping me find the boom box. I’m not sure I ever would have gotten him to listen to me if you hadn’t done that.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I wish it had made more of a difference. I just really thought if he heard you out …”

“It did help, though,” I assured her. “It wasn’t just about getting him to forgive me. It’s about being honest. It’s something I’m still working on.”

“I like Honest Sonny.”

“Good, because she’s here to stay.” I frowned. “And honestly? Honest Sonny is not a fan of that purple lipstick on you.”

“Honest Sonny can get over it.”

I grinned. “Oh. Fierce Amy is fun, too.”

She blushed, but she smiled.

I was proud of Amy. She was still shy, still sweet, but she’d stopped letting people push her around. Even me.

Especially me.

Amy looked down at my phone again. “He’ll call,” she said.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just am. You two had something special, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I shook my head. “You’re being too nice even for you. Bring Fierce Amy back. Hurry.”

She tossed her brown curls over her shoulder and grinned. “This is Fierce Amy. And I am fierce in my assertion that he’ll call.”

I laughed and got to my feet and extended a hand to her. “Come on, Fierce Amy,” I said, pulling her up, too. “Honest Sonny is honestly starving.”

“Pizza?” Amy asked, heading for the bedroom door.

“Hell yes.”

“Who are you writing to?” Wesley asked, looking at the pieces of pale blue stationery I had spread across a section of the dining room table. He’d arrived at the Rush house on the first night of spring break with a suitcase full of dirty laundry and a big grin on his face. As any college student would. But the week was nearly over, and he’d be flying back to New York the next day.

And I’d already handed him the last of my payments to cover Gert’s repairs, thanks to my new job at Daphne’s. I was no longer in debt to him. At least not financially.

The truth was, I owed a lot to Wesley and his family. I’d never be able to pay them back for everything they’d done for me over these past few months. And I knew they’d never let me even if I could.

“My dad,” I said, shaking out my aching wrist. “We’ve started writing letters to each other.”

Wesley sat down across from me with his bowl of cereal. His gray eyes flicked over the table, counting the pages I’d already filled. I blushed. I’d only meant to write two or three, but this letter was beginning to resemble a novel.

“Why not type it?” he asked. “It would probably be faster.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of technology for a while,” I admitted. I put down my pen, deciding to give my wrist a break. This was the most I’d handwritten in years. “Besides. This feels more personal. And I think that’s what my dad and I need right now.”

Wesley smiled. “I am rather fond of handwritten letters.”

“You write letters?”

“I wrote a couple in the past. You’re right. They are more personal.” He stared off for a minute, something wistful in his smile. Then he shook his head and focused on me again. “So everything’s going all right with you and your dad?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have him back in my life. Even if it has to be like this. And hopefully he’ll be out in a few months and … we can go from there.”

“What about your mom? Have you heard from her?”

I shook my head, and Wesley knew better than to push. Talking about Mom was still too hard. Half the time I was angry at her for leaving me, bitter and almost glad I didn’t have to live with her anymore. The other half, I was heartbroken, rejected. She was my mom, and I had no clue where she was or why she couldn’t just stay home, stay with me. Sometimes I blamed myself. Sometimes I woke up, panicked from a nightmare, sure she was hurt or dead. Maybe she was. I had no way of knowing.

But I wasn’t alone. I had the Rushes, people who knew me, who had seen every ugly part of me, and who loved me anyway. Maybe it wasn’t blood, but it was family nonetheless.

And even though it scared me to hope too much, it was starting to look like I might have my dad, too.

“So,” Wesley said after swallowing another bite of cereal. “You’ve got to catch me up. What’s been going on with you and Amy since January?”

I raised an eyebrow. “We talk to you on the phone every week.”

“Yes, but neither of you tell me anything interesting,” he said, pointing an accusatory spoon at me. “And while I’m sure your grades and your new job are fascinating, I wouldn’t mind something juicier.”

I laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and chewed another bite. “What happened with that guy you were telling me about?”

I didn’t need a mirror to know the color had just drained from my face. Leave it to Wesley to leave one uncomfortable subject only to land on another.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, picking up my pen again and hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

“That’s obviously a lie,” he said. “I thought you were taking a vow of honesty?”

I groaned. “It’s … not exactly a lie. Nothing is happening with us now.”

“Why not?”

I put the pen back down with great reluctance. “Fine, but you’re only getting the short version.” I took a deep breath, all too aware of the heavy ache in my chest. It made itself known every time I so much as thought of Ryder. “It turns out he did like me, but I ruined it. I messed things up too much, and there’s no way Ryder is going to forgive me now.”

Wesley watched me for a minute, looking like he was trying to come up with something to say. Before he could, though, there was a buzzing noise and my phone, sitting on his side of the table, began to play “Konstantine” by Something Corporate. What can I say? I’d been feeling rather emo lately.

Wesley glanced down at the screen and grinned. “You never know,” he said, sliding the phone across the table to me. “He might surprise you.”

I looked down at the display, and I almost didn’t believe the words.

Ryder Cross was calling me.

“You’d better get that,” Wesley said, still grinning. He stood up and left me alone in the dining room as, with shaking hands, I clicked the button to answer.

“H-Hello?” I choked out.

“Hey, Sonny.” It was his voice. It was soft and nervous, but it was his voice.

The weight in my chest eased a little. I didn’t know what he was going to say. He might still be mad, but if he was calling me, it was because he wanted to talk. And I had been so scared I’d never talk to him again. It felt like I’d finally gasped for air after holding my breath for too long.

“Sonny?” he said again when I didn’t answer. “This … this is Sonny, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It’s really me this time.”