Read Online Pull (Push #2) by Claire Wallis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Wallis
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closely.
“That’s good,” she says when I finish talking. “That’s really good.”
“I also asked him not to bring it up too much with you. I told him that you just needed to put the whole thing behind you.”
Her expression hardens a bit, then she rolls over and sits up on the edge of her bed. She’s turned away from me so I can’t see her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re a very good liar,” she says quietly, just as she’s turning her head to look down at me. “I mean, you’re good at inventing lies like that. And that’s a little scary for me. You know how much I hate lies. I told you before that lies are the only thing that could ever end us, and I meant it. Promise me the story you told Matt will be the last piece of the old you I’ll ever see.”
“I had to lie to Matt. I didn’t have a choice.” I sit up and put my hands on her shoulders, needing her to see that it’s the truth. “If he knew why you were really up on that bridge…”
“I know,” she says. “I know this lie was for me and not to me, but still…it isn’t easy for me to swallow.”
“I lied to protect you. To protect us .” She must see that.
“I know why you did it,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She gets up out of bed, and I watch her walk out of the room. She is halfway out the doorway when she turns to me and adds, “But thank you for taking care of Matt. And of me.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
After I walk Emma to the bus stop and watch her take a seat on the 61C, I call myself a cab. I need to go to the city impound to pick up my car. Everything had better still be in it. I know the dickheads who work there steal all kinds of crap from people’s cars.
If even one single fucking thing is missing from my car…
The cabbie drops me off, and I walk inside. For some reason, I thought the lot would be filled with easy-to-jack grandma cars, but instead, there are perfect rows of pimped-up sports cars, spotless SUVs, pick-up trucks, and assorted expensive sedans. All proof that having a fancy-ass car does not make you immune to parking fines, drug busts, property seizures, and DUIs. Except for my old red BMW at the end of one of the rows and a few smashed-up cars waiting for a tow to the body shop, the place looks like Douchebag Central.
The guy working the desk is, in fact, a dickhead. When I try to lighten things up by cracking a joke about how they should base their release fee on how expensive the car is, he barely nods in my direction. I pay the two hundred seventeen dollars and sign a few papers. He asks if I’ve got a key or if he needs to call me a tow truck. I put my hand in my pocket, hook my spare key ring around my middle finger, and pull it out. I raise my key-laden middle finger to him and thank him for his friendly assistance. If he didn’t steal anything out of my car, I bet now he wishes he had.
I walk to my car, and when I get there, I silently thank the dickheads for putting up all the windows. Or maybe it was Officer Warren who did it. Either way, I’m grateful that they’re closed. I have to use the spare to unlock the door, even though my key ring is sitting in the middle of the front seat. Before I can even open the door, my eyes scan the car, looking for what I left behind. I see Emma’s purse sitting on the floor of the front seat. I see my phone propped in one of the cup holders. And behind the driver’s seat, on the floor, I see an upside-down backpack.
I open the driver’s side door and pop all the locks. I reach over the console and grab my phone, shoving it into my front pocket. Then I open the back door and flip over the backpack. Fuck. What kind of a stupid asshat uses a monogrammed backpack? I reach into my pocket and pull out my Leatherman, flipping it open quickly. I use the blade to cut a square of canvas from the backpack. As I strike my
“That’s good,” she says when I finish talking. “That’s really good.”
“I also asked him not to bring it up too much with you. I told him that you just needed to put the whole thing behind you.”
Her expression hardens a bit, then she rolls over and sits up on the edge of her bed. She’s turned away from me so I can’t see her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re a very good liar,” she says quietly, just as she’s turning her head to look down at me. “I mean, you’re good at inventing lies like that. And that’s a little scary for me. You know how much I hate lies. I told you before that lies are the only thing that could ever end us, and I meant it. Promise me the story you told Matt will be the last piece of the old you I’ll ever see.”
“I had to lie to Matt. I didn’t have a choice.” I sit up and put my hands on her shoulders, needing her to see that it’s the truth. “If he knew why you were really up on that bridge…”
“I know,” she says. “I know this lie was for me and not to me, but still…it isn’t easy for me to swallow.”
“I lied to protect you. To protect us .” She must see that.
“I know why you did it,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She gets up out of bed, and I watch her walk out of the room. She is halfway out the doorway when she turns to me and adds, “But thank you for taking care of Matt. And of me.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
After I walk Emma to the bus stop and watch her take a seat on the 61C, I call myself a cab. I need to go to the city impound to pick up my car. Everything had better still be in it. I know the dickheads who work there steal all kinds of crap from people’s cars.
If even one single fucking thing is missing from my car…
The cabbie drops me off, and I walk inside. For some reason, I thought the lot would be filled with easy-to-jack grandma cars, but instead, there are perfect rows of pimped-up sports cars, spotless SUVs, pick-up trucks, and assorted expensive sedans. All proof that having a fancy-ass car does not make you immune to parking fines, drug busts, property seizures, and DUIs. Except for my old red BMW at the end of one of the rows and a few smashed-up cars waiting for a tow to the body shop, the place looks like Douchebag Central.
The guy working the desk is, in fact, a dickhead. When I try to lighten things up by cracking a joke about how they should base their release fee on how expensive the car is, he barely nods in my direction. I pay the two hundred seventeen dollars and sign a few papers. He asks if I’ve got a key or if he needs to call me a tow truck. I put my hand in my pocket, hook my spare key ring around my middle finger, and pull it out. I raise my key-laden middle finger to him and thank him for his friendly assistance. If he didn’t steal anything out of my car, I bet now he wishes he had.
I walk to my car, and when I get there, I silently thank the dickheads for putting up all the windows. Or maybe it was Officer Warren who did it. Either way, I’m grateful that they’re closed. I have to use the spare to unlock the door, even though my key ring is sitting in the middle of the front seat. Before I can even open the door, my eyes scan the car, looking for what I left behind. I see Emma’s purse sitting on the floor of the front seat. I see my phone propped in one of the cup holders. And behind the driver’s seat, on the floor, I see an upside-down backpack.
I open the driver’s side door and pop all the locks. I reach over the console and grab my phone, shoving it into my front pocket. Then I open the back door and flip over the backpack. Fuck. What kind of a stupid asshat uses a monogrammed backpack? I reach into my pocket and pull out my Leatherman, flipping it open quickly. I use the blade to cut a square of canvas from the backpack. As I strike my
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