Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [124]
“You lied, Grace,” he said, his voice no longer so quiet. Getting a bit loud, in fact, and one could even say rather angry. “I can’t believe this! You lied to me! You’ve been lying for months! I asked you if you were done with that guy, and you said you weren’t seeing him anymore!”
“And I wasn’t, right?” My nervous laugh came out like a dry heave. “Yes, right. I lied. I did. It was a mistake, probably.”
“Probably?” he barked.
“Okay, it was definitely a mistake! I admit it, it was stupid and immature and I shouldn’t have done it, but my back was against the wall, Cal!”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Grace.” His voice was flat and calm. “You’re a great liar. I did suspect, you’re right. But you convinced me. Well done.”
Youch. I took a quick breath. “Cal, listen. It was juvenile. I know that. But cut me some slack here.”
“You lied to me, Grace. You lied to just about everyone you know!” He jammed a hand through his hair and turned away from me. My temper started to bubble. It wasn’t that bad. No one was hurt. In fact, it’s fair to say that my lie spared people from worrying over poor tragic Grace who was dumped. I know it had made me feel better.
“Callahan, look,” I said more calmly. “I did a stupid thing, I admit it. And I hate to be the one to tell you this, Callahan, but people are flawed. Sometimes they do dopey things, especially around people they love. Surely you’ve heard of such occasions.”
This earned me another glare, but he remained silent. No slack, no understanding, no sympathy. And so, alas, I continued talking, my voice rising.
“I mean, come on, Cal. You’re not perfect, either. Remember? You yourself did a stupid thing to protect someone you loved. I have to say, it’s a little ironic, getting a morality lecture from you, of all people!”
“And just what does that mean?” he asked, his mouth tight.
“It means you’re the ex-con who covered up a crime for his brother and just got out of clink two months ago!”
Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. His face went from tight to completely furious. And calm. It was a horrible combination.
“Grace,” he said quietly, standing up. “I can’t believe I was so wrong about you.”
It was like a punch in the heart. I jolted out of my chair, standing in front of him, my eyes flooding with tears. “Wait a second, Callahan. Please.” I took a deep breath. “I’d think that you of all people would understand. We were both doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“You’re not over Andrew,” he stated.
“I most certainly am over Andrew,” I said, my voice shaking. I was. And it killed me that he didn’t believe that.
“You lied so people would think you were, and you kept lying, and you’re still lying, and you don’t even see that there’s something wrong with this picture, do you?” Cal stared at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at me. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter. “You’re lying to your family, Grace, and you lied to me.” He dragged his eyes up to mine. “I’m leaving now. And just in case it’s not clear, we’re done.”
He didn’t slam the door. Worse, he closed it quietly behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“THIS IS, LIKE, SO LAME.” Kerry’s expression combined disgust, incredulity and martyrdom the way only a teenager’s could.
“I thought we got to ride horses,” Mallory whined. “You said we were in the cavalry. That guy has a horse. Why can’t I have a horse?”
“Picture us dismounted,” I said tightly. Suffice it to say, my mood over the past forty-eight hours had been poor at best.
My righteous indignation had faded about ten minutes after Callahan had closed the door with such finality, leaving hot shards of shock flashing across an echoing emptiness. Callahan O’Shea, who thought I was beautiful and funny, who smelled of wood and sun, didn’t want anything more to do with me.
Last night, despite Julian and Margaret’s best efforts to distract me with a Project Runway Season 1 DVD marathon and mango martinis, I’d sat in a daze of self-disgust, not eating, not drinking, tears leaking out of my eyes as Tim Gunn urged on the troops in