Half-Truths

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  To my father—for loving me perfectly with an imperfect heart.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter 1

  “We’re going to have to bump you from first class to coach,” the bubbly brunette explained from behind the airline ticket counter. “You’ll be refunded the difference.”

  “But I have a first-class ticket,” I said politely, trying not to let my frustration show through. “I should be in first class.” It was the last $400 I had to my name. If I was going to bankrupt my savings, I planned to do it in style. “Can’t you bump someone else?”

  “You’re the last one to check in,” she continued with a smile. “That’s just how it works.” I so badly wanted to wipe that annoyingly big grin off her face. There was nothing amusing about this situation. “Next guest,” she said, motioning behind me.

  Apparently this conversation was over.

  I grabbed my oversize purse and slumped down in an uncomfortable torn pleather chair next to the Jetway. I tied up my long, honey-colored hair in a tight ponytail and slid the sunglasses down from the top of my head over my eyes. Yeah, I was indoors, but this suited my mood. This entire agonizing week of my life was falling apart quickly.

  Maybe my expectations were too big. After all, I was only twenty-three. But after giving up college for a career I was completely failing at, not to mention my crumbling relationship and the fact that I was about to be evicted from my studio apartment at the end of the month, it just felt like the world was giving up on me. Then, to top it all off, I got a call last night with news about my father’s ailing health. I just wanted to close my eyes and take a long nap, hopefully staying asleep until I was thirty and successful.

  Ooh, maybe that’s how I would strike it big—I could invent some type of hibernation capsule. You could push a button and not be let out until the world was finally ready to understand you and give you a chance.

  And that’s why my life is currently crumbling: I’m wasting all my brain power on dumb thoughts like that.

  “Get it together, Whit,” I mumbled, leaning my head back against the chair. I closed my eyes, hoping to wish this entire day away.

  My recent lack of sleep appeared to be catching up with me, and apparently I dozed off. I was startled awake by a splash of hot liquid cascading down my bare legs. I imagine I let out a squeaky, awkward scream, but I was too panicked to notice. I glanced down at my white sundress, which was now splattered with coffee. I raised my sunglasses. A tall man with short brown hair and an unkempt stubbly beard frantically rummaged through his pockets with his free non–coffee-holding hand.

  “I am so sorry,” he said sincerely. “I swear I have napkins in here somewhere.” He continued searching.

  “You keep spare napkins in your jogging pants?” I asked dryly, pointing to his thin black Under Armour attire.

  “Yeah, I always have a few napkins on me for my dog,” he stated, reaching into the small black bag he had slung over his shoulder.

  “You dump coffee on your dog that often, huh?” I snarled, not amused by this guy despite his athletic physique and flawlessly straight teeth.

  “No.” He smiled, showing off his perfectly placed dimples. Of course the clumsy jerk has a nice face. Why wouldn’t he? “The dog just has a bit of a drooling problem. Kind of like him.” He pointed to the old man sitting next to me, snoring in a deep sleep with his mouth hanging wide open.

  I couldn’t help but crack a smile, despite my annoyance at having coffee spilled all over my lap. I reached into my purse and pulled out a Kleenex. The damage was already done to my dress; there was no fixing that. I did, however, wipe the remaining drops of liquid off my tan legs. I’d had quite a bit of time in the sun lately, thanks to my very part-time, meager employment status.

  “I really am sorry. It’s a good story though, I promise,” he said reassuringly, finally locating a napkin in his bag. He held it out to me, and I proceeded to dry off my cute yet horrifically uncomfortable black heels.

  “Let me guess. You just got out of the hospital after learning to walk again, and it’s a miracle?” I speculated. “Or now that you’ve donated a kidney to an orphan in a third world country, your center of balance is off?”

  “Well, aren’t you a little bit cheeky,” he replied with an amused grin. “I like both of those options better than the real story, so pick whichever one makes me sound more noble. My name is Sawyer, by the way,” he added, taking the seat across from me. “Sawyer Grant.”

  “Oh, we’re getting acquainted now over this?” I said sarcastically. I still wanted to be irritated by this whole thing, but he had a sweet, genuine look on his face that softened me. I still, however, wasn’t in the mood to talk to handsome strangers—especially athletic ones. His running pants somehow made me feel insanely guilty about not waking up earlier in the mornings for a workout. I didn’t need that kind of pressure in my life. “Well, I’m Whitley Rose, and I’m going to the restroom now,” I stated, gathering my bag while handing him the coffee-soiled napkin. “With any luck I’ll smear this coffee stain even more, and it will look like I’ve had an unfortunate incontinence issue by the time I return. What’s not to love about that?”

  “You don’t want to hear me out? I don’t dump coffee on just anyone, you know.”

  I politely shook my head, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

  “Please, let me at least buy you a new dress,” he insisted sincerely, standing up as I did. “There has to be a gift shop in this airport that sells dresses.”

  “Thank you, but a ‘Welcome to Nashville’ dress isn’t really what I had in mind for my homecoming back to Nevada,” I teased. “Besides, I’ve already lived in Nashville for three years, and it hasn’t been all that welcoming to me,” I added before I could stop myself from rambling. I felt nervous while talking to him for some reason, though I wasn’t sure why, other than possibly the embarrassment of my soiled clothes. “I’ll suffer through it, but thanks for the offer.” I nodded courteously and made my way to the restroom. Eight paper towels and ten minutes under the hand dryer and I still had light-brown splatters on my dress, but there wasn’t much else I could do about it. Everything about this trip was already a disaster, so I suspected this wardrobe mishap was just the icing on my tasteless, dysfunctional cake. I spent another few minutes trying to pick soppy paper towel remnants off my dress, but I finally gave up once I heard the overhead speakers announce boarding for my flight.

  I grabbed my bag and h
anded the attendant my boarding pass, thankful not to run into Sawyer in the waiting area. Hopefully that meant we wouldn’t be sitting near each other. That was not what I needed.

  I boarded the plane, glancing up as soon as I stepped into the aisle. Lo and behold, my eyes locked with the same green ones I had been staring into fifteen minutes ago. Damn him. Sawyer was sitting in first class, his messy beard and jogging pants looking perfectly settled into the comfortable, cushy seat. Probably my seat. After all, I was bumped to coach for one of these smug people staring at me and my dirty dress.

  “I really am sorry for the—” he began, but I cut him off quickly.

  “Don’t mention it; it’s fine,” I huffed as I headed straight past him, walking shamefully toward the back of the plane. Excellent. Right by the stinky bathroom. This day has finally peaked for me.

  I checked my ticket, displeased to find that I was about to be smooshed into a middle seat sandwiched between two old ladies. This morning my plan was to give off some impression that I was well-off and successful, on the chance that I either ran into someone important from Nashville I could network with or, worse, in case I saw someone from back home. Instead, this travel experience was far too comparable to my regular, subpar life. Luckily I didn’t see anyone I knew on the plane heading back to Mountain Ridge, where I grew up. Also, I guess the back of the plane meant I wasn’t within earshot of Sawyer, so that was a plus. It appeared my first-class plane ticket would’ve been wasted anyway.

  “Are you traveling for work, or heading out on vacation alone?” the old woman on my right asked. The “alone” part seemed unnecessary.

  “Family emergency.” I shrugged, not really in the mood for conversation.

  “Oh, so you live in Nashville now?” she continued. “How lovely. What do you do there?”

  “I’m a songwriter,” I replied unenthusiastically. “Which means I’m a waitress. Don’t tell my mother,” I added dryly.

  Usually I explained my life to people the way my overly optimistic mother did: as a successful songwriter, working with big country music stars—dating one, in fact—with a beautiful apartment overlooking the city. On the surface, that was technically all true, which was why I never corrected her. The harsh reality, however, was less appealing. Yeah, I had a song picked up by a major label and was fortunate enough to work with some people in the industry, and yes, I could see tips of the downtown skyline from my apartment window. But my song deal collapsed, I had no celebrities lined up to work with, and my apartment faced a park where I often watched homeless men urinate, so I wasn’t exactly living the dream. And my heartthrob country-star boyfriend? That came with plenty of complications. I preferred my life story as my mom saw it, versus the stinging reality that I was nowhere close to “making it.”

  I rubbed my hazel eyes, feeling exhausted after working until three in the morning at the dive bar across the street from my apartment. I’d been working there for only about six months, and I appreciated the income, but the schedule was really wearing on me. I took a sleeping pill and shut my eyes, hoping to escape any further conversation about my disappointing life.

  Hours later, I was being nudged by the old lady on my left. “We’ve landed. Time to get up,” she said cheerfully.

  As the plane maneuvered its way to our gate, I pulled out a small compact mirror and assessed the state of my face. My eyes were a little puffy, but it wasn’t horrible. Mountain Ridge was a small beach town on the edge of Lake Tahoe. It was always full of tourists, especially since it was summer, but it was a small enough area that it felt impossible to remain unnoticed.

  I was hoping to be in town for only a week or so until my dad’s health improved. When I got the call last night, they had yet to determine the full extent of my dad’s heart failure. They needed a few more tests before they could decide on a course of action, but it seemed serious. My mother, no matter how positive she sounded about the entire thing, still had a hint of caution in her voice. It was that slight crackling in her words that had convinced me to fly all the way home for an unexpected visit. Something seemed off. I knew if my mom reached a point of worry, the situation was likely far worse than what I was being told.

  Even though I anticipated a quick trip, I doubted I would make it back to Nashville before running into at least a third of my past—some of it good, but most of it not worthy of revisiting. The only person I really wanted to see was my best friend, Brie. I would be okay without seeing a single other familiar soul besides her, my parents, and my annoying younger brother, Warren.

  As I exited the plane, I let my long hair back down, thankful for the comfort I felt over somewhat hiding my face. I made my way to the baggage claim area, unsuccessfully avoiding another run-in with the handsome jogger.

  “First class, huh?” I stated as he walked up to me, apparently waiting for bags of his own.

  “Why, do I not look the part?” he teased.

  “Well, your athletic pants and my assumption that you don’t own a razor led me to believe you were actually homeless,” I joked back.

  “Maybe I am,” he mused. “Where are the good parks to sleep at in Mountain Ridge? I’ve never been here. I prefer a firm bench though, for my back.”

  “Moonshine Park is my absolute favorite,” I replied, “but that’s my spot. So don’t even think about it.”

  “So you’re homeless too?” he said with a boyish smirk, reaching out to grab a large black suitcase from the luggage belt.

  I will be in less than two weeks when I can’t come up with my rent. My purple suitcase popped out on the carousel only a few bags behind his. I quickly grabbed it off the belt. “Only when I don’t want to stay home.” I politely grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept there.” Again with the rambling . . . It has to end. “It was nice meeting you. Enjoy your stay in Mountain Ridge.”

  I smiled and gave him a slight wave, heading away from him and out to the parking area. At least that was over. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about Sawyer that made me nervous. He was handsome, sure, but there were plenty of good-looking guys in Nashville. Looks alone weren’t enough to fluster me the way he did. He seemed like a sincere guy—maybe that’s the part that caught me off guard. He acted genuinely apologetic about the coffee mishap, though I previously learned the hard way that it wasn’t too difficult for men to fake kindness. Either way, this was surely the last of our banter. Odds of us returning on the same flight were probably less than 1 percent, according to my shoddy math, so I supposed I wouldn’t have to face anymore awkward, nervous conversation with him.

  I headed out the automatic double doors and spotted Brie’s red convertible down the way as soon as I stepped outside.

  Before I made it down to her car, however, the exact scenario I wished to avoid became a reality.

  “Whitley?” a male voice said from behind me. “Is that really you?”

  I slowly turned around, preparing myself for fake conversation with someone I barely knew from years past. Maybe an old high school acquaintance, or someone from the lifeguard or ski resort jobs I held before I left town three years ago.

  “Wesley Cartwright,” I said softly. I was pretty sure the color drained from my face.

  Of course. Not a former coworker or an old acquaintance. Just the only guy I had been madly in love with before I left. The one who gave me up. The one I moved across the country to get away from.

  And the worst part of it? He looked even better than he had the day he walked away from me.

  Chapter 2

  “I had no idea you were coming home,” he said smoothly in his familiar deep voice. His thick, dark-brown hair was short on the sides and perfectly combed on top. His light-hazel eyes looked as inviting as they did all those years ago when they pulled me in. The only thing that had changed, as luck would have it, was his broad chest. He always had an athletic build, but his arms and torso looked so much bigger and firmer than I remembered. He no longer looked like the uncertain, love-struck boy I
once knew.

  “I didn’t expect to be back; it was last minute,” I began, not sure how much more I wanted to say. “I’ll probably be here only a day or two. A week tops. Are you coming back from somewhere?”

  “Yeah, just a bachelor party in Vegas.” He shrugged. “You remember Joe Moreland? He’s getting married next month.”

  “You still hang out with those guys?” I asked with an amused expression. It seemed like so much time had passed. I wasn’t really sure who all stayed in touch anymore.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? Not much has changed around here for the rest of us.” He grinned. He had such a kind face, yet I still heard a hint of animosity in his voice. The last thing I needed on this quick trip home was to be reminded of everything I left.

  Two arms reached out from behind me, embracing me in a tight hug. I could tell by the high-pitched squeal that it was Brie.

  “Look at you two together. It’s just like the good ol’ days when I was always the unwelcome third wheel,” she teased. Her short blonde hair framed her face perfectly, and her electric smile looked just like it did when we met as seven-year-olds. I turned around and hugged her tight, thankful for the interruption. “Do you need a ride, Wes?” she asked politely. My brain begged him to say no.

  “Thanks, but I have a ride.” He smiled, nodding courteously at both of us. “Nice to see you though, Whit. It’s been too long.” He flashed an innocent smile, and we hugged awkwardly as I vowed to forget the way his firm arms felt wrapped around me. “If you need anything, my number’s still the same,” he said sweetly as I pulled away.

  The guilt I held on to wanted me to believe it was an insult, like I wouldn’t know if it was the same number or not, since it had been years since I dialed it. But that was the thing about Wes: he was one of the most genuine people I knew. Despite the way we left things years ago, I was certain he meant those words.

  “Oh, and, Brie, don’t forget about Nathan’s bonfire next week. If you’re still in town, Whit, you should come by. Maybe we can catch up.” He nodded again with a casually confident smile and turned away, swinging his black duffel bag over his shoulder. He climbed into the passenger side of a dark SUV, and I couldn’t help but wonder who was driving.