Truth Game : Ocean Bay #3 Read online

  With that, The Script's Hall of Fame blasted from the speaker.

  I sat on her bedroom floor and listened carefully to the lyrics she had chosen for me. Did she really think this about me? A shiver racked through my body as I absorbed the lyrics. Did she have that kind of belief in my ability to make a future for myself?

  "Every word," Molly whispered, seemingly answering my unspoken thoughts.

  When it was my turn again to choose a song for her, I didn't have to think about it.

  The moment the lyrics of Nickelback's Far Away drifted from the little speaker, Molly flushed.

  "Every word," I offered, repeating her earlier words. It was the only song I could play her that could explain everything I was feeling since she burst back into my life.

  "Okay," she whispered, when the song had ended. "I think I've officially found a new favorite song."

  I arched a brow. "So, I did good?"

  She grinned back at me. "You sure did."

  "Good enough that you'll go to the dance with me?"

  She chuckled. "Not a chance."

  I sighed wearily, exhausted from being repeatedly turned down by this girl. "Come on, Dolly. Be my date for homecoming."

  "I already told you that I'm not going to homecoming, D."

  "You're being pointlessly pessimistic about the situation."

  "And you're being pointlessly persistent."

  "It's happening."

  "In your dreams."

  I shook my head, deciding against pushing her for more than she was ready to give. "I found something else when I was searching through Mama's photo albums," I said, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans. "Fair warning, though," I added. "It's fucking horrifically embarrassing."

  Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Gimme, gimme."

  Retrieving the folded-up photograph, I handed it to her and watched as she carefully unfolded it. "Oh my god," she laughed, eyes glued to the memory that I had no doubt she was reliving. "The fancy dress parade. We went together. I remember this!" Her eyes danced with amusement. "Our mothers coordinated our outfits so that we matched –"

  "Don't remind me," I muttered, shuddering at the photograph of us clad from head to toe in denim, with cowboy boots and Stetsons to match. We had our arms draped around each other and were beaming for the camera. Written on a cardboard cut-out draped around Molly's neck, were the words 'This King's little Queen of the south.'

  "Jesus," I muttered, scratching my jaw. "White trash much?"

  "Totally," she snickered. "What was the name of that song we learned how to slow dance to? The one we practiced for weeks to get right?" Her brows furrowed as her brain went into overdrive, hunting down the memory. "That's right," she squealed, choking out a laugh. "It was Garth Brooks' Two of a Kind…"

  "That's the one," I added in reluctant admission. Hence the cushion stuffed under Molly's shirt, and the cardboard sign on my chest with the arrow pointing to her belly that said 'Working on a full house'.

  "Oh, come on," she teased, laughing. "We won the best dressed at the barn dance afterwards, remember?"

  "Because our mamas dressed us up like a couple of guests from the Jerry Springer show."

  She laughed. "Look at my jean skirt."

  I smirked. "Never mind the skirt, Molls. Look at your pig-tails."

  "Wow." She grinned. "Our parents really hated us, huh?"

  Tell me about it…

  "Okay. Get up. We have to do it again."

  "What?"

  Climbing to her feet, Molly danced over to her iPod and tapped at the screen. A moment later, Garth Brooks' Two of a Kind began to waft from the speaker. "Get up," she repeated, crooking her finger. "Dance with me."

  "What – here?"

  "Here." Nodding, she grinned. "Let's see if we can remember the routine."

  "Oh, hell no." I shook my head. "You must be high as Everest right now if you even think –"

  "Need I remind you that I'm your queen of the south, Daryl King," she cut me off by saying. "You owe me. Now get your butt up and dance with me."

  "Jesus Christ," I grumbled, slowly pulling myself to my feet. "You're losing your damn mind, Dolly."

  Still, I did as she asked. Why? I had no fucking clue, but this girl had a weird sort of hold on me. One look at those big, brown eyes, and I was willing to make a fool of myself all over again for her.

  Always for her.

  Moving into position, I clamped a hand on her hip and pulled her close.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she breathed, when I closed the space between us and pulled her little body flush against mine, heart bucking wildly in my chest.

  "I'm doing what you told me to do," I replied, placing one of her small hands on my shoulder before claiming the other with my big hand. "Dance, Dolly. Move your feet."

  "This isn't how I remember it going," she strangled out, tentatively moving her body against mine. "This feels different. You…feel different."

  "That's because we're not six years old anymore," I replied, repressing the glorious fucking shiver threatening to roll through me at the feel of her pressed so close to me. "You're not a little girl anymore, Molly-Dolly." I tightened my hold on her small frame, pulling her so close that I could feel her heart hammering against mine. "And I'm a grown man now."

  "Yeah." She exhaled shakily and pressed her little frame against mine. "We're all grown."

  "You're still cute as a button," I told her, chuckling when she scrunched her nose up in disgust. "You are," I defended when she began to protest. "Fucking adorable."

  "I'm supposed to be a woman, D," she growled, which only made her sound even more adorable. "Grown women aren’t cute. Grown women are sexy."

  "Oh, don’t worry, Molls," I replied huskily. "You're definitely that, too."

  She blushed and a little tremor rolled through her. "Don't."

  "Don't what – don’t tell you that you're sexy?" Chests flush together, we continued to sway to the music. "Well, too bad, because you are."

  Her breath escaped her in an audible puff. "D…"

  "So fucking sexy." I knew I was, once again, barreling head first over the lines of our relationship that Molly had carefully erected, but needing her to know how goddamn beautiful she was seemed far more important to me in this moment. Besides, I'd already blurred those lines a time or two. "You can feel me right now, can't you?" I asked, thrusting my hips against hers.

  "Yes," she whispered, cheeks pink. "I can feel you."

  "That's happening because you're so fucking sexy," was all I could say before I closed the space between us and pressed my lips to hers.

  The minute our lips touched, I felt a volcano of emotion and feeling erupt inside of me.

  Like crack, I needed a little something to take off the edge.

  I needed a taste, dammit.

  Just one small taste and I would stop, I would pull back from the edge and be satisfied with that.

  Fuck it; who was I kidding? The only way that I was pulling away from this girl was if she pushed me away.

  Regrettably, that was exactly what happened next.

  "D, wait…" Molly panted, stopping the kiss, and taking a safe step backwards, breaking the contact. "Wh-why did you do that?"

  Fuck if I knew anymore.

  I couldn't fucking breathe when I was around this girl, and could breathe even less when I wasn't.

  Jesus, I couldn't think straight anymore.

  "I…" Shaking my head, I attempted to form a coherent sentence, but my words had abandoned me, right along with my tact and common sense. My heart was gunning like a hammer in my chest, knocking wildly against my ribcage. "Because I wanted to?"

  Lame, dude.

  Fucking lame.

  Her frown depended. "But why did you want to?"

  "Because you're my best friend…" I scratched my head, feeling exposed. "And you're sort of the apple of my eye." Jesus. I was pathetic. I looked at her nervously. "And I wanted to make you feel good about yourself."

  I clear
ly said the wrong fucking thing because Molly's entire expression caved into a look of utter devastation. "Wanted to make me feel good about myself," she mumbled, eyes lonesome. "Because you're a good friend and know I struggle with my self-esteem."

  I scratched my head, at a loss of what the fuck to say to that. "I'm, uh…sorry?"

  "No, don’t be sorry." Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. "It's okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "I won't do it again," I offered then, feeling at a loss. I didn't know if she was pissed or pleased about the kiss. I couldn't read her and that made me wary.

  I'd never been turned down by a girl in my life, but she wasn't just any girl.

  She was the girl.

  My girl.

  Fuck me…

  "I just… I got caught up in my head for a sec. But it was wrong. I don't want to twist things up between us." I watched her carefully, trying and failing to gauge her reaction. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen." Fuck.

  "Yeah," she replied, looking a little deflated. "That's probably best."

  "Do you want me to go?"

  "Do you want to go?"

  No.

  "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Molls."

  Her brown eyes burned holes through mine when she whispered, "I want you to stay with me."

  Relief flooded my body and I nodded. "Then I'll stay with you."

  Until the end.

  15 Molly

  Daryl didn't kiss me again, and I couldn't decide if I was mildly disappointed about it or completely devastated.

  Most of the time, I didn’t know how to act around him, because I wasn’t sure of his feelings.

  Well, I knew Daryl liked me, but I wasn’t entirely sure how deep that like went. Did he like me the way a guy liked the girl he grew up with, or did it run deeper?

  Did he like me the way I liked him; the way-more-than-just-bordering-on-love kind of like?

  I wanted to be brave enough to ask him straight out. To be the kind of girl who wasn’t afraid of a guy's rejection. I wanted to be the girl he proudly announced as his girl. I wanted to be the one wearing his jersey on Friday nights. I wanted to scream from the rooftops that Daryl King belonged to me just as much now as he had when we were kids.

  However, my uncertainty and lack of confidence was crippling. I couldn't see why he would want to be with me, and that made me question everything. It made me retreat and find comfort and safety in the friend zone.

  One thing I had noticed since our reunion was how incredibly professional he was when we weren't alone. It was almost like his entire life was scripted. He had a polite and respectful, albeit rehearsed, response for every question he was asked at school or in town. He truly had been conditioned for the stars.

  The big time…

  The thought caused a surge of panic to rise inside of me.

  Was I contributing to my own heart break by falling in so deep with him?

  Could I let him go when the time came?

  Could I survive the loss a second time?

  You don't have a choice…

  Instead of allowing myself to brood and dwell on my fears, doubts and insecurities, I concentrated on how good it felt to spend time with him, and appreciate just how happy he made me feel. Being with him almost felt like I had reclaimed the comfort blanket of my youth, the one that wrapped itself tightly around my body, keeping me safe from harm.

  It was an addicting feeling.

  He was addicting, and I never wanted to let go again.

  Knowing that I would eventually have to let him go wasn't nearly as depressing as the sight of Daryl's bruised torso when he climbed through my window a couple of nights later.

  The moment he yanked his shirt over his head and my eyes landed on the marring on his golden skin, a surge of outrage flooded through every molecule in my body.

  He could explain away his injuries to the rest of the town, put it all down to football, but not me.

  Never me.

  I knew where those bruises came from.

  I knew who put those marks on his body.

  I'd been seeing those exact same marks on his skin since kindergarten.

  Wretched.

  "D…"

  "Don't say it," Daryl pleaded quietly, as he kicked off his sneakers and stripped down to his boxers. "Please. I'm so tired, Dolly. I can't talk because if I talk, I'll fight, and I can't fight anymore. I've got nothing left in me tonight."

  Helpless, I could do nothing but push back the covers and welcome him into the sanctuary of my bed.

  Desperate to shield him from the world, I waited for him to climb into my bed before curling my body around his.

  "I hate him so fucking much," he finally broke the silence by saying. "Fuck." A deep shudder racked through his too-still body, and then his arms were pulling me closer. "Fuck!"

  "Why do you stay there, D?" I strangled out, wrapping my arms around him. "With him? You're eighteen now. You can leave. He can't stop you –"

  "Yeah, he can," he choked out, burying his face in my neck. "He's got power over me, Molls. Too much fucking power. I can't count the number of part-time jobs that bastard stole from underneath me. One word from the town sheriff and I'm unemployable. He keeps me down so I can't finance a way out from under his roof. And even if I could, I'm too fucking scared of risking him messing with my scholarship to leave."

  My heart broke for him.

  "Jesus Christ, I want out of here so damn bad –" His voice cracked and he pulled me so close that my lips pressed against the bare skin of his chest. "One day soon, I'm getting out of this town, and I ain't never coming the fuck back."

  Clenching my eyes shut, I tightened my arms around his back, feeling his heart beat wildly in his chest, as we both drowned in his pain. I'd heard his helpless vow on countless occasions down through the years.

  "Don't leave without me, 'kay?" I whispered.

  Daryl pulled me closer and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of my head. "I won't."

  16 Molly

  "So, what's happening with you and Daryl?" Mercy asked, as she rummaged around in my closet.

  It was the Wednesday before homecoming and we were tearing my bedroom apart, looking for something for her to wear.

  "When I told him that I was driving you home from school today, he looked like he wanted to throttle me."

  I felt my face heat up at the mention of his name. I hadn't told Mercy about what happened between me and Daryl.

  Several weeks had passed, and I still couldn't acknowledge it to myself let alone tell another person.

  "Nothing," I replied with a dismissive shrug. "He just wanted to hang out is all."

  "He just wanted to hang out? When don't you guys hang out?"

  "It's not like that."

  "It's not?" she quipped. "Seriously, does he even go home anymore? Or does he live here now?"

  "What? Of course he doesn't live here."

  "Then what's his duffel bag doing in the corner of your room?"

  My cheeks flamed. "He just…keeps some stuff here."

  "You know, for a girl who seems to know the whole town's secrets, you do one hell of a job at hiding your own."

  It was easy to know people's secrets if you watched from the sidelines like I did. People never worried about me overhearing their conversations because to most people in this town, I was invisible.

  "Daryl wants me to go to the dance with him," I offered, feeling like I needed to give her something. "Homecoming, I mean."

  She twisted around to face me. "As in a date?"

  "No." I shook my head. "As friends."

  "Uh-huh," she drawled, not looking convinced. "Are you sure about that, Molls? Because the way I catch him looking at you when he thinks no one's watching screams anything but platonic."

  "We're just friends," I sighed. "That's all."

  "Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "You guys are just friends and I'm Katy freaking Perry."

  Thankfully, Mercy's attent
ion switched to something in the back of my closet then, saving me from anymore awkwardness.

  "Oh wow! This dress is gorgeous." Dragging a full-length, blood-red, fish-tail style dress from the closet, she held it up to her chest. "I think this is the one."

  It definitely was. "You have to wear it."

  Guilt filled in her eyes. "But what about you? It still has the price tag on it – oh my fucking god!" she gasped, gaze flicking to the price tag. "Twelve-hundred dollars for a dress? Are you insane?"

  "What can I say?" I shrugged. "I have a healthy inheritance and online shopping is my guilty pleasure."

  "But you haven't even worn this dress yet, Molls."

  "I haven't worn any of the clothes in there," I replied, pointing to the packed rails in my closet.

  "Now I feel bad."

  "Don't," I told her. "You're right. That dress is gorgeous and it deserves to be worn."

  "By you," she pushed.

  "No." I shook my head. "I'm an appreciator of beautiful dresses. I don't wear them."

  "You are so beautiful," Mercy replied sadly. "Inside and out. I wish you could see that."

  "That's what I've been saying," a familiar voice said from behind us.

  Startled, I swung around to find Daryl standing in the doorway of my bedroom.

  The minute my eyes landed on him, my damn heart went batshit inside of my chest, beating and bucking around like a rave was taking place behind my ribcage.

  "Don't mean to interrupt," Daryl offered, looking a little comfortable. "I just, ah…" Clearing his throat, he strode over to my bed and grabbed his wallet off the nightstand. "Got it."

  "Hey, D," I called after him. "If you're going to the store after practice, can you grab –"

  "Milk? It's already on the list, Molls."

  "And some –"

  "Captain Crunch," he filled in with a wink.

  I blushed. "Yeah."

  Smirking to himself, he moved for the door. "See you later, Molls."

  "Bye, D," Mercy mimicked in a girly tone of voice.

  "Later, sissy."

  "Uh-huh," Mercy mused, when he was gone. "Just friends." She waggled her brows and grinned. "Gotcha."