Read Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) for Free Online Page B

belonged somewhere.
    Once the water turns lukewarm, I get out and dressed. Since I’m not hungry enough to cook, I curl up on the couch with a bag of chips.
    When I start dozing, I drag my ass off the sofa and up into the sleeper loft. There’s a bedroom on the main level, or I could have just crashed on the couch but the loft may be my favorite place on earth.
    There’s a ladder, a sturdy one with a decent angle so it isn’t scary, behind the woodstove. It overlooks the open-style living and dining rooms and covers the back half of the cabin.
    There’s one long low set of drawers that run along one side. There’s enough space to pull the drawers open but otherwise, the rest of the loft is one giant bed with a feather top. At the back wall, the one opposite of the opening, is a circular window.
    Growing up, it reminded me of the windows on a boat. I would pretend I was a pirate and the loft was my ship. If it were raining, like it is now, I’d imagine my ship was being tossed about in a mighty storm.
    Things were much simpler when I didn’t have to worry about broken hearts and whether to forgive the one who broke it. It seems silly to be this upset over what amounted to a week of fooling around.
    The part that hurts the most, that is making it so difficult to get over it, was it felt so real to me. So real that I thought Heath was falling for me. If I forgive him and give him another chance, how will I know what’s real or not real if I didn’t before?
     

 
     
    “Where is she?” I ask, not bothering to sit, but instead, stepping to stand between two stools.
    Gigi’s brows pinch together in apparent confusion. “Who?”
    Her question is part tease part insult. She knows exactly who I’m looking for.
    “Sydney. Her bug is gone and her phone is going straight to voice mail,” I reply.
    She shrugs. “I’m not her keeper.”
    Leaning toward her, my weight on my elbow, I say, “But you are her boss so she’d tell you where she was going.”
    She shrugs again, this time with a Cheshire cat-like smile. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.”
    “Please,” I murmur. “Tell me where she is.”
    She moves to stand directly across the counter from me, her hands on her hips. “Why should I, Heathcliff?”
    “I need to talk to her.”
    She tilts her head to one side, her gaze moving over my face in a blatant evaluation. “You talked to her yesterday.”
    That confirms my suspicion that she’s shared our issues with her grandmother. My throat tightens and I fight the desire to drop my eyes to my feet. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, facing accusation in someone you admire.
    I’ve been coming to Lola’s my whole life. Gigi has always been good to me and has been especially kind to my mom since she’s been sick. Shame. It’s a solid weight in my gut. There’s only one person who can free me from it, and she’s nowhere to be found.
    “I don’t know what she’s told you but she has every right to hate me. That isn’t going to stop me from trying to get her to forgive me.”
    She nods, her expression staying blank. Gigi Fairlane isn’t making this easy for me; she’s not going to give me an inch.
    “When she is ready to talk to you, she will let you know,” she replies.
    “Where did she go? When is she coming back?” That weight in my gut twists. “Is she coming back?”
    She shrugs again, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she turns to walk away.
    Over her shoulder, she murmurs. “Is she worth waiting for?”
    Yes.
    I keep that to myself. She’s the one who needs to hear that, not the breakfast crowd at Lola’s.
    It’s pointless to stay there since Sydney is somewhere else. On Saturdays, I’ve been going to my mom and dad’s place to sit with her.
    I was eight years old when I learned the name for why my mom saw so many doctors, primary pulmonary hypertension. The arteries of her lungs didn’t work as they should have. They made her heart have to work harder to