A Thousand Perfect Lies

Chapter One

“Hey, babe. Gimme another beer.”

One of the cheesy tourists from Tennessee has a leer on his somewhat handsome face that makes me want to roll my eyes, but I contain myself.

He came into the bar with his friends to watch college football on a Saturday afternoon, and they’re loud.

Obnoxious. They can’t stop checking me out, either.

Why are they all like this—flirtatious to the point of unbearable?

I need every dollar I can get, so I flash him a smile. “Coming right up.”

I head toward the bar, where Doug, the owner of this fine establishment, has already placed a fresh bottle for my customer on the counter. I offer him a grateful smile, and he lifts a whiskered brown chin in acknowledgment.

I set the bottle on my tray before I head over to the table where the three pretty-faced college boys sit. Their focus is stuck on the big-screen TV playing the game, one of them shouting a string of curse words when the ball gets intercepted.

“Got a lot of money riding on this,” the one who ordered the beer mutters as he checks his phone. I can tell he’s on one of those online betting sites.

I deliver the beer in front of him, making sure I bend over the table as I do, flashing them a boob shot thanks to the deep V of my T-shirt. Anything to get tips.

Two out of the three notice, their gazes now glued to my chest. So typical.

“Thanks,” the other guy mumbles, finally giving me his attention.

“Need anything else?” I glance toward the TV and see the game is almost over. Meaning these customers are going to leave soon, and I hope they give me a decent tip. But they’re young and probably not big spenders, despite what their popped collars and chunky silver watches would have me believe.

“No thanks,” one of them tells me, his tone dismissive. I guess tits are less fun to ogle once the mouth above them starts talking.

I leave their table and head back to the bar, setting my tray on the counter with a too-loud clang. Doug joins me, sucking his teeth like he always does when he’s about to complain. “It’s slow today.”

Nodding, I glance about the space, noting the empty tables.

A couple of regulars sit at the other end of the bar, continuously sipping from their drinks while also watching the game.

Not that they care what’s on the TV. They’re here every single day, rain or shine, game or no game.

I can’t imagine this sort of life. Shuffling into the same dingy bar day in and day out. Talk about depressing.

Despite the lackluster crowd, I’m still a bundle of nerves, trying to build up the courage to tell Doug this is my last shift.

Most of the time, I feel like it’s a pity position anyway, but I don’t like the thought of leaving him high and dry.

I’m a lot of not-nice things, but unreliable isn’t one of them. I’ve never had the luxury.

“How’s your mom?” The sympathy in Doug’s voice is obvious.

Long ago, when I was a little kid, they used to date.

Back then, she was a mostly functioning adult and not a complete mess like she is now.

Doug came into our lives and paid attention to me, unlike Mom’s other boyfriends.

Treated me like I was his own kid. Showered me with attention and gifts, but never in a creepy way. No, more like he actually cared.

Until Mom ruined everything and accused him of cheating on her.

Doug’s not a cheater. His mistress is this bar.

He has to work constantly to keep up with his bills and doesn’t employ much of a staff.

When I came to him a year ago desperate for a job, he reluctantly gave me one, even though at seventeen, I’m not technically old enough to work in a bar.

He pays me under the table in cash, which I really appreciate as well.

“She’s doing okay,” I lie.

It’s easier than telling him the truth and admitting she’s in bad shape.

That an opportunity arose for her to go back to rehab, and I don’t have the strength to turn it down, even if it means I have to drop everything and fly halfway around the world.

Hard as I’ve tried, I can’t crush the hope that maybe this time it’ll stick.

Maybe this time she’ll want to get better. Do better.

Doug’s gaze is assessing, never straying from mine. He sees too much—always has. It makes me want to squirm, but I keep still. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” My voice is firm, but he looks like he wants to argue. When the door slams, the tension breaks and we both glance toward the entrance. The college guys are gone, their table a mess, a couple of soggy dollars left behind.

I fight the disappointment that threatens to swallow me whole and turn back to Doug.

But I guess if there’s enough disappointment to go around, I might as well share it.

I paste on a bright smile and dive in. “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, but …

I’m leaving town for a few months. You’ll have to find someone to cover my shifts. ”

He gives me a look, one that says he hopes I’ve finally decided to leave. He hates my life almost as much as I do. His voice rises with interest. “A few months? Where you going?”

If he was anyone else, I’d tell him it’s none of his damn business. “Um, I’m going to go see Peter.”

Doug’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Really?”

I nod, knowing how absurd it sounds. Why would I suddenly cross an ocean to spend time with the sperm donor who abandoned me and Mom? Frankly, Doug’s been more of a father figure to me than Peter ever was. “He says he wants us to have a relationship.”

Lies. All lies.

The truth? Peter Vale has a problem, and he thinks I’m the only person who can solve it.

In exchange for my help, I demanded he put Mom in rehab.

It’s the one way I can justify giving anything to a man who has not only given me nothing—he’s actively stolen from me.

Because if it weren’t for him, Mom would never have lost herself at the bottom of a bottle.

He owes her this.

He owes me this.

And he agreed, but with demands of his own.

We traded terms back and forth like lawyers, not like blood relatives trying to mend fences.

In the end, he agreed to my two non-negotiables: Mom in rehab and our rent paid for the next three months.

He made all the arrangements. Now I have to leave. Tonight.

Glancing around the room, Doug pulls his not-so-secret pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter and lights up, taking a deep drag before blowing out the smoke. “You sure you’re not getting scammed?”

“By who? Peter?” Probably, but I’m scamming him, too. “Nah, he needs me this time.”

“Well, just take care of yourself. You came in last in the parent lottery.” Doug’s opinion of my parents isn’t the best, and I get why. “I always wanted something better for you, Billie. Leaving is probably best, you know? As long as you don’t end up somewhere worse than here.”

“Don’t worry about me.” My smile is weak. “I’ve got this. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulls out his ashtray and taps the cigarette against the edge, sullying the chipped white dish with a streak of ash. “Just—be careful, Billie. Feels like no one is watching out for you.”

No one is, I want to tell him, but instead I offer a shallow nod and reach around to untie the black apron I wear when I’m working. “I have to go.”

“You give me notice and then leave immediately?” The hurt in his voice almost undoes me. Doug doesn’t do feelings—he does sarcasm and bar tabs. He looks like he wants to say more but can’t figure out how.

I reach up, twist the thin silver hoop in my nose, and pretend not to notice.

Pretending helps us both. “Not like you’re swamped.

” I wave a hand at the near-empty bar, then head for the back and grab my bag, tossing my apron in the laundry bin for the last time.

I nearly miss, and it hangs over the edge like I feel—half in, half out, not sure where I belong.

A minute later, Doug pushes his way through the swinging door.

“I need to pay you,” he says, voice gruff. He heads over to the small safe he keeps next to the rickety old desk and taps at the keypad, opening it with a click. Within seconds he’s standing in front of me, a fistful of cash clutched between his fingers.

“That looks like too much,” I start, but he shoves it in front of my face, cutting me off.

“Take it, Billie. Not like I’ve got anywhere to spend it.”

“Maybe on rent?” The temptation to grab the cash and run out of the building is strong. It’s definitely more than I’ve earned in the last week.

“I’ve got that covered. Just take the damn money.

You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a kid, and—” There’s an odd shine in Doug’s eyes.

“I just want you to be okay.” Before things get too deep, which will make both of us want to crawl out of our skin, I grab the money and stuff the wad in my backpack.

“Thank you.” I check my phone, and my chest tightens. I need to leave. “I gotta go. See ya around, Doug.”

For a second, we just stand there—both of us knowing this goodbye is more than it seems. I half-lift my hand, not sure if I should hug him or wave. He just nods, a quiet agreement that it’s better to keep it simple, and turns back to the safe.

I take the out, push through the swinging door, and don’t look back.

I make my way between the tables and chairs, pausing just long enough to scoop up the soggy dollars those jerks left as my tip. Only when I’m outside do I feel like I can breathe again, and I release a shuddery exhale, hating the dread settling over my skin like a heavy coat.