Page 30 of Love is Fake

It was another one of the aphorisms my dad liked to impart over the dinner table. Either you win or you learn. And in high school I did a whole lot of learning.

“I know the feeling,” Lennox murmurs.

My eyes quickly swivel to him in surprise. “What are you talking about? You were theKingof that town!” And with the way his athletic career is going, it’s only a matter of time before they erect a sign on the town boundaries stating ‘birthplace of Lennox Gray’.

“Not everything is as perfect as it looks from the outside,” he says slowly, as if he’s measuring his words.

I’m about to ask him what he means when a jogger jumps out of nowhere, forcing Lennox to slam his foot down on the break.At the same time, his arm shoots out in front of my chest to protect me from jerking forward.

The runner crosses the road, oblivious of her near-death experience as I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

“Are you okay?” He gives my shoulder a gentle shake to get my attention and I meet his eyes, nodding slowly. “I need you to say it, Isabella.” His teeth are gritted and the hand on my shoulder gets a little tighter. It’s only then that I notice the worry on his handsome features.

“I’m okay,” I assure him, taking the hand he’s put on my shoulder and squeezing it, reassuringly. “I’m fine.”

The concern on his face eases a little and he takes a deep breath, taking his sunglasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose in a gesture I’m learning means he’s giving himself a moment to think.

Seconds tick by before he puts his hands back on the wheel and drives, but there’s clearly something on his mind. His reaction was more than just the shock of the moment or concern for me, there was something more going on there.

“How’s the knee?” I ask quietly. The sudden braking movement he was forced to make most certainly aggravated it.

“No more than usual,” he answers, his tone broadcasting the fact hereallydoesn’t want to talk about it.

Okay then…

The temperature in the car moves down a few notches and it has nothing to do with the air conditioning. Lennox’s death grip on the wheel tells me whatever’s going through his mind is far from good. Even though it’s not my place, I feel bad that I can’t do anything to take that haunted look out of his eyes.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I tell him, looking straight ahead to avoid putting him on the spot. “But if you do, I’m here.”

Lennox is quiet for so long I’m fairly sure he’s ignoring my offer, but then – like he always seems to do – he surprises me.

“I lost someone in a car wreck. The idiot wrapped his damn car around a lamppost,” he admits. His words are so quiet that I almost have to strain to hear them. What’s hard to miss, however, is the emotion in his voice that damn near splits my heart in two.

I lay my hand on his, resting on the console between us as I turn to face him.

Unsurprisingly, Lennox doesn’t look at me, but he does flip his hand over so we’re palm to palm… holding hands.

“We hadn’t known each other for long,” he continues. “But he was important to me. When I lost him it hit me pretty hard.”

“I’m so sorry, Nox. That must have been awful, I can’t even imagine.” My words don’t feel like nearly enough.

No-one close to me has ever died. My mother walking out on us was as close to a loved-one’s death as I’ve ever experienced and, still, it’s a world away from what Lennox must have gone through, must still be going through because he’s talking aboutactualdeath. Not someone turning their back on him. Not someone choosing to walk away. But death. Unplanned. Unprepared. Unexpected.

“I don’t know what the right thing is to say,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to say anything, Isabella. This,” he squeezes my hand, “this is more than enough.”

He draws circles with his thumb along the soft skin of my wrist, making me shiver. There’s such a feeling of rightness in being like this with him that it almost bowls me over.

“Was it,” I clear my throat, trying to rid it of the huskiness that has suddenly taken over. “Was it recent?”

Lennox shakes his head. “Last week is five years since it happened. Right when I first moved to New York. The person that died, he was one of the reasons I first came here.” Hissentences are short, as if he’s struggling to get the words out. “He was an alcoholic. Had been for most of his life. But he’d gotten sober, or at least that’s what he told me. I guess he lied,” he sighs heavily. “The cops found a quart of whisky in the front seat. I guess it was lucky he didn’t hurt anyone else.”

His response to the almost-accident we just had makes so much more sense now. So does his exaggerated reaction to when I rear-ended him. He’s got a whole heap of trauma wrapped up in car accidents. The pieces all fall into place including Declan’s comment about ‘the anniversary’ having Lennox out of sorts that night. He was talking about the car wreck, about Lennox’s friend’s death.

I wince, remembering how rude I was to him. “I’m sorry for calling you an asshole that night.”

Lennox looks at me out of the corner of his eye and smiles, giving my hand that he’s moved to his lap a squeeze.

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