Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Drake

I didn't know what to expect, walking into the apartment with Lila. Earlier, when I texted Miranda to let her know we were on the way, she responded with a quip, "K."

Is it possible to feel hopeful and dreadful at the same time? I'm caught in the swell of hope for a future with Lila, yet the dread of hurting Miranda gnaws at me. The two emotions twist together, making it hard to breathe. The lavender-scented candle burning in the kitchen does little to calm the turmoil inside me.

Miranda sits at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck of cards. Not just any cards. These look like the ones from the Truth or Lie game.

Ah, shit. They are.

Her eyes flash with cold resolve as they meet mine. "Why don't we play a game?" she says, her voice deceptively light.

"I think we need to talk," I say. Lila places her purse on the floor beside the couch, eyes wide, scanning the room as if searching for an escape route. Thank God Jake stayed overnight at his friend's house. He didn't need to be a part of this bombardment.

"No. I want to play the Truth or Lie game." She gestures for us to sit, but I remain in my spot, jaw clenching.

"We really need to talk." I try again, checking the time, and wince. I can still make it an hour before the first pitch if I leave now. "Actually, I need to get going?—"

"Sit! Both of you." The harshness in her tone leaves no room for argument. Lila shoots me a quizzical glance before pulling up a chair across from Miranda. I take the one at the end. Once we're seated, Miranda's mouth curves into a half-smirk. "This is how the game is played. You're going to draw a card while I ask a question. Answer accordingly. If it's a truth card, you must tell the truth. If it's a lie, well, you get the picture. If the person not answering wants to pipe in with a question, they may do so after the one asking goes. Understand?"

I sit up taller, not liking the direction of this little game. What I want to do is get our breakup over with. This game seems like a cruel, vengeful act that will cause hurt feelings—the one thing I wanted to avoid from the beginning. My eyes dart to the window, the afternoon sun mocking me. My time is running short.

"All right, Miranda," I clear my throat, trying to muster a casual tone. "Let's play."

I pick up a card from the top of the deck and flip it over. Much to my dismay, it's a truth card. Miranda's smile widens, her eyes glinting in a dangerous way that I can't quite decipher. The air feels heavy, pressing down on my shoulders.

"Drake," she starts, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms, "Do you still have feelings for Lila?"

My heart skips a beat as Lila quickly shifts her gaze from Miranda to me. Her wide eyes fill with shock, yet they sparkle with something else—hope, maybe? I swallow hard, feeling the dryness in my throat. Miranda's stare is ice-cold, boring into my soul.

She's baiting me into exposing my true feelings for Lila in front of them both. And given that I have promised to tell the truth...

"Yes, I still have feelings for Lila," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. Miranda's eyes, however, are on Lila, narrowing with a mix of hurt and disdain. The walls feel like they're closing in, the tension thick enough to choke on. I can almost hear my heartbeat, loud and erratic.

Following my confession, the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. The ticking of the wall clock is loud and clear as each second drags for an eternity. Miranda's smile falters while Lila simply stares at me, her expression unreadable.

"Your turn, Lila," Miranda finally speaks up, breaking the silence. She pushes the deck towards Lila as if nothing has happened, but the tension in the air tells a different story.

I watch Lila pick up a card nervously and flip it over—another truth card. Maybe I should've shuffled the cards. I have a feeling Miranda stacked them against us. However, Miranda interjects before she has time to speak, "How long were you sleeping with my boyfriend?"

"I wasn't." Lila gasps. "I'm not." Her hands tremble slightly as she places the card back on the table, her knuckles white from the grip.

Miranda's gaze hardens, but she seems content with the answer. She picks up a card and turns it over. Lo-and-behold, it's a truth card.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice harsher than intended, but this is pure bullshit—some revenge plot cooked in her mind.

"I want answers. You lied about your past relationship with her. I want the truth."

"I didn't lie?—"

"By omission." She points to the deck of cards. "Go."

My jaw clenches, but I comply. I lay the truth card on the table and glare.

"What do you love most about my body?"

I cringe, not expecting that question. "Miranda."

"Answer."

"Your eyes," I say quickly, not bothering to meet her gaze now. "They're beautiful."

She scoffs, dropping a card onto the table. She doesn't look at it. "Is that why you can't look at me now?"

In frustration, I sigh, removing my ball cap and shoving my hand through my hair. Lila watches us in silence, her expression unreadable. I lift my gaze to Miranda again.

"I can't look at you because I hate seeing you hurt," I admit quietly. "And knowing I'm the one who caused it."

She huffs, unimpressed by my sincerity or unwillingness to accept it. She turns towards Lila again, gesturing towards the deck of cards.

"Your turn."

"Can we please just talk about this?" I ask. I should leave and get my ass to the field, but I can't. No way am I leaving Lila alone with this woman. If anything, today proved I didn't know Miranda all that well. I don't trust what she'd do if I left. Lila may have been reluctant to move in with me, but she isn't staying here.

Miranda shoots me a glare before returning to Lila. Lila reaches for another card with trembling fingers and flips it over—another truth card. The game feels like a cruel joke now. Miranda's smile is back but no longer genuine—there's a coldness in her eyes I can't quite fathom. The shadows in the room seem to grow longer as if echoing the darkness in her eyes.

"Lila," she starts, her voice dangerously calm as she leans forward in her chair. "Who's Jake's dad?"

"I don't know." Lila's back straightens, and whatever nervousness she has is long gone.

"Don't lie!" Miranda demands, her voice rising slightly.

"I'm not. Jake's father is unknown. I have no clue who he is." Lila's voice is steady, but her eyes betray the turmoil within. As much as I want to console her, I sit still, my mind replaying that one word— unknown.

But how? How can Lila not know who fathered her child? That makes sense unless… Dread creeps into my bones as Miranda scoffs.

"How do you not know?" she asks, the question burning inside me.

"I-I just don't." Lila's shoulders droop as the brave stance she held pops like a balloon. She grabs her necklace—my gift—worrying the pendant between her fingers. The topic of Jake's father clearly upset her, but something has bugged me ever since meeting the little guy.

"Why does he call you Mama Lila sometimes?" I ask.

The room goes silent as the focus shifts to Lila. Betrayal flashes across her eyes before tears form. Well, shit. I didn't mean to upset her. I've just been curious as to the reason behind it.

"Because I'm not his biological mom." Lila's voice trembles as she takes a deep, shaky breath. "But I'm the only mom he's ever known." Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she clutches the pendant around her neck like a lifeline.

An eerie feeling wraps around my chest as my asshole meter dials up a notch. I don't think I've ever wanted to take back words as badly as I do now.

"What happened?" I ask softly, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Jake's mother … my best friend … she died of cancer. I promised to take care of her son. Jake was just a baby and never got to know her. But I keep her alive through old pictures and memories. That's why he calls me Mama Lila sometimes. It was the only way I knew to distinguish between us." Her voice cracks on the last word, the pain of her loss evident in every syllable.

That eeriness sits like a foreshadowing. "Which best friend?" I ask, though I already know.

"Darci."

My face pales as that night that haunted me for eight years collides headfirst into my future. The memories flood back, unbidden and unwanted, a torrent of guilt and regret. The room spins, and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.