Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)

I had no intention of ever seeing her again. That was it. I had my chance and I blew it. I went back to my condo and put that CD on, turning the volume all the way up. Hoping it could remind me of who I was. Who I definitely wanted to be again. Then I saw her again. That wasn’t planned. That was kismet. I couldn’t help myself. It was like every second, minute, hour I’d spent away from her over the last three years came to slap me in the face as I watched her knock over a display of ice cream cones. I bent down to help her pick them up. Her hair was short, barely reaching her shoulders. It was cut at an angle, the front longer than the back. The very tips looked like they could slice your fingers if you touched them.

She wasn’t the Olivia I remembered with her long, wild hair and the untamed look in her eye. This Olivia was smoother, more in control. She weighed what she said rather than letting it spill out. Her eyes didn’t have the same light they used to. I wondered if I’d taken that from her. That hurt me. God — so much. I wanted to put the light back in her eyes.



I went straight to Leah’s. Told her I couldn’t do what we’d been doing. She took it as me saying I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone I didn’t remember.

“Caleb, I know you feel lost right now, but when your memory comes back everything will make sense,” she said.

When my memory came back, nothing made sense. That’s why I lied.

I shook my head. “I need time, Leah. I’m sorry. I know this is a mess. I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to take care of some things.”

She looked at me like I was a knock-off purse. I’d seen her do it a million times. Disgust, confusion at how someone could settle. Once she’d made a snide remark in the grocery store while we stood behind a woman sifting through a stack of coupons. She’d had a Louis Vuitton purse slung over her shoulder.

“People who can afford Louis don’t clip coupons,” she’d said loudly. “That’s how you can tell it’s a knock-off.”

“Maybe people who clip coupons save enough money to be able to afford name brand purses,” I’d snapped back. “Stop being so shallow and judgmental.”

She sulked for two days. Claiming I had attacked her rather than defended her. We fought about how she put things above people. It was a turnoff to me to watch someone place that much value on a thing. After she stormed out, I had two days of peace, during which I seriously considered ending things with her.

Until she showed up at my condo with a pie she’d baked, full of apologies. She brought one of her Chanel purses with her, and I watched in fascination as she pulled scissors from her purse and cut it up in front of me. It seemed like such a sincere and contrite gesture, I softened. She hadn’t changed. Neither had I, I guess. I was still in love with another woman. Still faking it with her. Still too unsure to do anything about it.



But, now I was tired.

“I have to go,” I said, standing up. “I have to meet someone for coffee.”

“A girl?” she asked right away.

“Yes.”

Our eyes locked. Where I’d expected to see hurt, maybe tears, she only looked angry. I kissed her on the forehead before I walked out.

I might have been doing this in the wrong way, the selfish way, the damn cowardice way — but I was doing it.





I drop Olivia off at her office. On the ride over, she barely says two words to me. After what just happened between us I don’t know what to say either. I know one thing for sure — Noah wants her back. I could almost laugh. Join the club, motherf*cker.

He’s been gone for three months and is finally getting withdrawals.

It’s drizzling when we pull into the parking lot. She opens the door and gets out without a backward glance. I watch her walk toward her car, her shoulders not quite as stiff as they usually are. I suddenly throw my door open and run around the car, jogging to catch up to her. I grab her arm as she reaches for the door and fling her around until she’s facing me. Then I press her against the side of her car with my body. She is momentarily stunned, her hands pushing up against my chest, like she’s not sure what I’m doing. I put my hand on the back of her head and pulling her toward me, I kiss her. I kiss her deep, the way I would kiss her if we were having sex. Our breathing sounds louder than the traffic behind us, louder than the thunder overhead.

When I pull away from her mouth, she’s panting. My hands are planted on either side of her head. I speak softly, looking at her mouth as I do. ”Do you remember the orange grove, Olivia?”

She nods, slowly. Her eyes are wide.

“Good,” I say, running a thumb along her bottom lip. “Good. I do too. Sometimes I get so numb, I have to remember that so I can feel again.”

I back away from her and get in my car. As I pull away, I look in my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of her. She is still standing where I left her, one hand pressed against her chest.

My competition is good. Undoubtedly he’s never lied to her, broken her heart or married another woman to spite her. But she’s mine, and I’m not giving her up without a fight this time.



I wait a few days and then I text her while I’m at work.

What did he want?

I close the door to my office, loosen the top button of my dress shirt and sling my legs up on my desk.

O: He wants to work things out

I knew it was coming, but I still get a pain in my chest. F*ck that.

What did you tell him?

O: That I need time to think. Same thing I’m telling you.

No

O: No?

No

I rub a hand over my face, and then type:

You’ve had ten years to think.

O: It’s not that easy. He’s my husband.

He filed for divorce! He doesn’t want to have children with you.

O: He said he’d be willing to adopt.

I pinch the skin at the bridge of my nose and grind my teeth together.

What I was doing was wrong. I should let them be together — fix things, but I can’t.

O: Please, Caleb, give me time. I’m not the person you used to know. I need to do the right thing.

Then stay with him. That’s the right thing to do. But, I am the right thing for you.

She doesn’t respond after that.

I sit at my desk for a long time, thinking. I am unable to do any work. When my stepfather walks in an hour later, he raises his eyebrows.

“There are only two things that can put that expression on your face.” He takes a seat opposite me and folds his hands in his lap.

“And what’s that?” I love my stepfather. He’s the most perceptive man I know.

“Leah … and Olivia.”

I grimace at the first name, frown at the second.

“Ah,” he says, smiling. “I see the little raven-haired vixen is back?”

I run my thumbnail across my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth.

“You know, Caleb … I am very aware of what your mother thinks about her. But, I couldn’t disagree with her more.”

I look up at him, surprise evident on my face. He very rarely disagrees with my mother, but when he does, it’s usually because he’s right. He also never shares his personal thoughts unless asked. The fact that he’s doing it now makes me sit up straighter in my chair.

“I knew she had you the first time you brought her over. I’ve had a love like that.”

My eyes dart to his face. He never talks about his life before my mother. They’ve been married for fifteen years. He’d been married once before, but-

“Your mother,” he says, grinning. “She’s terrible — truly. I’ve never seen someone as ruthless. But, she’s good too. The two sides balance each other out. I think the first time she met Olivia, she recognized a like soul and wanted to protect you.”

My mind flashed to that first dinner. I’d brought Olivia home to meet them, and my mother had, of course, made her as uncomfortable as possible. I landed up dragging Olivia out in the middle of dinner; so angry with my mother I never wanted to speak to her again.

“Most men like danger. There is nothing sweeter than a dangerous woman,” he says. “Makes us feel a little manlier to be able to call them ours.”

He’s right … possibly. I lost interest in healthy women shortly after meeting Olivia. It’s a curse. After tasting her, I’ve rarely found a woman who I actually think is interesting. I like her darkness, her ever present sarcasm, the way she makes me work for every smile — every kiss. I like how strong she is, how hard she fights for things. I love how weak I make her. I might be her only weakness. I earned that spot and I very much want to keep it. Olivia is the type of woman that men write songs about. There are about fifty of them on my iPod that make me think of her.

“Is she available?”

I sigh and rub my forehead. “She’s separated. But he showed up again a few days ago.”

“Ah.” He strokes his beard, his eyes smiling at me.

He’s the only one in my family who knows what I did. I went on a drunken binge after Olivia left and landed up punching a cop outside of a bar. I called him to come bail me out. He didn’t tell my mother, even when I confessed everything to him about the amnesia. He never once judged me. Only affirmed that people did crazy things when it came to love.

“What do I do, Steve?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, son. She brings out the worst in you and the best in you.”

It’s true and it’s hard to hear.

“Did you tell her how you feel?”

I nod.

“Then all you can do is wait.”

“What if she doesn’t choose me?”

He grins and leans forward in his seat. “Well, there’s always Leah…”

My laugh starts in my chest and works its way out.

“Worst joke ever, Steve … worst joke ever.”