“H. Hunting pens a heartbreaking tale that leaves readers absolutely breathless from beginning to end. One of her best books yet!”
- Stacey Lynn, author
- Stacey Lynn, author
Little Lies, an all-new, angsty and emotional new adult romance from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting writing as H. Hunting is out now!
Synopsis
I don’t want you.
You mean nothing to me.
I never loved you.
I turned my words into swords.
And I cut her down.
Shoved the blade in and watched her fall.
I said I’d never hurt her, and I did.
Years later, I’m faced with all the little lies, the untruths, the false realities, the damage I inflicted, when all I wanted was to indulge my obsession.
Lavender Waters is the princess in the tower. Even her name is the thing fairy tales are made of.
I used to be the one who saved her.
Over and over again.
But I don’t want to save her anymore.
I just want to pretend the lies are still the truth.
You mean nothing to me.
I never loved you.
I turned my words into swords.
And I cut her down.
Shoved the blade in and watched her fall.
I said I’d never hurt her, and I did.
Years later, I’m faced with all the little lies, the untruths, the false realities, the damage I inflicted, when all I wanted was to indulge my obsession.
Lavender Waters is the princess in the tower. Even her name is the thing fairy tales are made of.
I used to be the one who saved her.
Over and over again.
But I don’t want to save her anymore.
I just want to pretend the lies are still the truth.
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Excerpt
The front door swings open, and the never-ending nightmare that is this day smacks me in the face like a long-expired sausage. Kodiak stands in the doorway wearing only a pair of swim shorts, wet hair sticking out all over the place, water dripping on the damn floor. But God, is he ever glorious. Muscle layered over muscle, thick biceps flexing as he holds the doorjamb, a mischievous grin popping the dimple in his left cheek.
My heart seizes and gallops. I miss this version of him: the one that smiles and doesn’t hate me.
He ruins everything a moment later by bellowing, “Who’s fucking in the driveway?”
His gaze moves to Dylan, who looks as horrified as I feel, but as it shifts to me, his smile drops and my stomach tightens.
“You should really go,” I tell Dylan.
“I’ll see you around.” He disappears into his car and barely has the door closed before he’s backing out of the driveway and screeching down the street.
I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and head for the house, steeling my spine and my nerves because Kodiak is still standing in the middle of the doorway, his face a mask of indifference. I try to brush by him, but he stays where he is, making it impossible.
I sigh, exhausted beyond belief. I just want to go upstairs and have a good, cathartic cry. I try to mirror his apathy. “Can you move so I can get into my house?”
His brow furrows as his eyes move over my face. He lifts his hand, like maybe he’s thinking about touching me. There’s no way I can handle that. I jerk back and swat his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Your lip is bleeding.”
“Don’t act like you actually give a shit, Kodiak.”
“Tell me what happened.” His voice is low and soft, and for whatever reason, that makes me even angrier, so I lash out, wanting to wound him the way he keeps wounding me.
“You, Kodiak. You happened, and you ruined my goddamn life. Now get the hell out of my way.” I elbow past him, almost tripping over several sets of running shoes.
I head straight for my bedroom and lock the door behind me. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor and close my eyes, taking deep breaths.
I imagined the concern in his voice.
I imagined the pain that sat heavy behind his eyes.
We see what we want to, not the truth, especially when it hurts.
My heart seizes and gallops. I miss this version of him: the one that smiles and doesn’t hate me.
He ruins everything a moment later by bellowing, “Who’s fucking in the driveway?”
His gaze moves to Dylan, who looks as horrified as I feel, but as it shifts to me, his smile drops and my stomach tightens.
“You should really go,” I tell Dylan.
“I’ll see you around.” He disappears into his car and barely has the door closed before he’s backing out of the driveway and screeching down the street.
I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and head for the house, steeling my spine and my nerves because Kodiak is still standing in the middle of the doorway, his face a mask of indifference. I try to brush by him, but he stays where he is, making it impossible.
I sigh, exhausted beyond belief. I just want to go upstairs and have a good, cathartic cry. I try to mirror his apathy. “Can you move so I can get into my house?”
His brow furrows as his eyes move over my face. He lifts his hand, like maybe he’s thinking about touching me. There’s no way I can handle that. I jerk back and swat his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Your lip is bleeding.”
“Don’t act like you actually give a shit, Kodiak.”
“Tell me what happened.” His voice is low and soft, and for whatever reason, that makes me even angrier, so I lash out, wanting to wound him the way he keeps wounding me.
“You, Kodiak. You happened, and you ruined my goddamn life. Now get the hell out of my way.” I elbow past him, almost tripping over several sets of running shoes.
I head straight for my bedroom and lock the door behind me. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor and close my eyes, taking deep breaths.
I imagined the concern in his voice.
I imagined the pain that sat heavy behind his eyes.
We see what we want to, not the truth, especially when it hurts.
About Helena Hunting
New York Times and USA Today
bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of
Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately
intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new
adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
Connect with Helena
H. Hunting
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