Split(10)

I blacked out. But only for a second.

“I’m fine, yeah.” I step back and dip my chin to wipe my sweaty face on my shoulder. “Hot. That’s all.”

“Freaky-ass shit, man.” His gaze moves over my face. “Your eyes, they . . .” He motions to my eyes. “Your face got all serious and your eyes . . .” He grins and starts laughing. “Oh, I get it!” He shoves me and shakes his head. “Real funny, *.”

“Ha, yeah. I was just messin’ around.” I reach into the cab of the truck to grab my water. My pulse pounds in my neck and I slow my breathing.

That was close. Way too close. Luckily this one was short enough to explain away. If I had a real blackout in front of Cody, he’d know my secret. I can’t afford to get too close and let my guard down. I slipped up. That can’t happen again. If I screw this up and they find out who I am, what I’ve done, I’ll never be able to stay here.

He comes around to the passenger side and hops in, still chuckling. “Remind me to never play ghost stories with you, freaky bastard.”

Freaky bastard. If he only knew how true that is.





SHYANN


God, this house is oppressive.

My feet are planted in the doorway of my old room. Everything seems so small. I’d think the most successful homebuilder in town would build himself a bigger house. I step inside to sit on my bed as guilt rushes to the surface and threatens to suffocate me worse than the tiny bedroom I grew up in.

My dad would never leave this place. It’s the first and only home he lived in with my mom. They built it after they got married, raised my brother and me in it, and my mom breathed her last breath just two doors down from where I’m sitting.

I drop back on the twin bed, bashing my head against the log wall. “Ow, son of a . . .” I rub my pounding skull and take in the white eyelet curtains and pink wicker furniture. “And suddenly I’m ten again.”

Boxes line one side of the room, mostly knock-off designer clothes that’ll do me no good up here. Just as the dust in this room clouds my vision, so, too, does exhaustion fog my mind as the reality of my situation presses down on me.

I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman living with her dad because I couldn’t do my job. No matter how many times I’ve checked my phone for the we-made-a-mistake-firing-you e-mail from the network, it never comes.

Shit, that reminds me. I should message Trevor and let him know I’m here. I dig into my back pocket and pull out my phone, hit the text icon, and groan.

“No service. Shocker.” I could call him from my dad’s landline, but I was hoping to avoid a lengthy conversation that would only serve to remind me how far I’d fallen.

I toss the high-tech, now-useless piece of crap to my bedside table, scrunch my pillow under my head, and pray for sleep to take me. Maybe when I wake I’ll realize this is all just some bad dream and I didn’t f*ck up my entire future and land right back where I started.

With nothing.

“Shy.”

The booming voice pierces the thick solitude of sleep.

“Hmm.” I nuzzle deeper into my pillow.

“Hungry?” There’s a concern in his voice that I instantly recognize. “Food’s ready.”

My eyes snap open.

Ahh, yes. I’m home. Crap.

As my mind comes to, so does my belly. I roll to my back and stretch. “I’m up.”

“Come on, it’s getting cold.” The thump of his boots against the hardwood floor retreats down the hallway.

“So much for waking from this nightmare.” I yawn and stretch again, noticing the sun that was outside the window when I nodded off is now dipped below the tree line, turning the sky vibrant shades of pinks and purples.

I shuffle to the kitchen, where I’m hit with the mouthwatering scent of my dad grilling. If there’s one thing my dad does well, outside of building beautiful homes, it’s cooking meat over fire.

He plates a steak the size of my head next to a loaded baked potato with all the grace of a Neanderthal.

“Smells good.” I grab a glass and fill it with water from the sink, then sit at the table in the spot I’d occupied as a little girl. The seat at the end where my mother used to sit has a light coating of dust, whereas my seat along with my brother’s across from me seems to be used from time to time.

He drops the plate in front of me. “Eat up.”

I stare wide-eyed at the meal that’s big enough to feed a family and my stomach rumbles. “I’ll do my best.”

He sits in his seat with a plate and a cold beer in front of him, but his sterling-blue eyes are fixed on me. “You’re skinny.” His chin dips to my plate.

I roll my eyes and grab a fork. “You say skinny like it’s a bad thing.”

“Winter’ll eat you alive up here.” He shoves a bite of potato that’s dripping in cheddar cheese and bacon into his mouth.

“Not planning on sticking around till winter.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could suck them back in. I don’t want to fight with my dad, but he always manages to bring out my argumentative side.

His jaw ticks. “Either way, need to put some meat on your bones.” The words filter through a cheekful of food.

It’s pointless to explain that I’m an on-air personality and appearances mean everything. One, because my dad couldn’t give a shit. Two, because I’m no longer anything but a mountain man’s daughter who is currently eating steak that tastes a lot like crow.