Split(35)

LUCAS


After tossing the keys to the flatbed over to Cody, I wait for Shyann to get her bag of food out of the truck’s cab and grin as Cody tries to snatch it from her.

I leave them to their argument, a little uneasy about their fighting. They seem to be joking, but I can’t help but feel edgy and tense when they do it. Like at any moment one of them is going to decide it’s not funny and it’ll become a real fight. That, I can’t handle.

Shyann is on my heels as I reach my pickup. She climbs in and I turn over the engine.

“Thanks for the ride home. Sorry you have to do it.”

“It’s fine. It’s on the way.”

Her eyes come to me and I force myself to stay focused on the road because looking into the crystal-blue depths could drown me.

“My dad’s house isn’t on the way to anywhere. It’s miles off the highway in the dirt.”

“Oh, I . . . uh . . . I live about five miles past that. By the creek.”

She gasps and quickly covers her mouth. I can’t avoid looking any longer and once my eyes find hers, I wish they didn’t. Her face is pale and she’s glaring right at me.

Panic flares in my chest.

My pulse races.

My hands fist on the steering wheel and I try to regulate my breathing.

“You.”

She’s angry. I can’t take her anger. Not without risking a blackout. My skin gets hot and clammy. My vision blurs.

“This whole time it’s been you.” Her voice is softer now and it helps my fear, but only a little.

What is she talking about? The question freezes in my throat and darkness flickers at the edge of my mind

“He said one of his guys, I thought . . .” A defeated sigh falls from her lips. “Makes sense I guess.”

My foot lays heavy on the gas as I speed down the highway toward the turnoff that leads to getting her out of the truck. “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure what I did, but it’s clear I’ve done something horribly wrong.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t be—”

“I am. Don’t be mad. I don’t want to upset you.” Where are the words coming from? They’re pouring out on instinct.

“You didn’t.”

“Yes. I did.”

Heat hits my biceps and almost sends me through the roof. Her long slender fingers squeeze. “Lucas. Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s . . .” She blows out a breath. “Can you take me there?”

“T-t-to where I live?” Nerves explode in my stomach as I remember the last time she got close to my place. “I . . . uh . . .”

“It belonged to my mom,” she whispers, and her hand drops from my arm to her lap.

That must’ve been what the tears were about that night she showed up in the creek.

“Your dad said I could live there in exchange for my finishing it up.”

“I know.”

Silence builds between us.

“I didn’t know it was your mom’s.”

She flashes a sad smile. “I know that too.”

By the time we get to Nash’s place, she’s calmer, the hardness in her eyes replaced by a blank stare. I wait in the truck so she can drop the fry bread tacos into the fridge, and she comes out holding a Styrofoam box. She climbs back into the truck and I reverse out of the dirt drive and point the truck toward home.

We don’t speak and once the tiny house comes into view, she visibly tenses.

I pull up under the juniper tree and her fingers quake as she reaches for the door handle. She doesn’t wait and drops out of the cab. I follow her, keeping my distance as she moves slowly around to the front of the house, but doesn’t move any farther.

I feel like an intruder. Unwelcome not only in this house, but also in this private moment. As she’s stuck in some kind of memory, somewhere between past and present, I realize we’re not all that different.

I know what it’s like to mourn.

Know the pain of loss.

My mom is gone too.

But whereas it seems Shyann lost an angel, I was freed from the devil.

“I came here.” She talks to the front door. “The other night, I walked here and—”

“I know, I saw you.” I cringe and drop my chin, unsure why I confessed and wishing I could take it back.

“You . . . saw me?”

I nod.

There’s a shift, the slight crunch of gravel beneath her boots, and I feel her eyes on me without actually seeing them. “All of me?”

This reminds me of when I was a kid being questioned by my mom, knowing I needed to tell the truth but being terrified of the consequence.

“It was dark, but . . .” My shoulders touch my ears and I whisper, “Please, don’t be mad.”

“Oh . . .” She’s quiet, reflective. Not what I was expecting, reminding me that Shyann is different. She’s not like Mom.

I don’t tell her what seeing her naked body did to me or how I responded, but that stirring between my legs is proof the memory is still fresh. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” She lets out an exasperated breath. “I should be the one apologizing. I’d been out drinking and . . . it’s your home now. I had no business being here. It’s my fault.”