Split(49)

I grip the V-groove chisel and force myself to set down the mantelpiece I’d been working on when he showed up. The air is cooler in the evenings and there’s a time just before the sun dips below the tree line when everything in the forest seems to come into focus. Shadows dance and light bounces. I’d moved my chair to the porch to work, having no idea my quiet evening was about to get interrupted.

“Yes, sir.” I nod while my body aches to yell no.

I’m not ready to face her inquisitive eyes, her probing questions; I’ve barely managed to swallow all that I did, that Gage did. One thing I do remember and could never forget is the moment our lips touched before Gage threw me into the dark. I’ve relived it in my dreams, the subtle breath she took when I pressed my lips to hers. I felt the black come, thought I could hold it off. I was wrong. But I remember that kiss. As for what happened between Shyann and him, I’m still in the dark.

I can’t be trusted around Shyann.

But Nash Jennings believes in me. He’s given me a job, a place to live, and helped me to find my talent and use it to make money. He’s done more for me than the California juvenile detention center, more than the halfway houses with all their good intentions, more than I could ever accomplish on my own. He deserves what very little I have to give.

He peers up from the dog bowls that sit just left of the bottom step. “Got a dog?”

“Stray.”

He merely shrugs. “Good. Dog’ll keep away the critters.”

I nod.

He slaps a hand on his thigh, signaling the end of the conversation, but holds up one beefy, calloused hand, like he forgot to tell me something. “Fair warning, Shy isn’t keen on bein’ looked after. If you could, I don’t know, make your checkin’ in seem casual, that’d help your cause.” He nods without sparing even a single glance to the house and turns to move back to his truck. “Be back Sunday.”

“Yes, sir.” He can’t hear me, and I’m stuck on the porch trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to manage dropping in on Shyann.

My palms sweat and my pulse pounds. Anxiety floods my veins and marks me with insecurity. I’ll just drop by. Easy. Knock, make sure she’s okay, then leave.

“I can do that.” I suck in a shaky breath and sink into my chair.

There’s not much daylight left, so I pull the piece of wood to my lap, bend over it, and angle my chisel. The sharp metal edge thumps wildly against the lumber.

I’m shaking.

Defeat casts over me. I slide the piece to the floor and close my eyes.

“Dammit, Shyann. You’re going to ruin everything for me.”





SHYANN


“. . . officials have yet to comment on what is predicted be an economic—”

Click.

“. . . the CDC reports this year to be the worst flu season since—”

Click.

“. . . plane went down after pilots radioed in—”

Click.

“. . . Kanye West is at it again—”

Click.

The television flashes and fades to black and I toss the remote onto the coffee table. My dad refuses to get cable television, so my options for six o’clock on a Friday night are news or entertainment news. Lucky me.

I’d rather watch dust settle than other people live out what should have been my future. The good news is, feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my own mistakes has kept my mind from wandering to Lucas. But sure enough, the second the distraction is gone, my thoughts are back on the beautifully broken man.

What must life be like for him? He’d talked about his brothers and even a sister. He has a family, so why is he here alone in Payson? Maybe he was forced out because of his condition?

I push up from the threadbare couch and move to the kitchen. My heart squeezes as memories of cooking for my mom push thoughts of Lucas from my head. She had a passion for cooking, which made her last few months with a feeding tube feel like a cruel joke. She was so young, not even forty years old, when she was diagnosed and died two years later. We—no, she—deserved more time.

Slamming cupboards, I decide that after dinner I’ll go into town, maybe catch a movie. Anything to get away from this house and its depressing memories that never seem to let up.

A quick once-over of the freezer and I settle on frozen pizza. I rip open the packaging and toss the icy disk into the oven without waiting for it to preheat. The kitchen timer ticks loudly, breaking up the dreaded silence. I drum my fingers against the countertop. This’ll take forever and every passing second of quiet feels like a century. I crank up the heat to defrost my dinner faster—

A knock sounds at the door and I jump.

My instincts scream, Murderer! until logic reminds me it’s probably my babysitter, but if good looks could kill, I’d be a goner. As embarrassing as it is to be checked in on, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited about seeing Lucas, getting my eyes on the subject of all my thoughts.

“Coming.” I pad across the kitchen floor in sock-covered feet and take a steadying breath before swinging open the door.

“Hey, Lucas.”

My heart kicks behind my ribs at seeing him, standing there looking as timid and handsome as ever in jeans that seem to hug his long body in all the right places and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt. The top half of his face is shadowed beneath that damn ball cap I’m starting to wish I could hide so I didn’t have to fight to see his eyes.