Split(50)

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Your dad, he—”

“I know. He’s a little overprotective.” I move into the doorway and lean a shoulder against the frame. “You didn’t have to do this. I’m fine here alone.”

He looks around, everywhere but at me. “Promised Mr. Jennings I’d do it.”

“Gotcha. But as you can see . . .” I motion to myself, from my faded Jennings Contractors tee to my pink pajama pants. “I’m good.” It’s then I realize I didn’t hear him arrive. Here in the mountains where the earth is covered in rocks, dirt, and pine needles; it’s impossible to get anywhere without making noise. “Did you walk?”

He looks down the path that leads to the river house. “Yeah.”

“Lucas, you shouldn’t walk that far this late at night. At least, not without a rifle.”

For the first time, his eyes meet mine. “Don’t like guns. Besides, it’s not that far.”

“I know how far it is. I walked it, remember?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I curse.

“Remember what? Why were you walking it?” His voice is pained, and the sound makes my chest ache.

“Never mind. I’m sorry.” I blow out a long breath and step back into the house. “You wanna come in?”

He doesn’t answer verbally but takes a retreating step.

Okay, fine. I walk outside and close the door behind me, then drop to an old iron bench my mom brought home from a garage sale when I was ten. The thing weighs a ton and Dad said he’d get rid of it if he were strong enough to lift it. He’d smile at her because we all knew he loved the damn thing for the simple fact that it made her happy. The bench was covered in Tupperware the week Mom died. It became a drop-off for the town do-gooders. Food for the mourning, as if we could eat when our entire world had been ripped apart.

I tuck my feet up under my butt and dust the dirt from my socks.

Lucas moves a little closer to lean against a large pine tree. “Tell me why I’d remember you walking miles through the forest, Shyann.”

I contemplate lying, but something tells me he needs my honesty more than my protection. “That day in your kitchen, Gage he, uh . . . sent me home.”

He leans his head back hard enough that it thumps against the trunk. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s protective of you, Lucas.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t need to protect you from me.”

His eyes look almost black as he zeros in on mine.

“I’d never hurt you,” I whisper.

“There’s all kinds of hurt.” His hands fist against his thighs and he stares at me as if he wants to say something, to confess something, but can’t.

“What is it?” I turn my whole body to face him. “Tell me.”

“Did we, I mean, did Gage . . . do anything?”

The cool air does nothing to temper my cheeks. “He kissed me.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then he drops his gaze. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. He sounds . . . angry.

“I’m not.”

His head whips around to face me, his jaw tight. “How can you say that?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I’m trying to figure it all out, too, but . . .” My stomach tumbles with nerves. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind before, but with Lucas everything means more. “I like you, Lucas.” There, I said it. Now he can run or fess up.

“Wha . . . why?” His eyebrows drop low over his eyes and he takes a few steps closer and into the light so I can see the curiosity on his face.

I almost laugh at how genuinely shocked and interested in my answer he seems. He’s not fishing for compliments; it’s as if he really can’t believe I’d have any kind of good feelings toward him. Which is as heartbreaking as it is endearing.

“Why not?”

He grimaces, and I fear he might take off at any second, so I may as well get it all out.

“You’re sweet, polite, and you don’t try to push me around or control me.”

His expression grows more intense.

“You’ve been through something and I get the feeling that what you’ve shared is only a small fraction of that.” I stand and move closer to him, not enough to touch but close enough that he can see my face in the dim light. “But sometimes, when I look at you, I see a hurt that is so familiar. I can’t explain it more than to say I feel like I understand you.”

He shuts down, closes himself off by turning away from me, so I’m stuck with his profile. “You don’t know me.”

“I know, and the little I do know about you scares me.”

“It should.” He looks down at me and there’s a glint of danger in his eyes, as if Gage is simmering just below the surface. “I can’t do this.”

“We’re not doing anything, Lucas. Can we just try being friends?”

“I told you, I don’t have friends.”

“And I told you, I don’t either. So we’ll be each other’s first.”

This time it’s him who blushes, a crack in his guarded demeanor. I breathe in a sigh of relief, hoping he’ll give us a shot.

An awkward silence builds between us and I’m so afraid if it stretches out any longer I’ll lose him.