Split(58)

She walks down the river to a shallow spot and crosses slowly. Her bare legs wobble as she tries to balance on slippery rocks. I keep my distance but draw close enough to help her if she needs it. Her teeth chatter, her long wet hair plastered to her back, and her body curls in on itself.

“Let me grab you a towel.”

She doesn’t answer.

I jog inside to grab a clean towel. When I return to the porch, I prepare to find her gone, but instead she’s on the bottom step crouched into a little ball.

“It’s only me.” I announce my approach to avoid upsetting her and when she jumps at the sound of my voice, I recoil.

I drape her shoulders with the towel, my arms itching to pull her back into my chest and hold her close, keep her safe and feel her breathe. She doesn’t move to hold the warmth to her but stares off into the distance with the towel falling limply around her.

“What happened, Shyann?” I whisper.

She blinks, the only proof she’s not a statue. “I can’t believe you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“Gage, he . . .” She finally moves and pulls the towel around herself.

I search her bare legs for injury. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He threatened me and scared me, but I’m okay.”

“Your pants, when you were . . . did he—”

“He didn’t touch me . . . like that.” Her voice is dead, robotic and cold.

“I’m so sorry, Shy.” My voice cracks with emotion. “I’d never want to hurt or scare you.”

She turns her head slowly, and her blue eyes search mine. My heart cramps to see the light that usually shines so bright is dark. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Lucas.”

It hurts so badly, the pain of hearing those words, so resolute, from her lips. But I wouldn’t expect anything less. “I understand.”

She nods and stands, moving to her truck; she climbs inside. There are no goodbyes, no shared glances, not even the slightest acknowledgment between us.

“I’m sorry.” This is all my fault. I got lulled into a false sense of security and after my last blackout I should’ve known things could get worse.

I tried to stay away, tried to keep my distance, but I wasn’t strong enough.

Gage is. He always has been.

The truck backs up and peels down the dirt road, kicking up rocks and leaving dust in its wake.

I have two days before Nash and Cody get back. I’ll stay up all night and finish the mantelpiece and then pack my stuff and move on.

Better to do it now before it’s too late.

Before someone dies.





TWENTY



SHYANN


I can’t close my eyes without seeing his face. Lying in bed with the sun just peeking up to warm the forest awake, I can’t get the last image of Gage to stop haunting me long enough to sleep.

Anger and fury twist his handsome features, transforming the timid Lucas I know into someone terrifying. And as much as it scared me, as much as I was convinced my existence would be erased from this earth, a voice whispered that he wouldn’t kill me. But I didn’t listen. I gave up. Gave in to the terror rather than fight for what I wanted. Prove that I’m strong enough to handle anything Gage throws at me.

I walked away from the one person who’s reminded me what it’s like to feel again, and Lucas let me go.

It’s as if he’s been through this before, heard the alarm and knows the drill. And beyond my close call with death, that’s what saddens me most.

People hate what they don’t understand, shun those who are different. When my mom lost her ability to walk, stand on her own, when her hands were curled in on themselves like gnarled tree roots, the looks people gave her were unforgivable. They assumed her mind was gone, that she wouldn’t notice, but that’s the thing about ALS; her body fell apart and her mind was fully aware of every f*cking second of it.

Lucas can’t help who he is, what he’s become, and yet he’s forced to live in exile, unable to form relationships, fall in love, have a future that consists of someone outside himself.

I wonder what Lucas is doing now, if he’s missing me or grateful I’m gone.

I roll to my side and my eyes fix on a warrior kachina my mom gave me when I was young. Its vibrant black and red face is dull with a light coating of dust and the eagle feather headdress is muddied with age and no longer displays the brilliant brown pattern. Holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, he still appears fierce, prepared for battle.

She told me he was a protector. A great warrior who would keep me safe.

She was wrong.

The carved wood holds no more power to protect me from pain than I had to keep my mom on this earth.

Stupid Navajo myths and their ridiculous promises.

If only my mom were here now. She’d tell me what to do about Lucas. Why don’t I just let him go?

There’s something about him that’s impossible to walk away from. Like an injured boy being held captive by his abuser. But Gage isn’t his abuser; he’s his warrior kachina. His real-life protector made of muscle and bone and capable of inflicting damage on anyone who stands in his way. Pushing anyone who has the potential to hurt Lucas away, but also everyone who has the potential to love him. If I want to spend time with Lucas, I need Gage to stop seeing me as a threat.