Split(66)

I was.

I remember the entire thing, details etched into my mind like tattoos, imprinted and worn as a reminder to never forget.

Never trust.

And always keep my mouth shut.

She puts the truck in park but leaves it running. “How about this . . .”

I check her out from the corner of my eye, intent on keeping my eyes forward because, like Medusa, looking directly at her turns my dick to stone, and frankly I don’t need that shit right now.

“Tell me why you protected me from Dustin—”

“Fuckin’ hell.” I shake my head.

“. . . and why you didn’t want to leave me alone with Sam.”

“This again.” This bitch is like an alien, constantly probing my shit. “Let it go, Shy—”

“Why won’t you just answer me?”

Why? Because I don’t f*cking know!

“Come on, Gage.” Defeat laces her words. “I think I’ve proven I’m not a threat to you. I could’ve had you, er Lucas, arrested. Twice.” Her hand absently rubs her neck and I swing my gaze away to try to lessen this stupid weight in my chest at seeing her do it. She hasn’t the slightest idea of the power her femininity wields, luring poor saps like Luke into her arms only to crush and destroy them.

A low growl gurgles in my chest and my hand flexes around the door handle. I could tell her to f*ck off and walk away. I’m going to tell her to f*ck off and walk away. I don’t owe her shit.

“Gage—”

“That’s why.”

She blinks and looks around, as if the cab of the truck hides the answer she’s searching for. “Wait . . . what’s why?”

Dammit to shit in a f*ck basket!

“You protected him, all right? That’s why.” Laughter completely absent of humor falls from my lips. “Trust me, it wasn’t something I thought about. It just happened.” She reeled me in like all the other poor bastards, something I’d hoped I’d never have to admit.

She chews her lip. “So . . . when Dustin was teasing you, and when Sam was all over you—”

“You defended Luke and you’ve kept our secret. Used your body as a shield to protect him. I just”—Fuck this shiiit!—“reacted.”

There, I said it.

“Wow.” I don’t have to look over to know her lips are fighting a satisfied grin; I can hear it in her voice. “That was really sweet of you, Gage.”

I swing my gaze to her, using the bill of my hat as a barrier against the full force of her face, penetrating stare, and soul-sucking smile. “Right? Now take it for what it’s worth and f*ck off.”

Jerking open the car door, I storm out into sheets of rain, heading for the shelter of the cabin.

“Have a good night, Gage!” She’s laughing.

That bitch! She thinks she got to me, that she’s won?

I toss a middle finger over my shoulder. “Go to hell!”

Her giggle is the last thing I hear before I slam the front door behind me.





TWENTY-THREE



LUCAS


The sun is barely up and I still haven’t gone to sleep.

Last night, sometime around one in the morning, I came to standing in my kitchen. My hands braced on the counter and I was looking out the window as wave after wave of rain pummeled the earth outside.

I had no idea how I got there, no clue what happened after I blacked out. The only thing I knew for certain was Gage had come back.

He surfaced when a woman was kissing my neck. It’s happened before, started back when I was living at a halfway house after I was released from the detention center.

Most seventeen-year-old boys would welcome a woman’s touch. Sexual experimentation should’ve been on the top of my to-do list. But there hasn’t been a single woman whose touch I could stomach. Not one I could trust. Who didn’t abuse me or cast me out to be eaten alive by the system. None of them cared about me, not then, not until Shyann.

Using one of my fine-tip chisels, I put the finishing touches on the mantelpiece. I told Mr. Jennings I’d have it by the end of the week; technically it’s Sunday, so I’m late, but Gage’s appearance lately has set me back.

God, what did he do last night?

It’s possible I no longer have a job or that he outed us at the bar, and now the entire town will chase me away with torches and pitchforks. But something inside, some deep-seated knowing tells me I’m okay, something I’ve never felt after blacking out in the past.

It’s almost ten in the morning when I’m finally satisfied with the piece. I take a quick shower, forgo shaving—even though the stubble makes the bald skin of my scar under my jaw more noticeable—and throw on a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and my work boots.

I’m sure after all the commotion yesterday with the McKinstry house being vandalized that Mr. Jennings will be in his office dealing with insurance companies and police reports.

The quick ten-minute drive takes twice as long as usual. With the large mantel in the bed of my truck, I drive much slower to keep it from knocking around on the uneven dirt roads. When I pull up to the small portable, I don’t see Mr. Jennings’s car, but I see Shyann’s.

My heart kicks triple time. She probably knows what Gage did last night and even with this newfound peace that my secret hasn’t been exposed I won’t know for sure until I talk to Shyann. I drop from the truck and jump up the steps.