Split(69)

“Can I see it?”

He hesitates, then nods, and as soon as he does I scurry out the door and to his truck. Lying in the bed is what I assume to be the mantelpiece covered by a blue tarp. He drops the tailgate and hoists his big body up with little effort, then pulls back the protective cover.

I gasp and lean forward as the intricate design in wood is revealed. “Lucas . . .” I shake my head, words, again, locked in my throat along with the lump that forms from my pride.

“It still needs to be stained, but I need to get Nash to sign off on it before I do that.” He sounds unsure, insecure of what I’d venture to call his best carving yet.

“He’ll sign off, he will. How could he not? It’s . . . Wow, Lucas, it’s really great.”

He shrugs one shoulder, humility tempered with a bit of well-deserved satisfaction. “Thanks.”

The elk, bears, river, every texture and shadow make it look so real I almost expect them to come to life.

“You’re going to give this to him now?”

He nods.

“You have to let me tag along. I can’t miss the look on his face when he sees this for the first time.”

A tiny grin curls his lip and my body heats, wondering if his lips taste even better when he’s smiling. Slow down, Shy. Don’t scare him away.

I rip my gaze from his mouth to shake my lust-driven thoughts. “I’ll lock up.”

“You know where he’s at?” Lucas calls as I head to the door.

“He’s at the McKinstry place.”

With that, he covers the carving, hops in the driver’s seat, and fires up the engine. I crawl in his truck and the smell of pine trees and a hint of man after a hard day’s work slam into my senses. I roll down the window in an attempt to keep myself levelheaded, because at this rate I’d jump him in his seat.

“Here.” He places the pajama bottoms I’d lost by the river into my lap.

They’re clean, folded, and smell like soap.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do this.”

He throws the truck into gear. “I wanted to give them to you that next morning, but I didn’t want to upset you.”

I lean in, hating the distance between us, and press a kiss to his jaw. His body tenses, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. “Thank you.”

It’s hard to pull away from the delicious scent of his neck, but when he moans and shifts in his seat, I figure I should back off. I’m going to have to take baby steps and pay close attention to his emotional cues if I plan on keeping Gage away.

We drive out to the McKinstry place just a few miles down the road. Some of the Jennings crew is on-site, putting in new windows and lugging in drywall.

“Guess they did a number on the place, huh?” I study the house.

“You haven’t seen it yet?”

I shake my head.

“Yeah, they did.”

Jumping from the truck, we weave through the work site and into the house. Dad’s voice echoes from one of the bedrooms and we follow it back to find him glaring at a wall while Chris, his foreman, paints it.

“Hey, Dad.” I sidle up next to him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the wall. Lucas stays in the doorway, leaning with one shoulder against the frame.

“Shy . . .”

“Am I going to have to have the sheriff cuff you to keep you away from the guys who did this once they’re caught?”

“Understatement of the f*cking year.” His glare gets tighter and I follow it to the newly painted wall.

I squint and suddenly letters . . . no, words. Two distinct words show through the thin layer of paint. “Does that say . . .?” I walk to get a closer look.

“I don’t care how many cans it takes,” he addresses Chris. “Keep adding coats until you can’t see a hint of spray paint.”

Chris nods and continues to move the roller over the wall.

As I get closer, the faded letters come into view. D . . . I . . . E . . . I tilt my head and study the next word.

DIE RETARD

I gasp, loud, and swing my eyes to Lucas, who seems completely unaware. “Lucas, you and Cody were the ones who did the first walk-through, right?”

He nods, his lips in a tight line as if he’s reliving the frustration of seeing the house for the first time.

“You saw this?” I point to the newly covered up hate words.

He nods again, but his expression registers nothing.

He has no idea, doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. It was Gage there that night. Dustin called him names, teasing him and egging him on, not Lucas.

I swallow my nerves and tug on the sleeve of my dad’s shirt. “Dad?”

“Right.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Shy. You came here for a reason.” He waits expectantly, but Lucas is so close, he doesn’t know the things Dustin said about him. I need to speak to my dad alone.

“Oh, um . . . yeah, Lucas has the mantel.” I keep my voice light, despite the hysteria building within me.

My dad darts his eyes to Chris. “Be back.” Then moves to Lucas. “Let’s see it.”

Lucas nods. “Sir.” He turns and leaves the room with my dad on his heels.

I rub my forehead, the heat of anger slicing through my good mood. This is my fault. Who knows how much money this is costing my dad, how much potential pain this could cause Lucas if he found out. I know I didn’t force Dustin’s hand—he’s the f*cker who pushed the limits the other night—but I brought Dustin into our lives and because of that I need to straighten it out.