Split(70)

Dustin, that piece of shit!

Before I tell my dad anything, I’m going after that f*cker myself.





TWENTY-FOUR



SHYANN


I was right. My dad’s expression upon seeing the mantel Lucas carved was worth the trip out here. For a moment I saw the man he was before. Carefree, grinning like he used to before Momma got sick, and I fall a little more for Lucas for giving my dad that. There was a lot of back-slapping atta boys between the two of them, and seeing how the approval made Lucas blush and grin made me soften a little more toward my dad.

I would’ve loved to snapshot the moment, but I had shit to do. While Lucas stayed to help fix up the house, I hitched a ride back to the office with my dad.

I forced myself to sit through listening to him on the phone with suppliers and the insurance company, letting it heat and fester my anger. Once back at the office, after he assured me there was nothing he needed, I told him I was headed out to run some errands with only the slightest stutter.

He dismisses me with a flick of his chin and I force myself to walk slowly to the door until I’m out of sight. I run to my truck, fire it up, and peel out to Miller’s Feed Store.

My fingers drum on the steering wheel and I fly through three stop signs before I finally pull up to the large warehouse-like building. It’s a nice place, great location right on Main Street with a real parking lot, double doors, and a bronze statue of a long-horn steer out front.

I slam through the front door and beeline directly to the checkout girl, who jumps when she catches a glimpse of my face. “Can I help you?”

“Dustin.” I spit his name as if it’s a dirty word, my jaw sore from grinding my teeth.

Her eyes dart around before she picks up a phone and hits a button. “Yes, hi, it’s Brittney. Um . . . there’s a girl here to see you.” Her eyes come to mine and she flinches, probably reading my thoughts, which sound something like, You better not ignore me, you motherf*cker. “Your name, please?”

“Shyann Jennings.” I cross my arms over my chest, daring him to refuse me.

“Yes, okay.” She hangs up the phone. “Go on up.”

She points to a staircase in the back of the store, but I already know where the offices, are so I’m already halfway there.

I stomp up the stairs and head straight for his dad’s old office, but before I make it he appears in the doorway.

“Shyann, what brings you— Whoa!” He holds up his hands as I shove past him into the office. “What crawled up your ass?”

I whirl around to face him. “You, Dustin.”

“I’d like to crawl up more than your ass, Shy.” He chuckles, then shuts the door. “But something tells me you’re not here to service me under my desk.”

My lip curls and I feel dirty just standing in his presence. He moves to his desk in a pair of Wranglers and a brown button-up shirt, the picture of cowboy integrity. He may be able to fool the people in this town, but not me. The blinders are off. He drops into his chair and kicks his cowboy boots up onto the desk, flashing a salacious grin.

“I know it was you.” My hands shake with fury at what he’s done, what he said about Lucas, what he did to my dad.

“No clue what you’re talking about, babe—”

“Don’t f*cking call me that!” I lunge toward him, wishing I were more like Gage, wishing I could intimidate him, wrap my hands around his throat and cut off his oxygen until he questioned his own mortality, but I freeze. “You f*cked with the wrong family.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that right?”

“I know you’re the one who vandalized the McKinstry place. I saw your little calling card, Dustin. You make me sick.”

He only stares at me with cold expressionless eyes. Shady f*cking bastard.

“Confess, or I’ll tell the cops myself.”

He shrugs. “Got nothing to confess. My hands are clean.”

“Liar! I saw what you wrote, the same thing you called Lucas in the bar before he put you on your ass.”

His face reddens and his glare tightens.

“You called him a retard.” I speak the words under my breath, the word so vile, just saying it makes me want to vomit.

“That’s your evidence?” He lifts his brows. “Shit, Shy, everyone in town calls him that.”

I jerk back and my mouth falls open.

He chuckles, one blond brow lifting to give his all-American-boy look a dangerous edge. “This comes as a surprise to you?”

Lucas is different, antisocial, painfully shy, and this town is known for prejudging newcomers.

“The guy practically puffs into existence and no one knows shit about him; he doesn’t share. Hell, he barely speaks. Then he picks a fight with me outta nowhere. Come on, Shy. He’s a freak!”

“He is not.” The words come out on a whisper because everything Dustin has observed about Lucas is true, except he didn’t attack Dustin for no reason. “And you started that fight. He was defending me.”

“You got a thing for this loser, don’t you?”

“Don’t call him that—”

“You f*ckin’ him now, Shy?”

“Shut up—”

“The reason you won’t get back together with me is because you’re suckin’ retard dick?”