Split(76)

“Fire? No fire, just ya know, work to do back at the office.” Male voices boom from behind me and I turn, thankful I don’t see Lucas. “Lots of work, so what’s up?” Get to it, man!

He doesn’t seem convinced but ignores my edginess. “I want you to head over to the Dover house. It’s a single level, end of the cul-de-sac. Four-seven-seven is the street number. Woman’s name is Gabby Anderson.”

“Sure, what do I do when I get there?”

“She wants to redo her kitchen and dining room and she’s looking for some custom pieces.”

My heart drops into my stomach like a brick.

“. . . need him to take a look at the space, get some ideas of what can be done . . .”

No, no, no!

“. . . get along so well, figured you could go with him.”

“What? Why?”

My dad’s glare grows impossibly tighter. “He ain’t good around new people, Shy. You know that. You do the talking while he takes a look around.”

“Have him take Cody, or”—I motion around the job site—“one of these guys. I really have too much to—”

“Go.”

I blink at my dad’s abrupt dismissal of my lame excuse. “But—”

“Hurry. She’ll only be there till two.” He turns back to what he was doing, not open to further argument.

What the hell.

I have no choice. He’s given me no choice!

My heart thunders in my chest as I drag my feet outside and after a quick search find Lucas at the circular saw. His hat is still backward and he’s wearing protective glasses that make most men look dorky, but with Lucas’s powerful bone structure and model-worthy skin, they look like designer shades.

It’s impossible to take a full breath as I move to him and brace for him to notice me.

He makes a quick cut, catches me out of the corner of his eye, and moves slowly to standing upright. Is he taller than he used to be or am I starved from not being near him? Ripping off the protective glasses, he stares at me with a blank expression.

I think back to the photos I saw of him on the Internet. Same blank stare. His emotions tucked deep, protecting himself.

“Hey, Lucas.”

“Ma’am . . .” He shakes his head and drops his gaze to my neck. “Shyann.”

I swallow hard. “I . . . um . . . My dad, he said you need to go to a house and give a bid for some custom—”

“Yes.”

“He’s asked that I go with you?” Not sure why that came out as a question other than the fact that although doing this is an order from our boss, I feel the need to gain his permission.

He pulls off his hat and flips it forward on his head, then pulls it low over his eyebrows. “Now?”

I nod.

“Oh . . .” He grabs his tape measure and brushes sawdust off his shirt and jeans. “Okay.”

“I can drive.”

His chin lifts, and even though I can’t see them very clearly, I feel his eyes on me. “No. I’ll meet you there.”

“Lucas, you don’t—”

“It’s okay, Shyann,” he whispers. “I understand.”

I blink and shake my head. “Understand? Understand what?”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, okay. I know I’ve been distant, and it’s probably been really confusing for you. I just . . .” Did Gage murder your family?

“I don’t want to make trouble for you. Nash and Cody, they’ve done so much for me and I can’t afford to . . .” He sighs. “Never mind.”

My chest hurts at the rejection in his face and suddenly this week of silence between us feels pointless. I’ve promised him honesty and then tucked tail when I should’ve just talked openly about what I’d learned, but at the risk of provoking Gage. I was protecting myself and I dragged him through the mud to do it. Typical Shy. “Let me come with you, okay? You can drive, and we can talk.”

“I don’t know—”

“Please, Lucas.” Now it’s me who’s fidgeting. “It’s only been a couple of days, but . . .” I dart my eyes around, then study the dirt in front of my feet. “I miss you.”

A hiss escapes his lips.

“Please . . .”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes grow intense, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. Seconds tick by until finally he nods.

We move in silence to his truck and with the drive to the house on Dover being less than five minutes, I never build up the courage to talk to him about what I learned. In typical Lucas form, he doesn’t push to fill the silence with conversation.

At the house, I take the lead and knock on the door when a woman in her midthirties answers.

“Mrs. Anderson, I’m Shyann Jennings.”

She smiles and offers her hand. “Nice to meet you, and please, call me Gabby.”

“This is Lucas. We’re here to take a peek at the kitchen and dining room you were looking to get some custom woodwork done for?”

She offers her hand to Lucas and he visibly tenses. I contemplate pressing my palm against his back to encourage him and hopefully offer him comfort but before I do he reluctantly offers his hand for a quick shake.