Split by JB Salsbury

Author:JB Salsbury [Salsbury, JB]
Language: eng
Format: azw, mobi, epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2016-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

Lucas

Tonight is the coolest night since I moved here. As soon as the sun dropped, there was a chill in the air and even a distant rumble of thunder. Lightning slices through the sky to the north, warning that a storm is coming.

I secretly hope for a downpour, a flash flood, anything that’ll cut short my night out with Cody.

I squint and balance the wood just right on my thigh while I drive the chisel into the timber, slowly and delicately carving out small pieces that will soon become an elk. With the flashlight balanced on the banister, I’m able to work out here until late.

After spending almost six hours at the McKinstry place, cleaning up the mess of fingerprint dust and destruction the vandals left behind, my hands are already aching. I flex my fist a couple times just as headlights blast through the thick darkness. Tires crunch on gravel until Cody’s truck comes into view.

He rolls down the window. “Come on, man! Jump in before it starts dumping out here.”

With a heavy sigh I’m glad he can’t hear, I grab my things and put them inside, making sure all the windows are shut to keep the rain out. I grab my hoodie sweatshirt and my baseball hat. The more cover the better chance I have of melting into the background tonight.

The first few drops of rain fall as I pull myself into Cody’s truck. “Hey.”

“I hope you’re ready to let loose, man.” He grins wide and for a moment I see a tiny bit of Shyann in her brother. It’s in the pull of their lips, the way they— “Whoa, dude. Don’t look at me like that. This ain’t a date.”

I sink deeper into my seat, hoping he can’t see the embarrassment blaring on my face.

He floors it down the dirt road, and as we pass Shyann’s house, I force my eyes forward, refusing to look for her truck, to see if her lights are on. Now that Cody is home, she’s not mine to take care of. His job to keep her safe.

Protected from people like me.

The truth slices through my gut, and although I don’t usually drink alcohol—my boozing experience consists of peer-pressured moments in group home and the aftermath of Gage’s nights out—I’m thinking that maybe a couple drinks tonight are needed. The numbing effect will help take the edge off the emptiness of missing Shy. Mourning the death of the dream I’d stupidly allowed myself to indulge in. Maybe the liquor will help erase the memory of her fear as she scrambled from my touch. Just one night I want to squelch the ache of the truth. I’m a monster; she deserves better.

It doesn’t take long before we’re jogging through the rain toward a barn with the name PISTOL PETE’S in neon and the twang of country music filtering through the sideboards.

The double doors open to a crowd of people and a stage where a band plays and a man sings about his love of the South.

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