Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  “She can wear my shit.” I chew my food. “I got plenty.”

  “She’s drowning in it.” And then he looks at her again. “We’ll find some jeans that fit that don’t cost three-hundred dollars.”

  “Three. Hundred. Dollars.” I arch a brow at her. “What the hell possesses you?”

  She scowls and opens her mouth to snap back at me but then she stops, pausing as she notices Kaleb putting a new plate in front of her and scraping off half his steak, already cut up into bite-sized chunks.

  He doesn’t make eye contact and goes back to eating and drinking as if nothing happened.

  “Uh…” She searches for her words. “Th—thank you.”

  I roll my eyes and take a drink of my beer. I should’ve thought of that.

  It takes her a minute to remember where we were, but then she glares at me again. “First of all,” she says, “my family’s personal shopper buys my clothes—or bought my clothes—and second of all…they look good.”

  “You don’t need to look good,” my father interjects. “Looking good around here ends you up married and pregnant at eighteen.”

  “Your sons definitely know what a condom is and so do I.”

  I snort.

  “Besides,” she adds, “I haven’t had a single boyfriend. When I’ve had three then you can worry about me ending up pregnant and married.”

  “Three?” I mumble over my food.

  She hesitates, looking like she’d rather not explain herself. “My mother said no woman should get married until they’ve had at least three…”

  She waves her hand as if I know how to finish that sentence.

  “Three…?” my father prompts her.

  “Lovers,” she blurts out. “Boyfriends, whatever.”

  I pinch my eyebrows together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She lets out a sigh, straightening her spine and looking visibly uncomfortable. Finally, she takes the ketchup, Heinz sauce, and A.1. bottle, moving them one next to the other.

  “Lust, learn, and love,” she says, placing the condiments and touching her finger to the ketchup. “My mother said the first boy—or man—is a crush. You think you love them, but what you really love is how they make you feel. It’s not love. It’s lust. Lust for attention. Lust for danger. Lust to feel special.” She looks between us. “You’re needy with number one. Needy for someone to love you.”

  My father forgets the food he’s chewing as he gapes at her.

  “The second is to learn about yourself.” She touches the Heinz. “Your first crush has been crushed. You’re sad, but most of all, you’re angry. Angry enough to not let it happen again,” she explains. “To not give yourself over so much this time. To not give up your power to be his booty call at midnight and there waiting whenever he decides to show up.”

  She’s describing us, I take it.

  “Number two is where you finally learn what you’re capable of,” she continues, tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You start getting demanding. You grow bold, not afraid to start calling some shots. You’re also not afraid to be greedier in the bedroom, because it’s about what you want and not what he wants. Number two is to be used. In a way.”

  My dad clears his throat, and I laugh to myself as I drop my fork and give her my full attention. She said bedroom.

  “What the fuck did she teach you?” he mumbles.

  But I want her to keep going. “And number three?” I ask, picking up the A.1.

  “Love.” She snatches the bottle away. “When the lessons of your weakness with number one and your selfishness with number two sink in, and you find a medium. When you know who you are and you’re ready to welcome everything he is, and you’re not afraid anymore.” She puts the bottle back in its place. “You still might not have a happy ending, but you’ll engage in a healthy relationship and handle yourself in a way you’re proud of.”

  “And you think your mother is the one to listen to?” Dad replies.

  “She was a failure as a mother,” Tiernan points out. “But nothing else. It’s the only advice she ever gave me, actually, so I kind of hang on to it.”

  It actually isn’t terrible advice. I’m so glad I didn’t marry my first. Or my fifth. People learn about themselves through sex. It’s true. And sometimes it may take a lot of living to become the person you want to be. I’m happy my future wife won’t have to experience the complete prick I was at seventeen. I was much worse. Like a lot worse.

  “Well, sounds like you already know what you need to know,” my dad tells her. “Why go through three men to get it?”

  “Some lessons can’t be taught,” she says, taking a bite of the steak Kaleb gave her. “Just learned. Don’t you think?”

  I watch in amusement as he can’t fucking respond, because she’s right. Sometimes people have to make their own mistakes and feel the pain.

  She takes her empty beer and stands up. “Anyway, nothing to worry about,” she assures him. “I have zero interest in relationship drama, and even if I did, we’ll be deep in snow for months very soon. The perfect chastity belt.”

  She walks over to the garbage, tossing her empty bottle and reaching into the fridge to grab another.

  Our eyes follow her, barely breathing as we watch her lean over in her three-hundred-dollar jeans to find a new bottle.

  I shift in my seat, the sudden bulge between my legs swelling.

  “Yeah,” I murmur sarcastically as I lift my bottle to my lips. “Because there’s no danger here whatsoever.”

  Dad shoots me a look.

  Pretty sure he knows by now that it’s going to be a long fucking winter.

  Tiernan

  “What’s this?” I dart my eyes up to Noah before taking the bag he’s handing me.

  We’ve been running to town every chance we get over the past few weeks, anticipating the end of our cheeseburger and milkshake runs. I also needed to hit the pharmacy today to stock up on everything under the sun that can remedy what might hit me up on the peak this winter, when I won’t be able to go to town for what ails me. I’m prepared for headaches, sinus issues, joint pain, back pain, cramps, allergies—not that I currently have those, but you never know—and I’m about to be all stocked up on my birth control.

  I debated going off, but… I guess it’s just best to stay on my routine.

  He shrugs. “I’ve never gotten a girl a birthday present,” he says as I peer into the bag. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.”

  I reach in, pulling out a T-shirt and baseball cap. We stand in the corner of the store, waiting for my script to be filled, and I set the bag on the floor, fanning out the shirt.

  It’s light blue with the town’s emblem on the breast, and I turn it over, seeing the same Van der Berg Extreme logo covering the whole back. It’s just like Noah’s, only his is white.

  I grin. “Is this your way of telling me you want your clothes back?”

  “Just thought you might like something that fits you a little bet—” He pauses, rethinking. “Actually, my clothes look pretty good on you. I just thought you’d like something new is all.”

  Yeah. I love it. I don’t have many T-shirts of my own. Just school ones, and those don’t have good memories, so this one will be fun to wear.

  I look at the burgundy-colored cap with the word WILD written in cursive.

  “It was either that or DIVA,” he says.

  I laugh and pull it onto my head, peering at him under the bill. “I am a DIVA,” I allow. “But I’d rather be a wild diva.”

  I reach in, wrapping one arm around his neck for a quick hug. “Thanks.”

  I pull away, but his arm is around my waist, holding me to him for a real hug. I falter, taken back.

  But then, I tighten my embrace.

  It feels good—hugging someone who doesn’t want to pull away first.

  “My mom calls me sometimes,” he says, his voice low and pained. “My dad doesn’t know.”


  I back up, releasing him, so I can look in his eyes.

  “Not sure why I’m telling you.” His voice is quiet. “She wants money in her commissary account.”

  I watch him, listening. No one talks about her. I don’t even know why she’s in jail.

  “And I put the money in her account, because I let myself enjoy the idea for a moment that she needs me.” He gives me a sad smile, looking so solemn. So serious. Not Noah. “Even though I know I’m just the first person she assumes she can take advantage of. She knows my dad won’t talk to her. That Kaleb can’t talk to her.”

  Noah can’t talk to Jake. I gathered that much in my first week here.

  He doesn’t have anyone in that house to really connect to. I never really saw that before.

  “I wish she was dead.” Noah stares at the floor but then looks up at me. “I wish she was dead, because then I could love her.”

  I stare at him, and he stares at me, both of us barely breathing but calm.

  He steps closer, “Would you rather be used than never thought of at all?”

  “Would you rather be never thought of at all or used?” I throw back.

  Even now, I’m not sure. At least his mother knows he exists and can put on a show of love, even if it’s fake.

  But then…at least my parents didn’t lie to me. They didn’t toy with me or jerk me around. I always knew where I stood.

  Who had it worse? Him or me?

  “Try the shirt on before we leave,” Noah says.

  I blink at the sudden change in subject.

  He steps closer, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago as he backs me up farther into the corner.

  “I don’t want it too tight,” he explains.

  He hovers, his body an inch from mine as he looks down at me.

  What? Here? My eyes flash to the store around us.

  “Noah…”

  “I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispers, cutting me off. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “Why do you want me here so much?”

  “Why not?”

  I study his eyes. “Because when you leave, I won’t be wherever you go.”

  He falls silent, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. He wants to leave here so badly, and he will. Eventually.

  Eventually, I’ll leave, too. He doesn’t need me. He needs a life raft.

  Looking around and not seeing anyone around us, I shield myself between him and the corner as I pull off his old T-shirt I’m wearing and hand it to him.

  Refitting my cap, I slip my arms through the new one, his eyes on me making my skin tingle as I avoid his gaze.

  My bra covers more than a bikini, and I’m still in my jeans. Overall, I’m much more dressed than I was at the lake all those weeks ago when they took me fishing.

  But with my hair hanging in two scraggly braids, a baseball hat, and dirt under my fingernails for the first time in my life, I’ve never felt this pretty.

  How he looks at me…

  How Jake looks at me…

  How Kaleb refuses to look at me, but I know he’s aware of my every move when we’re in the same room.

  The skin of my breasts, only half covered in my hot pink bra, burns with fire under Noah’s gaze, and I pull the shirt on over my head, feeling Noah’s hands brush my arms as he reaches up to help pull it down over my body.

  I fix my hat again, his fingers still gripping the hem below my hips.

  I’m afraid to meet his eyes but I can feel the heat rolling off him.

  “The local guys don’t talk to you,” he orders in a raspy voice. “They don’t touch you tonight. Do you understand?”

  I nod, still not meeting his gaze. My heart pumps so hard it hurts, but my stomach is flipping like I’m riding a roller coaster.

  He finally releases me and backs up. “It looks nice.”

  What does?

  Oh, the shirt. Right.

  “Tiernan,” someone calls.

  And I dart past him to get my prescription, anything to get away.

  Hours later, I’m twirling in my room, smiling as my new summer dress fans out along with my hair. It’s too cold to wear this tonight, but I’m going to anyway. After seeing it on sale in a shop earlier, I got an itch to clean under my fingernails and put on some make-up for my birthday dinner, since this could very well be the last time we hit town. A storm is coming.

  U2’s “Dancing Barefoot” plays, and I move, closing my eyes and running my hands up under my hair. My homework is desperately late, I have missed calls—probably birthday wishes from Mirai and friends of my parents—and my shipment of paperbacks to get me through the winter is delayed in Denver, but… I deleted all my social media and I’m now a legal adult, completely in charge of where I can go and what I can do, so any weight on my shoulders feels a lot lighter now. I’m actually excited, even though the guys are busy dreading the boring coming months.

  I spin and spin, but then I spot a figure out of the corner of my eye and stumble to a stop, seeing Kaleb standing in the hallway. He looks like he just came down from his room, paused in the middle of pulling on his T-shirt as he watches me.

  My pulse quickens. It’s unsettling to have his attention, because I’m never sure what he’s thinking, but I always feel like it’s not good.

  Stalking over, I kick the door shut, smiling to myself as I pick up my heels and sit on the bed, sliding my feet in. I feel great, and I’m not letting him ruin my night. Carter, my parents’ security, is taking care of the house back in L.A., Mirai and our lawyer are handling all of my parents’ estate business, and for the first time in my life I get to be a kid tonight. Smiling, laughing, playing, being around people who care about me… It seems weird that I finally get that on the day I become an adult, but I won’t analyze it. I’m taking it.

  Buckling up my Louboutins, a Christmas gift from my parents last year—courtesy of Mirai, of course—set with pretty crystals and five-inch heels, I grab a cream-colored shawl to go over my dark pink dress and head out of the room.

  Kaleb is long gone, and I carry the shawl as I fluff up my loose curls and smooth out my dress. It’s simple and innocent, but totally not me. Backless and short—falling mid-thigh—it has a deep cleavage and spaghetti straps. My heels clack on the wooden stairs, and I walk through the living room, seeing the guys around the table as I set my shawl and phone down and go for my purse.

  Digging out my license and cash, I turn and hand it to my uncle. “Would you hold this in your wallet?” I ask. “It saves me from carrying a bag.”

  But he just looks at me, kind of scowling.

  “What?” I say.

  “You’re overdressed.”

  I tsk, giving him a coy smile as I stuff my card and money in his hand. “There’s no such thing.”

  Of course, compared to them I am overdressed. They’re all in jeans, Noah double-fisting Budweisers.

  “People don’t dress like that here,” Jake points out.

  And he really didn’t need to say that. It’s not like I haven’t noticed.

  “I don’t fit in anywhere,” I tell him. “I’m used to it.”

  Seriously. I feel good. Stop hyperventilating.

  He cocks an eyebrow and turns away, and I can see Noah’s concerned gaze flash to his.

  Jake finally shoves a large package over to me, exquisitely wrapped in silver paper with a big silver bow.

  I reach for it. “What’s this?”

  It’s a weird shape.

  But all he says is, “Open it.”

  The paper looks just as pretty as everything under my Christmas trees growing up, and I can’t help but feel the smile I’m wearing. I know he knows what’s inside. Which means he picked it out. Hell, he might’ve even wrapped it, too.

  I rip the paper, tearing it off in large sheets and picking at the scraps until the whole thing comes into view, and I look at the compound bow with a pink camouflage pattern and six arrows.

  I pick it up. “Wow.”

 
“Do you know how to shoot it?” my uncle asks.

  “A little.” I fist the grip and draw the band back, aiming toward the fridge. “I haven’t used one in a long time.”

  And I’ve never used a compound bow. They didn’t have these at camp.

  “Noah set up a target in the barn,” he tells me. “You can practice before we take it out hunting.”

  I drop my arms and look at him. “Hunting?”

  They all stand silent, and I gaze around at them as if there was a stipulation in my contract for living here that I missed.

  “I don’t think I want to do that.” I set the bow down on the table. I’ll cook the meat. I’m not supplying it, though.

  But Noah just laughs, and Jake shakes his head.

  “We’ll talk about it,” he says.

  Just as long as it’s not today.

  “Well, thank you.” I give him a peck on the cheek. “I really love it.”

  He nods once but won’t meet my eyes. He clears his throat. “I’ll go warm up the truck.”

  I grab my wrap and swing it around my shoulders. An Aran Islands sweater from Mirai to keep me warm this winter, a shirt and hat to help me blend in with the locals, and a new toy. Better than any birthday so far.

  But as I move to follow Jake, Kaleb steps in front of me, stopping me.

  I look up.

  He pauses a moment before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a long strap of dark brown leather.

  I narrow my eyes as he offers it to me.

  The horn outside honks, but we stay, Noah approaching my side.

  “What’s this?” I reach out and take it, threading it through my hand and turning it over.

  “He makes them,” Noah says.

  It’s a belt. Dark and tanned with carvings in the leather and an antique-looking silver buckle. I study the etchings. There are trees, a waterfall, the peak—the view from my bedroom window, actually—something that looks like a braid of hair, a horse, and a dreamcatcher.

  I swallow. Why would he put a dreamcatcher on there?

  But it is beautiful. He made this himself?

  Then I notice something else, and I chuckle.

  “The notches go all the way to the buckle,” I point out. “I’m flattered, but my waist isn’t that small.”