***
Carsen wasn’t kidding; this place is jam-packed on Sundays. As soon as Cal got settled on his lane, customer after customer came in. There hasn’t been a single second for us to breathe since.
When Bryan came in around nine and greeted me like family, Carsen stopped questioning if I was supposed to be here today.
He also retreated to the floor, leaving me to face the chaos of the counter on my own—mostly. He’s come up two times to complain about something I did wrong. I think he’s trying to get me riled up, but I merely nod and apologize, and then he grits his teeth and stalks off in a huff.
I’m only now sitting down for my first fifteen-minute break and he’s come back into the storeroom.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking my break? I told you I was.”
“I said you could take your break after you folded the towels and organized the spray bottles.”
I point at the shelf behind him and he spins around. The shelf is organized like it never has been. It’s impeccable. I can’t wait to hear what he complains about this time.
Carsen straightens a towel that doesn’t need straightening and turns my way. “Whatever. It’s good enough.”
“Good enough? Try again.”
He tilts his head. “Excuse me?”
“That”—I point to the shelf again—“doesn’t look good enough. It’s flawless and you know it, a hell of a lot better than the mess it was this morning. You’re welcome.”
“I’m welcome? You did your job. What do you want, a cookie?”
“A ‘good job’ or ‘thank you’ would suffice.”
“So you need to be rewarded for doing the job you were hired for?”
I stare at him blankly. “No, but I also don’t need to be micromanaged and talked to like hot garbage because you’re in a pissy mood.”
“I’m not in a pissy mood.”
“No? So this is how you always are? Should make for a fun summer.”
He gives me a wolfish grin. “Ah, sarcasm at its finest.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“No, I’m not always this way. Just mostly.”
“How promising. Can I get back to my break now?”
“You only have ten minutes left.”
“Where did I lose five? When you came back here to hound me about what I’m doing wrong? Again? That hardly seems fair.”
His eyes darken. “Life isn’t fair, Elliott.”
He expects me to argue.
I don’t. All I say is, “Can I have my nine minutes now?”
He takes a deep breath and nods then leaves me to myself.
I slink down in the chair even farther, already exhausted from my first day. It’s not the work that has me tired.
It’s Carsen.
I’ve steered clear of him nearly all day. I don’t want to give him any hints that I know who he is and what happened to his mother. I’ve been careful not to glance his way too long or watch him too closely. I don’t want him to think I’m watching him like he’s on display, because I’m not—well, not for the reason he probably thinks I am.
I’m watching him because he intrigues me. He exudes an intimidating amount of irritation, but there are moments when his lips twitch at something Cal says, when his jaw unclenches when a kid asks him a question. Those moments are what have me glancing his way every now and then.
Not the fact that everyone’s accused him of murder.
I’m not everyone, and it’s clear to me that Carsen’s in a world of hurt.
He’s not the killer. He’s the victim.
4
Elliott
“Everything good out here?” Bryan asks from the doorway of his office.
“Yep. We have everything done.”
“Good. Maybe we’ll be able to get out of here at a decent time tonight.” He disappears back into his cave, cranking his radio so loud I can hear the 80s blaring through the closed door.
I hop up onto the counter, mirroring my co-worker’s form. I know he’s staring at me; I can feel it. He’s been doing it all day, and he thinks I don’t notice, but I do. There have been a few times where I’ve caught him and he’s turned away, embarrassed. It’s confusing…but I like it.
I think.
“So, Bryan is your uncle?”
“He’s one of my dad’s best friends.” I shrug. “I’ve always known him as Uncle Bryan.”
His lips twist like he’s absorbing that information with interest. “Why’d your application sit here for months then?”
“Uh, because all of the positions were filled?” It comes out a question; I’m unsure what he’s getting at.
“Yeah, but you’re family. Why not simply hire you?”
“Why should he? Just because I know him doesn’t mean I get the job no matter what. Is that how it works in your world?”
His turn to shrug. “Something like that.”
“Well mine doesn’t work that way, Wheatley. I earned this position fair and square, interviewed for it alongside other applicants and everything.”
He stares down at the floor, silent. Then he murmurs, “Good. That’s good.”
I watch him, confused by not only his question but his reaction to my answer. He seems…pleased, which is something he hasn’t been since the moment I met him.
Pushing it aside—because if I’m being honest, I’ve spent too many hours today attempting to figure Carsen out and it’s draining me—I return to staring at the clock, trying to wish away the next fifty-five minutes we’re open.
“Hey, you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“That’s a no,” he retorts, annoyed.
“I’m listening.”
“Now. You’re listening now.”
I roll my eyes. “Repeat your question.”
“I don’t want to if you’re not going to listen. You do that a lot, you know. You sort of drift off and live in your own land.”
“Can you say ‘often’ when you’ve only known me since yesterday?”
“To be more precise, I’ve known you since this morning. Yesterday you were a random petulant brat. I didn’t like you then.”
A grin overtakes my lips. I wonder if he realizes what he’s said, or how genuine it sounded. “You like me?”
He groans. “I didn’t say that.”
“You said then, which implies that now you like me. So, you like me, huh?”
“You’re…growing on me.”
“I am? Already? What’d I do? Because I’m fairly certain you hate me.”
“I hate everybody,” he grumbles.
“Except me.”
“No, but I am partial to your quick wit.”
I will not read too much into that. “Yeah? Good. Now, repeat your question.”
“Fine… Uh…” He surprises me again, this time by clamming up. Carsen shifts from foot to foot, refusing to make eye contact with me. It’s kind of…cute.
Cute.
My initial reaction is that the word “cute” doesn’t fit him. He’s too angry, too rough around the edges. But, if I look under his tough exterior—and especially in this moment—I see how fragile he is.
“I, um, asked how your first day was.”
“Other than your snide remarks and constant ‘you’re doing it wrong’ comments, it was a good first day.”
He gives a playful grin. I take a jagged breath, startled by the way it makes my heart race. Carsen on his own is handsome. Carsen smiling? Yeah, kill me now, because oh my god. It’s…beautiful.
I only wish he’d do it more often.
“Yeah, I like your mouth.”
I don’t think it’s possible to predict what’s going to come out of his mouth at any given moment. One minute he’s snappy and the next he’s…nice. “Thank you…I think.”
His grin grows, and my heart starts beating faster. “I didn’t mean it in a creepy way. I just appreciate that you don’t mince your words, or try to make me feel…” He trails
off, his brows inching closer together, his grin slipping into a frown. “You give it to me straight. You don’t walk on eggshells. I like that.”
“Why would I walk on eggshells?”
His jaw sets firm and his eyes grow hard. Talk about whiplash. “I’m not fucking stupid, Elliott.”
The words fly at me like bricks, but I refuse to be hit with them. “I never said you were.”
“You’re implying it, playing dim with me.”
Annnnnd now I’m pissed. He’s acting as if I’m the one in the wrong for treating him like a person and not a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. It’s as if, despite what he’s said, he’s upset I don’t treat him different.
“Dim? What? I am not doing that! I’m—”
“I know you know!” His eyes are steel and his jaw is tightly clamped.
All I can wonder is how we reached this point. How did we go from a normal, borderline flirty conversation to him screaming at me because I don’t put on kid gloves around him?
“I fucking know, okay?” he goes on, anger seeping into every word. “I know you think I’m some sick fuck who murdered his own mother and pinned it on his father. Hell, after that shit-talking I heard yesterday, you must—”
“Must what?” It’s my turn to interrupt. “Must think you’re not what they’ve made you out to be. Must think you didn’t murder anyone. That you’re innocent? Because that’s exactly what I think.”
“I’ve seen you watching me today.”
“Because you’re intriguing.”
“Is it the killer in me?”
“No. It’s the asshole in you.”
Carsen’s mouth drops open. Then he closes it, only to float it open again. He swiftly jumps from his perch atop the counter, his face redder than the fire truck red polish on my fingernails, and his hands fall to fists at his sides.
“Bullshit.” He growls the word, and it pierces my ears like a knife.
Unable to control my own anger, I march toward him, fitting myself right up in his personal space until we’re nearly touching. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he steps closer and stands to his full height. He towers over me with poison in his eyes.
This sets me off to a new level, because for the first time, I’m not intrigued by Carsen—I’m mad as hell, and him towering over me and glaring down at me with such fury is sending my heart racing in all the wrong ways.
My fight-or-flight instincts kick in and…
I knee him right in the balls.
With a newfound confidence, I stoop down to his now collapsed form and say, “You want to know what’s bullshit, Carsen? You. Your fucking attitude. The way you’ve talked down to me this entire day. The fact that the moment—the very first, I might add—you showed any emotion other than anger toward me, you shut down, became mad, and lashed out at me. Again. Then you tried to intimidate me? Wrong move.” His pain-filled eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry life is hard, but I won’t be your punching bag.”
***
I arrive home uncertain of my future at Down the Lane. I didn’t quit, but I don’t think I left much room for future employment, especially since my knee made a good friend in Carsen’s balls.
Carsen.
The cynical asshole…ugh!
Even though I’m beyond angry with him, I’m sad. Is that the sort of treatment he expects from everyone? Does he think no one believes his hands aren’t bloody? If so, that’s a miserable life to live. No wonder he’s so lit up with hate.
“Please don’t break your laptop while you’re slamming about in here. Sometimes I sneak in and use it.”
“You have your own.”
Fish slinks into my room, making himself comfortable on my bed while I continue to rummage through my bookshelf. I want to read to get my mind off my shitty day, but I can’t find anything that sounds good.
“Yeah but yours is faster. Besides, sometimes I like to check your search history.”
“Why?”
“It’s interesting. You Google whacky stuff. ‘Do fish smile?’” He beams at me. “Come on. You could have just asked me.”
I roll my eyes at his joke.
“We do,” he confirms with a wink. “‘What do dogs dream about?’ ‘Is it cameltoe or camel toe?’ That one is my favorite.”
I grab the object nearest to me—one that isn’t a book—and lob it at his head. “I was curious!”
He laughs. “I’d say.” Fish adjusts himself on the bed. “So, what’s up? You’re cranky, barely spoke three words at dinner. Bad first day?”
“My knee said hello to Carsen Wheatley’s nuts. Scale of one to ten: how bad is that?”
“Solid seven and a half,” he says in a monotone voice.
Then, it hits him. He springs off the bed, crosses over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders. He shakes me—hard. “Are you insane? You kicked him in the nuts? Do you have a death wish?”
I push out of his grasp and scamper away. “No, and stop saying things like that. He isn’t a killer.”
“And you know this how? After… Wait. Why were you with him? Did he do something to you? Touch you, corner you, approach you? What. Happened.”
Fish’s eyes are bugging out of his head, his face turning red, and his breaths are coming in short spurts.
“First, calm down. Second, no, he did not touch me, corner me, or ‘approach’ me—whatever that means. I work with him now. He manages the bowling alley…I think. Weird, Bryan never mentioned it.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Anyway, he was kind of a dick. Well, not kind of, he was. All day. But then…”
“Elliott—”
“Let me finish, Fish, okay?” He nods, so I continue. “Then he was nice, for all of three minutes. After that, a flip switched, and he was a jerk again. But, I swear, Fish, those three minutes? Amazing. He was…different.”
Fish scoffs, and I slap his arm. “Ouch. I’m just saying—”
“Everyone is always just saying.”
“I know, but he’s dangerous.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve heard things.”
I sigh. “Fish, he didn’t kill his mom.”
“Not just that. He’s been in a few fights and they’ve been brutal.”
“Did you witness them?”
“No.”
“Okay then,” I tell him sternly.
My brother leans back against my bed, stretching his legs out as far as he can. His hands fall into his lap and he begins to twist his fingers together. It’s his thinking mode.
“You’ve always been a fixer, Elliott. You fixed Jase when his first girlfriend broke up with him. Erik when he scrapes his knee. Hell, you’ve been trying to fix me since my accident—even though it’s futile. It’s who you are, and I love that about you.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s what this is. That’s all this is. You think he’s broken, think he needs someone to fix him. He doesn’t, Elliott. He brought this on himself.”
“Don’t say that!”
“But I’m right!”
“So you think. You’re not, though. Fish, do you trust me?”
“Implicitly.”
“Then why won’t you trust me with this?”
Fish takes a moment to think, and I appreciate that.
I don’t appreciate the false hope it gives me.
“I…I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. You’re right when you say I don’t know him, and I’ve only heard that he’s guilty, but I can’t overlook the way you talk about him, his anger. You have that ‘fixing’ look in your eyes, and I don’t feel like this is something you can repair.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I could be. I could be right, too, but honestly, either way, I don’t want to find out.”
“I don’t need your permission,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest.
He sighs. “I know you don’t, Elliott. You never have and you never will. But…shit, kid. Be careful, okay? If he keeps it up with the anger, walk away. If he tries to take advantage of yo
u, walk away. And if at any moment he scares you, fucking run. Deal?”
Fish holds out his pinky finger and I loop mine with his. “Deal.”
I go back to scouring my bookshelf for something to read and my brother sits there quietly, watching me. I can feel his stare. I know he wants to say more, wants to try to sway me from my opinion on Carsen, but he can’t.
I get it. He hasn’t exactly shown what a great guy he is. Hell, I kneed him in the balls for being an intimidating ass only a couple hours ago, but deep down, he isn’t a bad guy. At least, I don’t think he is. Something feels…different about him, and I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s a good something.
“So…are you, like, into him?”
“Fish…”
“What? It’s a genuine question.”
“I don’t know him well enough to be into him.”
“You have a ‘but’ tone going on.”
I spin around and sit cross-legged in front of him. “I don’t have a ‘but’ tone. But—”
“Aha! See!”
“Ugh.” I poke his stomach. “Fine. Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t know him well enough to be ‘into’ him, but I’m not going to complain if I must look at him all day—you know, when he keeps his mouth closed and doesn’t scowl.”
“So shallow,” he teases.
“And there’s this… I… Crap, I don’t know. Something. He needs a friend. He needs someone to believe he isn’t a complete shitbag. I could be that person.”
“You just sat here and told me you assaulted him. How are you that person again?”
“I only did it because in that moment he deserved it. He needed someone to knock him down a few pegs. I just happened to be there.”
The look on his face says he still doesn’t believe me. “What really happened?”
I sigh, and then recount everything that happened.
“He exploded like that?”
“Yeah. Kind of.” I wince. “It wasn’t that bad, though.”
“And Bryan didn’t say a word?”
“Nope. I don’t even know if he heard it—he plays music back in his office—but I’m certain Carsen told him about it. I’m also certain there’s a good chance I no longer have a job.”
We Are the Stars Page 5
