Split

by JB Salsbury

  Yes, I do mind. Since when did I become Sam’s keeper? “Sure.”

  I put the last two cocktails on the tray and carefully balance it, keeping it close to my body to try to avoid anyone knocking into it. After distributing them, the guys all pay up, separately.

  Ugh…it should be mandatory for all people to work in a service industry like this before they’re allowed to become adults so they understand how fucking annoying things like separate checks are. Next thing you know they’ll be sending me back to the bar because there’s too much ice in their drink or the hops-to-barley ratio on their beer isn’t quite right.

  After making change for six drinks, I storm off to the opposite end of the bar in search for Sam. She fits in well at a place like this; every girl around looks like some porno version of Daisy Duke. I think the best I could pull off would be a slutty Pocahontas.

  “Hey, Tammie, have you seen Sam?” I ask the other cocktail server, and then panic because I think her name might be Tara.

  Her eyes widen along with her smile. “Oh, you haven’t seen?”

  I shake my head. “Seen what?”

  She lifts a brow, then leans in. “There’s a super-hottie in the back corner. She’s been hanging around him all night. I think he’s with the band!” There’s a frantic fangirl pitch to her already-high voice.

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  She leans in to whisper, “Just wait till you see him! If I weren’t happily married, I’d ride that fine stud like a rodeo cowgirl.”

  I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips, but I’m determined to find Sam and send her to Loreen because every minute I’m not working is a dollar out of my pocket.

  I shove through clusters of people and weave around those who are having way too much fun to notice me.

  My eyes search the surrounding area until finally I see Sam in a tangle of body parts against the back wall. As I approach, the man she’s leaning into slides his big paw up the back of her miniskirt and my jaw drops at their blatant fondling. I’m not a prude or anything, but it doesn’t take much of an imagination to know what his fingers are doing between her legs. I force my eyes to their heads. The lighting is dim and if my ex-best friend’s body language is anything to go by, I’d say either he’s magnetic or she’s sticky, like fly tape.

  “Um…Sam?”

  She doesn’t respond, but her hand that was on his ribs moves to slide in between them and down and…Oh boy. This is awkward.

  “Sam!”

  She tilts her head, apparently going for his tonsils.

  “Samantha!” I move to tap her shoulder but snag my hand back and freeze when the man’s face comes into view.

  Lucas?

  His eyes lock on mine and he rips his mouth from hers.

  “What do you want, Shy?” She sounds irritated but continues to gaze up adoringly at him. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.

  He tilts his forehead down and without his baseball hat, his hair falls over his forehead to reveal glaring, cold-steel eyes. The shadows play off the angles of his face, making him terrifying and alluring at the same time.

  “Oh, uh…” I point toward the bar. “Loreen wants you.”

  Lucas’s hold on Sam tightens, crushing her to his chest so much that she has to grip his biceps to keep from folding backward.

  Okay. Message received. He wants her. I’m interrupting.

  The rejection boils beneath my skin.

  “Tell her I’m busy, cover for me.” Her hand glides up over his shoulder to sift through his hair, which pulls at his attention.

  “Yeah, sure.” Any excuse to get away, but I’m not fast enough.

  He pulls one of her pigtails almost violently, tilting her head before he smashes his lips to hers. I spin around, but not before I’m witness to the perverse joining of their wet and greedy tongues.

  My heart pounds with unwelcome anger. I try to convince myself for the millionth time that the Lucas I came to know doesn’t exist. That he’s not the same man I saw fumbling in the diner who’d lost his mom. He’s not the man who’d smile at the most innocent jokes, who called me ma’am and blushed when I held his gaze a second too long. This man is someone else. So fuck him. Fuck them both. I don’t need this shit. I’m moving to Oregon, dammit!

  Halfway to the bathroom, I’m fighting the urge to double back and rip Sam’s hair out piece by slutty piece and feed it to her when something snags my arm.

  “Hey, slow down there, Turbo!”

  I glare at a grinning Dustin.

  He runs a lazy gaze over me. “Where are you off to so fast?”

  Shit! Dustin’s here and less than a few yards away his semi-girlfriend is mouth-fucking my…er…another guy! If I were half the bitch I wish I were, I’d lead him right to her, but I’m not. Besides, Lucas is allowed to kiss whoever he wants.

  I catch my breath and calm my breathing. “Working.” I point to my apron.

  “No shit.” He holds up a mostly empty beer bottle. “Grab me one more.” His heavy eyelids, flushed cheeks, and soggy mouth indicate he probably doesn’t need another. “Chop, chop.” He smiles, as if ordering me around gets him off.

  “Whatever, it’s your hangover.”

  I reach for the bottle, but he pulls it up higher. I stare at him, unamused, and go for it again, but he snags it just out of my reach. Asshole! With a final huff, I jump to grab it and he moves so that my body crashes into his, chest to chest, belly to belly.

  His arms wrap around my waist before I’m able to find my footing and his mouth brushes my earlobe. “Ahh, finally. Miss feeling you in my arms, Shy.”

  Is he fucking kidding?

  I tilt my head to speak directly into his ear. “You didn’t miss feeling me when you were fucking my best friend, did you, Dustin.”

  “Of course I did.” He holds me tighter. “I wanted you, but you left. She was a placeholder until you came back.”

  “You’re sick.” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t release me. “Let me go.”

  “No. Not until you kiss me.”

  “Fuck off.” I shove again, but the six-foot-tall dickhead who lifts bags of feed all day is too strong.

  “One kiss, Shy. I won’t tell Sam, I promise.” He dips his lips to mine and I turn my face so he slobbers on my cheek. “God, even your skin tastes the same.”

  “Get the fuck off!” I shove at him again, his hold so tight now I can’t catch a full breath.

  My eyes search frantically for help, but the noise of the bar combined with the way he’s holding me wouldn’t look like anything more than a couple hugging on the dance floor, drunk and swaying to the music.

  He nuzzles my neck and the wet heat of his tongue bathes my throat.

  “Please.” I try to get my hands between us to push him away. “Dustin, stop it—”

  His body jerks off me. The momentum sends me to the ground. Heat slices through my knee. My palms sting from slapping to the floor to catch my fall.

  Dustin jumps to his feet, moves fast, and stands nose to nose with Lucas. “What the fuck is your problem, man?”

  Shit.

  Lucas threw him off me?

  I hop up, and a sharp pain in my knee makes me limp to stand.

  Lucas’s eyes dart from my leg to my face, worry flashing behind a deadly glare, asking a silent question.

  “I’m okay.”

  He blinks rapidly and seems to relax a little as he turns back to Dustin with the casualness of a lounging tiger. Calm, but deadly.

  Dustin shoves Lucas. “Who the fuck do you think you—” His eyes become tight slits. “Oh, wait a second. I’ve heard about you. You’re the retard working at Jennings.” He shoves Lucas again, but he doesn’t budge and seems completely unfazed.

  “Leave him alone!” I push Dustin with two hands, only to have him grab my wrists and pull me into his chest.

  “This what you want, retard?” He flips me around to face Lucas, his hands locking my arms at my belly.

  Lucas’s e
yes grow impossibly darker.

  From out of the crowd Sam appears, takes in the scene, then curls up to Lucas’s side. Her arms wrap around his waist like pythons, but he seems totally unaware of her presence. “Give it up, Dustin. We broke up.” Her eyes land on me apologetically. “You can have him back. I don’t want ’im.”

  I shake my head and struggle to get away.

  “Release her.” An angry growl comes from Lucas’s mouth but sounds nothing like him.

  Sam peers up at him, frowning.

  “Make me, retard.” Dustin nuzzles my hair behind my ear and it’s all I can do to keep from heaving.

  “You’re disgusting! Just leave him alone!” I kick my feet, but it’s useless; he’s too strong.

  His beer breath fans my face as he laughs. “I can’t believe it. You’re stickin’ up for the retard? You like the dumbshit, don’t you, Shy?” He jerks me in his hold. “You want him? He’ll have to take you from me.”

  Lucas’s eyes slide to mine and practically glint with excitement. The hint of a smile curves his lips.

  “Don’t listen to him, Lucas!”

  He jerks his gaze to Dustin and shrugs off Sam so hard she yelps. Stepping into Dustin’s face, leaving me the only thing that stands between them, Lucas grins, cocks an arm, and punches my ex with lightning speed.

  Blood sprays across my cheek.

  Dustin drops like a sack of pig feed. I would’ve gone down with him if it weren’t for Lucas’s hold around my waist.

  Sam rushes to Dustin, kneels, and shoves him. “You idiot!”

  I move to check on him, but Lucas cuffs my wrist in an unforgiving grip and drags me away. My feet have no choice but to follow as he turns down the nearby hallway and pushes out the back door.

  “Lucas, I—”

  He whirls me around. I stumble and my knee screams before I’m slammed against the wall, nearly knocking the air from my lungs. “Not Lucas. Gage.” His lips crash against mine and I gasp as his tongue slides into my mouth.

  No, no! I don’t want this. I beat his chest with my fists, but he growls, presses me deeper into the wall, sandwiching my arms between us. His tongue lashes against mine, powerful lips demanding my cooperation and draining me of my will to fight. My eyes flutter closed and I moan, helpless against the euphoria.

  His lips are smooth, strong, and greedy. I wiggle my arms free and hook my hands behind his neck. My nails rake across his flesh. A growl rumbles in his chest and he pulls at my shirt, balling the front in his fist and pulling so tight it bites into my skin. The kiss is like nothing I’ve felt before—animalistic and primal.

  This is not the Lucas I know. Not the timid, shy, almost scared man I’ve come to care about.

  He bites my upper lip and reality comes crashing down over me.

  Gage.

  He called himself Gage.

  I rip free of his lips, panting, and he runs his nose along my jaw. His breath hits my overheated skin in quick bursts.

  “Who is Gage, Lucas?”

  His body tenses and he slowly pulls back. His chin is down and he glares at me through heavy-lidded eyes that are on fire with an emotion I can’t name.

  A tendril of fear winds its way up my spine, racking my body with an intense shiver. I can’t explain how I know, and it makes no sense, but…“You’re not Lucas,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head, slowly, deliberately keeping our gazes locked.

  “Where is he?”

  His eyelids flutter and he pushes off me, putting space between us. “Stay away from him.”

  What is this? His face and body say Lucas, but he’s carrying it so differently that…“I want to talk to Lucas.”

  His head jerks and he rushes at me, his big hands pinning my shoulders to the wall. “Do not fuck with him. Stay away, or I’ll bury you.” He turns on his heel and stalks into the parking lot, disappearing between rows of cars.

  I want to chase after him, but fear has my feet cemented to the ground.

  I run trembling fingertips along my lips. My pulse pounds in my ears, making me dizzy. “Who are you, Lucas?”

  Fourteen

  Lucas

  I’m flying. No, not flying, falling. Air whips around my body and a feeling of weightlessness lightens my chest. My arms and legs flail, but not in panic.

  In exhilaration.

  The howling laughter of a girl makes my heart pound.

  Blue water comes into view just below my feet. It grows bigger as I plummet.

  I brace to hit.

  My body lurches. I gasp. My heart thuds heavily and I blink as my eyes adjust to the sunlight.

  I’m in my room, on my bed. I hold my head in my hands, the light confirming what I already know.

  “Blackout.” I rub my temples as my senses flare back to life and do a quick mental check of my well-being. “Headache.” Not uncommon after the blackouts.

  I peer down at my body. Still wearing clothes, even though I’m in bed, or more like on top of my bed. My work boots are still on and…I open and close my right hand. “Sore knuckles?”

  I check the window from where I’m sitting. My guess is it’s early morning. A groan rumbles in my chest and the weight of discouragement threatens to push me back into sleep.

  My memory. I have to try to pull up as much as I can. I lie back and throw my forearm over my eyes.

  Work, picked up tile. Shyann was there.

  The jump!

  My dream, it really happened. My lips pull into a tiny smile despite the worry about my going dark. I dropped her off at home, came home to work on my carving, and—a flash of her in my kitchen sends me upright. I didn’t take her home. I brought her here.

  “She was here.” Looking at the fixtures and…the feeling of her body in my arms, warm and so sad. I held her and she—

  “Dammit!” I slam my fists into the mattress at my sides and wince as pain rockets through the right knuckle. What did she see?

  I haven’t blacked out in front of anyone since I moved here. Had a few in juvie, but they were short and never drew any attention. I even went years without a single blackout; then I moved into a halfway house and they came back with a vengeance. I’d wake up to so much anger, people I’d hurt, they’d demand answers and I’d have no recollection of what happened. Eventually I ended up having to run.

  I moved to different cities, kept to myself for as long as I could. The more I exposed myself to people, the worse the blackouts became. It wasn’t until I moved here that they let up.

  The blackouts are back. And in front of Shyann of all people.

  I search the surrounding area for evidence she’d been here, in my room, when a whiff of something pungent and foreign filters through my post-blackout fog. I try to follow the scent to find where it’s coming from and don’t have to go far. With two fingers, I lift the front of my shirt to my nose and cringe.

  Perfume.

  I was with a woman. Disgust rolls through my gut. Not again.

  I jump up and dizziness washes over me. My stomach protests the movement but I push through it and head to the bathroom. I brace my hands on either side of the oval mirror above the sink and stare at my reflection. Most of my jaw is covered in scruff except for the spot on my neck, the scarred skin too damaged to grow hair. I run my fingertips along the puckered flesh and curse my condition.

  It’s the thorn in my side, my cross to bear.

  I rip my shirt off over my head and throw it in the shower so I can wash it. The smell of perfume always reminds me of my mother and I can’t risk another blackout this soon after coming to.

  Pushing the lever to hot, I let the water work on my clothes while I shave. I lather up, wipe the steam from the mirror, and make the first few passes of the razor when something in the mirror catches my eye.

  What the hell?

  I lean in, tilting my head to inspect the large purple circle on my neck. Is that…a hickey?

  Sweat breaks out on my skin and I kick off my jeans and check between my legs. Nothing see
ms out of the ordinary, not like times in the past when I’ve come to naked, sticky, and sore.

  I power through the rest of my shave and jump in the shower. I don’t know how long I’m in there, but by the time I’m finished I’m out of soap and my skin burns. As hard as I try to reach back and remember anything about what went on during my blackout, it’s impossible to pull a coherent thought.

  And what I do remember leads to my worst fear.

  Shyann was here.

  She was upset.

  I went dark.

  Now I have a hickey on my neck.

  Did I…? No. I wouldn’t, but— Oh God. He would.

  I toss on a gray T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans and my stomach growls. When was the last time I ate? I grab my work boots and scramble to the living room. My eyes scour the area for clues. Anything.

  But everything looks as it did, nothing out of place.

  I move to the kitchen to grab a quick peanut butter sandwich and there in the windowsill are Spider-Man, Batman, and Pinkie Pie.

  I didn’t put those there.

  My sketchbook lies open and my heart pounds as I move to it with apprehensive steps. The drawings on the open pages come into view. Shyann nude in the river. Her light eyes stare back at me from the page along with a warning. Scribbled in childlike handwriting…

  Time for another sacrifice.

  I drop my sandwich and grab my hat and keys.

  Shyann.

  Everything is a blur as I race down the dirt road, sending a wall of dust into the air. I pull up to the Jennings home and desperately search for her truck, but it isn’t there.

  I speed toward the highway, my pulse pounding in my throat, and hit the pavement with a squeal of my tires. My stomach growls again and hunger combined with worry for Shyann makes me dizzy.

  She’s not at the diner, and a quick pass by the Jennings office and there’s no sign of her truck. My worst fears unfurl and I blink hard to keep my focus on the road and not give in to terror.

  My head swims as I whip my truck around the corner and a little farther down the road to the three-acre lot we’re building a two-story home on. Immediately I see Nash’s truck and hop out to go fumble through some made-up excuse for being late and frantic.