The Truth About Us (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Corbin

“What the hell was that, Kayla?” I spit as I storm to my truck. The smile on Kayla’s face intensifies my anger, but I try to stay calm. This is exactly what she wants me to do. I’ve known Kayla since her days of beauty pageants and cheerleading. When Kayla wants someone to do something, and they aren’t doing it, she makes them.

“I told you. I’m making a point.”

“That you’re a bitch? That point was made a long time ago.” I rip open the door of my truck, Kayla standing in front.

I’m not giving her what she wants. If she has a point to make, she needs to make it a bit more directly. I know she wants me to choose. But I’m not doing that here. Not now.

I start the truck and back up when Kayla refuses to move. I know what she looks like right now. Hip out, arms crossed, a scowl across that Miss Teen whatever-the-fuck face. It’s hard to care about what the right thing to do is when I’m this mad at her.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at her.

xxx

I’m still mad as I wipe the sweat from my forehead at work days later. Caleb has been talking for about ten minutes, but I stopped listening nine and a half minutes ago. He pauses from his job shining new metal parts that need to go out to various farmers and heavy duty equipment shops.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, totally.” I slide my mask down and turn on the lathe, wiping my hands on my coveralls. I adjust the cutting tool and Caleb's still staring at me.

"If you were listening, you would have answered my question." He sets a brake pad into a box of foam, his head shaking at my lie.

"Shit. Sorry, man. What did you ask?"

"I asked why you're using that lathe instead of the fancy new computer one." He points across the room to the huge machine hooked up to a big computer. We got it a few months back, and I learned how to use it, but I avoid it. Too many buttons.

"Because I like to do it myself. I like to control it. I don't like the idea of just punching numbers into a computer. If I wanted that, I'd have become an accountant." I glance behind Caleb at the clock. It's quarter to eleven. The bar will be opening soon.

Speaking of being an accountant. I slam the button that shuts down the machine and push my safety gear from my face.

“I have to go to the bar. You want some lunch or something?”

“Is your girl workin’?” Caleb hits me, and I scowl. He knows Brenda is working.

“You know it’s your mom working. And I don’t
have
a girl. They aren’t possessions.” The irritation coats my voice and Caleb matches my frown.

“You know what I mean. Man, you’re touchy. This girl must really be getting to you.” He goes back to packing brake pads, his eyes dropping to his work.

I think about answering him. Arguing with him. Telling him I’m fine. That I’m over it. That women are a fucking headache. But after attempting to speak, I can’t make myself say anything about Sophia because all I see is the look on her face when she asked me to leave. Complete disappointment. I still don’t know how to describe it, but it was like a kick in the balls. Telling him I’m fine would be a total lie.

“Just have that shit all packed up by the time I get back or I won’t sign your hours.”

Caleb just grunts as I turn to leave the shop.

xxx

My heart sinks as I walk up to the bar and see Kayla’s little silver car parked out front. The Mills Bash. She’s probably planning it.

I slide the keys from my pocket and unlock the door, stepping in and locking it behind me. Brenda’s behind the bar and Rich is already sitting in his spot, watching the TV. I told Brenda she should make him wait until the bar opened fully, but she’s never minded. I don’t think I’d be able to tell him to wait either.

“Hey, Rich. You’re going to have to start pitching in for the cable bill.” I slap his back as I make my way to the back. Rich nods at me in hello but doesn’t say anything. Brenda smiles as she wipes down the counter and I tell her that her kid wants lunch. I don’t have anything to do with the kitchen staff because they are technically a separate business. A tiny little restaurant next door that Dad struck a deal with ages ago. They serve us food; we serve them booze. It’s a tax nightmare, but it is what it is.

As soon as I’m around the corner and past the cooler my chest gets tighter with every step. I’ve managed to ignore Kayla up until now, but by the terrible pop music playing from the shitty computer speakers, I know I’ll have to face her now.

I hear her voice rise above the music, and I pause just short of the door.

“God, Mom! I heard you. I’m sorry I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

My chest squeezes tighter. It bugs me when she talks to her mom. They both bug me.

“No, I don’t want her there. Layla doesn’t need to be there.”

Her sister Layla. Yeah, Kayla and Layla. Her mom is into that shit. And beauty pageants and cheerleading and anything else that is dominated by being the prettiest bitchiest girl with an eating disorder. Layla’s sixteen now so probably entering in the Miss Teen thing Kayla was in.

“Fuck. Stop. No, Mom. Don’t ruin her... Yeah, like me... You know what? Fuck you.” I hear her phone slam down, and I wait a long time before I poke my head in the doorway. Kayla doesn’t like that side of her life, and I don’t like feeling guilty about being mad at her. This reminds me of who she really is.

I finally step through the door, and she looks through her fingers at me. Papers are spread all around her.

“I need a raise.” She glares at a page with a bunch of scribbles on it.

“Yeah, probably. I should just make you a manager, and then I don’t have to come here to open the safe and shit for you anymore.”

“Yeah, probably.” She pushes the page away from her. “If there are 500 people at the Bash and they each drink an average of eight beers and a keg has 140 cups how many kegs would we need?”

“Twenty-eight and a half.” I say with barely a pause. She snaps her eyes to mine.

“I hate how easy that is for you.” She scrawls the number 30 on her paper. I shrug as I lean down to the small safe behind the door. I spin the combination and take out all the cash for the bar and the deposit from yesterday.

“It’s just numbers. There is always a right answer. It’s easy. Standard cups are 12 ounces, and eight beers per person for five hundred people is four thousand. If a keg has a hundred and forty, then it’s four thousand divided by a hundred forty.”

She looks at me blankly. I don’t know how she doesn’t get it.

“I hate you.” She smiles, and I wish I could still be mad at her but if Kayla is anything she is consistent. She changes for no one. She apologizes for nothing. I put the cash on the desk, sign off on the deposit and shove the envelope in my back pocket.

Just before I leave she clears her throat.

“Corbin?” she asks, and I look over my shoulder at her. “After what happened, I assume we’re over?”

I spin fully to watch her expression.

“Uh, yeah. I think we’re over.”

Her neutral expression settles into a glare that I can’t decipher. “Whatever.” She turns her attention back to her papers and my heart skips and thumps against my ribs.

It’s probably stupid, but the way she said whatever sounded like anything but what she intended it to be. My thoughts shift to Sophia, and how Kayla will take this out on her, because I know she will.

“Don’t think this gets you out of planning the Bash.” She glares at me then turns up the music, blatantly telling me to piss off.

I go back to work even more confused than I’ve ever been but glad for something else to focus on. A distraction.

Chapter Twelve

Sophia

The sun is hot and the skin on my shoulders sizzles. A soft sticky breeze blows across the water, but there isn’t a single ripple. No noise. Just stillness. Everything frozen except the breeze making my hair dance around my face, tickling my nose. My chin rests on my hands, my elbows on the rickety old dock.

Stillness all around me. But inside me it feels like fingernails being raked up my throat with each scream that tears silently through me. My mind vibrates with fear, but outside my eyes calmly scan the horizon. My feet sway in the air as I lie on my stomach and peer out over the water. It’s like a glass plate, a barrier.

Under the flat surface of the water is a face. His face is calm. The sunbeams dance through the water and cast shadows across his smooth features. Familiar, beautiful. Small air bubbles form around his nose and mouth, coming to the surface but they never break. His pale eyes watch me as the acidic fear slowly eats away my insides. On the outside everything is perfect.

My brain screams his name, but my lips smile at the sight of him. My beautiful Lance. He looks so peaceful, so serene. My smile widens, and he smiles back as my hair tangles across my face, obstructing my vision. The faint smell of algae envelops my senses and the frantic ripping inside me gets stronger.

I barely notice as a shadow passes across my body, but I feel a cold stab on my shoulder blade as a water droplet slides down my back. The shadow moves over me, and suddenly I’m cold. Another droplet hits the dock. The sound is deafening and I clasp my hands over my ears, never taking my eyes off Lance. My brain screams for him. The ripping of my throat finally lets loose just as a water drop hits the surface of the lake.

My mouth opens.

Lance’s face twists. Pain. Fear. Anger. Panic.

I hear him scream. Or is it me? I can’t tell as my lungs burn. My ears ring.

I plunge my hand in the water to grab him, but the further my hand goes in, the further down he’s pulled. The weeds grab at his arms and legs pulling him. Down. Further.

I have to get him. I have to reach him. I have to save him.

I have to.

I have to. 

I have to.

xxx

A ragged breath causes me to sit straight up in bed. It’s dark and cold. My throat feels raw, my eyes wet. I press my hand against my chest as it heaves and my heart thunders through my limbs. I massage my neck and wish I had water on my nightstand. Between my night terror and my medication, I feel like I’ve never drank water in my life.

Flipping the covers off my body I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles scream with tension making me fight my way to standing. I just need water. That’s my only thought as I head downstairs.

In the kitchen, the lights are on, and I can hear something clanging. A sound like stirring in a cup with a metal spoon. When I make it around the corner, Tobie is standing in the middle of the room in nothing but her underwear, wearing a scowl on her face, blowing on a steaming cup. She doesn’t flinch when I come in. I am guessing my screaming woke her.

“Tobie, what’s wrong?” I ask and her scowl deepens.

“Goddamn pregnancy. I would kill someone for a good, strong cup of coffee. You know that? But no, I have to drink this hot water shit, weak ass tea.” She grunts and puts the cup on the counter rather forcefully.

She finally looks up at me, and her face instantly softens. “Oh, sweetie, are you alright?”

I’m about to ask what she’s talking about when she reaches out and touches my neck. A sharp sting makes me jump back and cup my hand over the pain.

“I must have scratched myself in my sleep.” I shrug because it wouldn’t be the first time. “I’ll be alright.” I move around Tobie to get a glass of water and smile half-heartedly on my way back to my room. Suddenly I remember her words at the barbecue last weekend. About trusting her, confiding in her. She looked so alone standing in the kitchen; she looked just like I feel. She tried to reach out to me, but I was so confused about Corbin and Kayla that I couldn’t be bothered to want to get close. I am starting to feel guilty about avoiding Tobie. I work almost every night just to stay busy, but it doesn’t help that I’m constantly tossed in with Kayla and Corbin, planning this stupid Bash, even though I just work while Kayla barks orders. I turn at the bottom of the stairs and look at Tobie, back to fighting with her tea. It really would be nice to have someone to talk to. Someone to tell about my feelings for Corbin. The feelings that get closer to the surface the more I try and shove them down.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” I ask her, taking a sip of water.

“Being fat and miserable... Same old.” Her tone is so dry that I laugh.

“Want to have dinner with me before I go to work?”

Her face shifts from a scowl to a smile, her light eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”