Credence Page 11

  Kaleb watches me, cocking his head a little to the side again, and then he brings up his thumb, wiping the corner of his mouth like you do after a meal.

  In the woods. In. That’s what they meant. Kaleb disappears into the forest for spells.

  Maybe he should disappear again.

  “Why do you keep answering for him?” I ask Noah.

  “Because he doesn’t talk.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t speak, Tiernan.” Noah turns his head only enough for me to see his lips move. “He hasn’t spoken since he was four years old.”

  I look at Kaleb, not sure how to process the information. A touch of pity winds through me, but I think he sees it, because he glares down at me as he refastens his jeans and yanks his belt free, the end of it snapping in the air with his anger.

  I flex my jaw. “Is he deaf, too?” I snap. “I told him to stop.”

  “He can hear you just fine.” Noah sighs. “He’s just not used… to women…”

  “Saying no?”

  “Women like you,” Noah retorts.

  Like me? There are plenty of girls like me in town.

  Kaleb casts me one more look before he turns around and heads up the stairs, back into the house, and Noah faces me, his eyes taking in my clothes. I quickly pull my shirt down, but I’m too mad to be embarrassed.

  I can’t remember why I came to the shop in the first place.

  Mute? He’s mute? He can speak. Noah said he hasn’t spoken since he was four, not that he lost his ability to speak when he was four. Why doesn’t he talk?

  And what does he do in the woods by himself?

  I still see his eyes, looking down at me, when he pushed me into the wall and rested his forehead against mine. The way he looked at me…

  His mouth on my… My cheeks warm.

  “He won’t do it again,” Noah tells me, turning around to face me with an amused smile. “He didn’t know who you were, Tiernan. Sorry.”

  He lingers for a moment longer and then turns to leave, following his brother.

  And I stand in the garage, staring at the slivers in the hood of the car where I scratched the paint just a few minutes ago. For several minutes, I’m lost in thought about where that would’ve gone if Noah hadn’t come in. If I hadn’t forced myself to push his brother away.

  And how much of it might not have been Kaleb’s fault.

  Tiernan

  The next morning, giggles pierce the air, and I open my eyes, blinking away the sleep.

  That was a girl.

  Propping myself up on my elbows, I train my ears, hearing the steady rocking of something coming from Noah’s bedroom, and then a moan followed by something banging into the wall.

  I roll my eyes and fall back to the bed. They really are living their best life, aren’t they? Must be nice to have your bed buddies come to you. At the crack of dawn every morning.

  Doors open and close in the house, and I check my phone, seeing it’s just after five-thirty. Turning my head, I see my unpacked suitcase still laying open on the floor next to the pile of clean laundry I’d brought up last night.

  I hadn’t finished packing. And I hadn’t changed my clothes. I was still wearing the shredded T-shirt Kaleb found me in last night.

  Memories rush through my mind, and my chest starts rising and falling faster as everything that happened in the garage floods me again.

  Who knew I’d fold so easily? I was so ready to wrap my legs around anyone who showed me the least bit of attention.

  I close my eyes, still feeling it. The need for him to go lower. My hand finds my stomach under the covers, and for a moment, I pretend it’s his hand. Did I feel good to him?

  But I blink, shaking my head. No.

  No.

  I throw off the covers and sit up. His behavior was ridiculous. What’s even more ridiculous is he wouldn’t have tried to get it on with a complete stranger if it hadn’t worked for him in the past. He didn’t like what he felt. He was horny, and I could’ve been anyone.

  Standing up, I pull off my shirt, noticing a few red spots around the hem, and it only takes a moment before it hits me.

  Blood.

  The deer’s blood.

  Ugh. He still had some on him when he was…on top of me. I growl under my breath and throw the shirt over to the waste basket, half of it catching on the rim and hanging over the side.

  Pulling on a new one, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, opening my bedroom door and heading for the bathroom. Moans, cries, and “Wow” by Post Malone carry out from Noah’s room into the hallway, so I rush and swing open the door to the bathroom, seeing my uncle standing there at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist.

  I stop, his wet torso and hair glistening in the dim light, and I quickly look away. This is a big house. It would’ve been prudent to add a second bathroom.

  I open my mouth to apologize at barging in, but the door is equipped with a lock. It’s not my fault he didn’t use it.

  The other door to the bathroom, the one that comes from his bedroom, opens, and I see the same woman appear that was here the other day. She wears a tight, red, halter-top dress, her long brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, and black heels. She kisses him on the cheek, lingering long enough to nibble at his jaw a moment, and then walks out, squeezing past me with barely a look. I watch her walk down the stairs, disappearing, and then turn my head back around, instinctively glancing at the darkened stairwell leading up to Kaleb’s room.

  “Shower?” Jake finally asks.

  I turn around, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he wipes the toothpaste off his mouth. A drop of water spills down his back.

  “No, I… just wanted to brush my teeth.” I turn to leave. “I’ll wait.”

  “Four people and one shower,” he calls out, stopping me. “Don’t be shy.”

  “Would you be shy if I were walking around in a towel?” I shoot back.

  Seriously.

  He meets my gaze, an amused tilt to his lips, and he nods. “I’ll try to get into the habit of bringing my clothes with me to my shower, okay?” And then clarifies, “I’ll try. We’ve been without a woman in this house a long time.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him. There are constantly women in this house.

  “You know what I mean,” Jake says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking.

  Whatever.

  “You don’t need to change your habits,” I tell him. “If I’m not staying...”

  He glances at me again and then grabs a can of shaving cream, not saying whatever it is I know he wants to. I walk in, shaking my head a little before wetting my toothbrush and applying toothpaste. I’m not waiting for him to get done. What kind of mountain man doesn’t just grow a beard?

  I recap the toothpaste and toss it down behind the faucet. “You showered after work yesterday,” I mumble, raising the toothbrush for my mouth. “Do you normally take another one in the morning?”

  “Only when I get dirty at night, too,” he retorts.

  I falter, darting my eyes up to see him rubbing shaving cream over his jaw and neck without missing a beat, because how else would a man get dirty in his own bed at night? I think of the woman with the toned thighs and red lips who just walked out of here.

  I blink and start brushing my teeth.

  “You did a good job on the stalls yesterday,” he says.

  I did?

  “The boys have been doing it their whole lives, and they just don’t give a shit. It was nice to see it done how I would do it.”

  I nod once but keep my head down as I brush. He’s placating me.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Tiernan?” he asks.

  I shoot my eyes up at him. He looks at me, shaving foam covering the lower half of his face as he washes off his hands.

  “Back home in L.A.?” he clarifies. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I spit the toothpaste out, but instead of answering, I go back to brushing.

  “Have you had any men?” he asks
more bluntly when I don’t respond. “Whatsoever?”

  I slow my strokes, my breathing turning shallow. Is he asking if I’ve had sex?

  Every inch of my clothing touches my skin, and my blood courses hot through my veins. I squeeze the toothbrush in my hand.

  Spitting once more, I rinse out my mouth and finally raise my eyes, looking at him in the mirror. What does he want from me?

  “You’re still a girl,” he says, guessing the answer without me telling him, “and you still need some raising.”

  I watch him tilt his head back, glide the razor up his neck, against the grain.

  “You should stay,” he tells me. “It’s nice having a woman in the house.”

  I watch him, trying not to. The smooth, tan skin of his neck revealed with every stroke. The water still clinging to his muscular shoulders and chest. The way the towel hugs the V around his hips, and I blink and cast my eyes away, but I can’t help but steal another glance, because I like looking at it.

  The way he and Kaleb may not look alike in the face, but you can totally see they’re related when they’re half-dressed.

  Maybe I should tell him about last night. How his son cornered me and tried to screw me on the hood of his car and how maybe this isn’t the safest place for me, after all.

  We don’t get along. Noah pushes my bad buttons, and I’m sleeping even worse since I got here.

  Maybe I should tell him I’m leaving.

  But instead, I pick up the shaving cream, pour some foam into my hand, and start dabbing it on my face as he stops shaving to watch me.

  As soon as my cheeks are covered, and I look like Santa, I pick up my toothbrush again to use the handle as a razor.

  “You got no idea how to raise girls,” I tell him.

  He smirks at me in the mirror. “Want me to make a man out of you then?”

  “You can try.” And I hold my toothbrush ready. Maybe he’ll let me do some ‘man’s’ work, then.

  He snorts and leans over the sink, and I follow, taking his lead.

  Stroke by stroke, I mimic his technique, against the grain up the neck, with the grain down his cheek and jaw, and over the top of the upper lip. We stand side by side, peering into the mirror, and stopping periodically to rinse off our “razors” before continuing.

  He catches my eyes and smiles before leading me through the final strokes, but his arm brushing mine makes my heart beat harder as the smell of his clean body fills the bathroom.

  When we’re done and only a few smudges of foam remain, he pulls a towel off the rack and cleans off my face, and for a minute, I feel like a kid and want to laugh for some reason.

  But when he pulls the towel away, he looks down at me, and my hidden smile sinks to the bottom of my stomach, and so does his. He’s close.

  His eyes hold mine, and we stand there, heat filling the room so hot I…

  I swallow, seeing his Adam’s apple rise and then fall, too.

  “Looks like I failed,” he says barely above a whisper. “There’s no hiding what you are.”

  A girl.

  He almost sounds remorseful at that fact.

  He turns away, slowly wiping off his own face. “I’m hungry. Pancakes?”

  But I barely hear him, standing there and watching him and the words flowing out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I may never be a man,” I tell him, “but I won’t always be a girl, either.”

  I pause long enough to see him falter and his face fall, and I can’t help the small smile that peeks out as I turn and leave the bathroom.

  Surely, I can take on more responsibilities.

  When I’m a woman.

  I pour some pancake batter onto the griddle, hearing it sizzle as I refill the ladle and pour another circle, one after the other. I watch the batter bubble against the heat, rubbing the smooth surface of my thumbnail.

  For once, I’m actually happy to be cooking their breakfast. Jake and Noah are outside, taking care of their morning chores, but I still haven’t seen Kaleb, and rather than hide in my room and dread running into him, I can just stay busy.

  Why the hell isn’t my suitcase packed?

  After I left my uncle stunned stupid in the bathroom earlier, I dressed and made my bed, leaving my empty luggage abandoned on the floor, but even if the episode with Kaleb last night had never happened, I’m not sure I would’ve gone through with packing it then, either.

  I lay the ladle in the bowl and pick up the spatula, flipping the pancakes and making the batter splatter.

  Maybe that’s why I always came home on school breaks. Too desperate not to be alone.

  I whip around to grab the plate and see Kaleb.

  I stop. He leans against the refrigerator, staring at me, and my heart jumps as I clench my thighs. How long has he been standing there?

  His green eyes watch me, the same curious expression he wore last night, and I can’t even hear the branches outside blowing against the house because my pulse pounds in my ears.

  What is he staring at?

  Locking my jaw, I grab the plate off the island and spin back around, scooping the pancakes onto the plate. He’s still dressed in jeans, but these ones are clean, and he looks showered, although his hair is disheveled like he just got up. I guess Jake doesn’t hold him to the same standard he holds Noah and me with his five-thirty wake-up calls?

  His eyes burn my back, but after a moment, I hear the fridge open and close and then feel him approach my side. Is he going to apologize? What if I hadn’t been a step-cousin? What if I’d actually been blood when he decided to ignore my protests last night?

  Slowly, I clear the griddle and dole out four more scoops of batter as he pours himself a glass of juice, but even though my eyes are on my task, all I can see is him next to me. He smells…

  Like leather. Like musky bodywash. He must’ve just showered then. Last night it was…rain, trees, firewood, and sweat. He smelled like the woods. Heat pools between my legs at the memory.

  I shake my head. For Christ’s sake.

  “Leave the juice out,” I tell him.

  But he doesn’t listen.

  He turns around as if he didn’t hear me and takes the juice, sticking it back into the refrigerator.

  “You like blueberry?” I ask. “Buttermilk?”

  I don’t give a damn what he likes. I just want him to make me go upstairs and pack my suitcase.

  “Chocolate chip?” I keep going, pushing us both. “Pumpkin? Whole grain?”

  He picks up his glass of orange juice and strolls over to the table, gulping it as he goes on like I don’t exist.

  I tighten my fist around the spatula as I flip the pancakes, breathing hard through my nose.

  “How many would you like?” I drone on. “Three? Four?”

  I glance over to see if he’s nodding or shaking his head or holding up fingers to tell me how many he wants, but he just sets his glass down on the table and pulls out a chair.

  I pull out the plug of the griddle and add the fresh pancakes to the pile on the plate, grabbing the syrup and forks. The front door swings open and the floor creaks with footsteps as Jake and Noah come barreling in. How do they know when breakfast is ready?

  I carry the pancakes to the table, setting the plate down in the middle as Noah grabs a glass of milk and Jake washes his hands. Both immediately over to the table.

  Steam from blueberry pancakes wafts into the air as the guys sit down, and I twist around to pick up the plates off the island, my anger still rising.

  I set a plate down in front of Jake, one down in front of Noah, and the last down in front of me, feeling Kaleb’s eyes on me, because I didn’t give him one.

  I don’t cook for you.

  Noah and Jake must realize something is happening because they stop moving. I glance up, seeing their eyes move between Kaleb and me, and I know Noah can guess the tension between us, but I don’t know if Jake knows yet. Noah probably didn’t talk about last night for fear of getting his brother in trouble.
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br />   Without blinking, though, Kaleb picks up the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table, doles out three to Jake, three to Noah, and then pauses only a moment, holding my eyes, before dropping the plate back onto the table, right in front of himself and taking the rest of the pancakes. Picking up the syrup, he pours it on his stack without leaving any for me.

  Prick.

  Noah clears his throat, but I can hear the laugh, while Jake sighs, taking his plate and setting it down in front of me. Reaching over to the island, he takes another one and uses his fork to pick a couple of pancakes off Kaleb’s over-loaded plate.

  “You both met already, I see,” Jake grumbles.

  But no one responds as the boys start eating.

  “This looks good, Tiernan,” Jake says, trying to ease the tension. “Blueberry pancakes are the only thing your father and I—”

  “I don’t care,” I spit out and push the plate away.

  Everyone quiets, and I stand up and grab an apple from the fruit basket. Taking a bite, I walk over to fill up my water bottle from the refrigerator.

  I know I’m being rude, and I’m sorry for it.

  Maybe I’ll take a hike. Stretch my legs, give them some space.

  The kitchen is quiet for a few more moments, but I hear Noah speak up.

  “I’m finishing the Lawrence bike today,” he tells his father, I’d assume. “The guys are coming. I’m gonna take it out to Ransom’s Run. Test it out.”

  “Don’t take all day,” Jake tells him, his tone a bite now. “We have more work to do.”

  His patience from a moment ago is gone, and I know I pissed him off.

  I look over and see him turn to Kaleb next as he stabs his plate with his fork. “And don’t you disappear, either,” he orders his oldest.

  All the men fall silent, hurrying through their breakfast, and the tension in the room now thicker than mud.

  I twist the lid back on and prepare to leave the dishes for them, but when I turn around to go, I catch Kaleb staring at me again. Except his eyes are on my legs.

  I wear ripped jean shorts, not too short, and a flannel buttoned up to my neck.

  I drift my gaze around the table, noticing I have more clothes on than any of them. Jake and Kaleb aren’t wearing any shirts, and Noah’s tee has the sides cut out, giving glimpses of the smooth, tan chest underneath.