Page 37

Chapter Thirty-Three

LIE

I sit back on my haunches to stare at my nails again. Dirt shoved up under my nails. Embedded into my cuticles. Staining my palms and my knees.

I’m so frustrated and disgusted and just miserable I want to cry.

Laiken said I could quit the post office if I wanted to. I wanted to. So I did. There’s an endless number of jobs throughout the island chain, so it didn’t take me long to find a new one. Why I thought landscaping would be fun is beyond me.

“Because I can keep my earbuds in and not talk to people,” I remind myself

But it’s hot out. The sun doesn’t stop shining. I’m always thirsty. Worst of all, I’m dirty!

I can’t keep quitting, though. That’s not being a responsible adult. The island knows I’m the three-day man. You get three days out of me before I quit without what’s considered a legitimate reason.

Being miserable isn’t a legitimate reason, I suppose. It should be. Whoever came up with the concept that you should stick it out at a place that makes you miserable because that’s what adult responsibility is, should have their head shoved into an elephant’s ass.

A shadow falls over me and I look up. Cash is there, creating some much-needed shade. “Hey, you,” he says, grinning.

I sigh. “What’s up?”

“It took me ages to find you,” he says and drops everything he’d been hauling around. I watch as he sets up a bag chair and then a large umbrella. Last, he hands me a bottle of ice water before taking his seat.

“You’ve come to watch me toil away?” I ask.

He grins. “Nah. Well… okay, kinda. I came to keep you company. And I brought entertainment.” He pulls out the folded newsletter from his pocket.

I smile, shoulders relaxing. “Thanks. Will you fish my phone out and turn my audiobook off?” I rise onto my knees so Cash can reach into my pocket. He fishes my phone out and hits the pause button.

“Deprived. Sounds exciting.”

“It’s really fun. Deprived is the name of a club, but you can only access it like a speakeasy. You have to know where to find it, how to access it, and the password to get in. It’s very sex forward, forbidden, kinky shit inside.”

“So you’re listening to erotica while you plant flowers.”

I grin. “It’s romance. There’s a romantic storyline to every book.”

“Right.”

“Honestly, give it a try. I think your sweet, innocent ears could use a little bit of blood in them.”

Cash laughs. “Whatever. You want to hear the latest gossip or not?”

“Don’t you mean news?”

“That’s what I said.”

I lean forward again, nodding. “Yes. Tell me.”

“The hen from Mr. Morrison’s class has been stolen again. It’s that time of year when pranks are being pulled with bored children out of school. Whoever has Pennyworth, please return her to classroom nine.”

“I appreciate that our newsletters have remained weird as always,” I note.

“I’m still disturbed that no one else finds it disturbing that Mr. Morrison has named his kindergarten classroom’s hen after a murderous clown.”

“Five-year-olds don’t know that she’s named after a murderous clown. He probably did it to scare everyone off. Not gonna lie, I’m a little weirded out by the bird now. I swear it gives me side-eye every time I see it.”

Cash laughs and reads the next bit of news. “Mr. Ryans has reported a pod of dolphins being spotted off the west side of Ceto. They’ve learned some aggressive behavior, so be cautious around them.”

“Murderous clown hen. Aggressive, mob-like dolphins. What’s next?”

“Mob-like?” Cash asks.

“Have you ever seen a pod of dolphins? You mess with one and they’re all up in your business. How is that not mob-like?”

He laughs again and turns the page. “Oh, this is interesting. Voting on names for the islands. Top contenders for the seven islands are: Pema, Goish, Horseshoe, Io, Ganymede, Potato, and Kokomorailohiniaoram. Wow. What the fuck is that last one?”

“A three-year-old smashing their hands on the keyboard. It’ll be shortened to Koko or maybe Kokomorai. That last half is the embarrassing middle name you want no one to hear.”

Cash grins. “They’re really moving forward with this. Phase one is raising money, of course. The islands will be built in stages, the first being one of the residential islands, which is smart.”

“I’m guessing they’re going to put all the construction workers up on the resort,” I note. “Which seems weird, right? That means they’re mixing in with paying guests and that has a high probability of problems.”

“This doesn’t say. It just says that the first phase is residential.

Once the island is built, they’ll begin with the second island—more resort—and begin building houses on the completed island.

They’re going to have dorm-room-style buildings, which will help our young people have an affordable place to live without having to stay in their parents’ house or leave. Look! We totally would’ve loved this.”

I look up as he turns the picture toward me. It’s a floor plan for a two-bedroom suite with a communal living area between them. “Ideal. Amazing.”

“Too bad it’s still like eight years off or some shit. I guess building islands takes time.”

I laugh under my breath.

“So yeah, one building of sixty dorms, so that’s like a hundred and twenty people! That’s awesome. There will be some apartment buildings, duplexes, and single-family homes on the rest of the island. This one is entirely residential, too. No guest area at all.”

“I don’t mind the guest area here. They’re always respectful.”

“Yeah. Okay, so next is… Oh, this is a good one. Mr. Jorganson’s cat has had kittens under Mr. Donnylor’s porch and there’s now a custody battle over who owns the kittens—Mr. Jorgranson because it’s his cat who birthed the kittens or Mr. Donnylor because the kittens were born on his property.”

“Okay, first, the cat owns the kittens. Neither of them did the work of conceiving, carrying, and birthing them. Second, if the place where someone is born dictates who ‘ owns ’ them, then there’s a problem.”

“Exactly. That’s just your birthplace.”

“So the kittens’ nationality is Donnylorian. But he has no legal right to them.” I shrug.

“We should totally be on the jury for this case. Next up is Frank’s Housing Supply has just received a large shipment of new furnishings. The store will be open on Monday.”

“I think we should check it out. Dream about the kinds of things we’d furnish our dorm with.”

Cash sighs. “I really wish there was a shorter time frame for this island,” he says wistfully. “I don’t hate living with my parents, but I’d give my pinky toe to get away from Benson.”

“When’s he leaving?”

“Let’s be real here,” Cash says, setting the newsletter in his lap. “He’s not going anywhere until someone gets sick of his shit and forces him out. He doesn’t have the money. He has no prospects once he leaves Kala—he has no talent, despite his big head. He’s here. Period.”

“Then we move to Keone Reef at the first chance.”

Cash sighs again. “I think we need a market survey to determine how long that’s going to be. On my salary alone? There’s no way in hell I could afford anything. Now, if there were like, six of me? There’s a chance that someone might take the risk.”

“Your pay that low?”

“I’m guessing it’s about where yours is.”

I frown. “Fair enough.”

“So we’d need a three-bedroom house with three couples to be able to carry the cost of living. But honestly, that’s a lot of bodies under one roof. I think it would be uncomfortable. None of us would have a truly private living situation.”

“Yep. That sucks,” I agree.

“Anyway. Next is about the new menu at Pixl Latte, which, I might add, has a fresh coat of mint-green paint. That was where everyone came in the middle.”

I grin.

“There’s a steak burger that has some rave reviews. Oh, look at this frozen java thing. Want to stop there after work?”

“Ask me again in an hour when my shift is over, but I’m going to guess no. I’m dead on my feet when I’m done with this crap, which is hilarious since I’m on my damn knees. This is not how I like to be on my knees.”

Cash giggles. “Oh, speaking of knees… I, uh… I need some pointers.”

I glance at Cash to find him adorably beet red. “On what?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even and innocent.

He glares at me. His eyes flicker around to make sure we’re alone before he answers. “Sucking dick, Lie,” he hisses.

“Have you had complaints?”

Cash shakes his head. “No, but I don’t think he’d complain even if I was doing it really fucking wrong. But I know how good it feels when he sucks me, and I’m not convinced I’m making him feel as good.”

“I find that a lot of guys tend to suck others in ways they like to be sucked. With the mentality of ‘ this feels really good for me, so I bet he’ll like it ,’ so unless specifically told otherwise, I’m guessing Onyx is already showing you what he likes.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Oh, yeah?”

Grinning, I nod. “Settle in, buttercup. I’ll give you a play-by-play of sucking dick, although I should point out that if you listened to a few dirty romances, you’d find some pointers there, too.”

“Noted. Start talking.”

I’m so tired and sunburned and maybe a little dehydrated despite all the water I drank today that I feel barely awake when I step into my house. I stop in the bathroom on the way by and flip the water on.

I strip out of my clothes in my bedroom and wrap my robe around me. Back in the shower, I spend what feels like days trying to scrub the dirt from all the nooks and crannies of my skin. Frustrated tears sting my eyes. I hate this job. I hate flowers and dirt and mud!

There’s no way I’m going to spend every freakin’ evening in the shower trying to scrub dirt from my nails. This is a miserable existence. Not going to happen. I’m sorry, universe, but there’s one more job Elijah Cain will not do forever. Or even for a week at this rate.

I feel so drained when I step out of the shower. Maybe there’s such a thing as too much fresh air. That’s probably my problem. Fresh air syndrome.

With my robe over my shoulder since I let it touch dirty skin, I’m wrapped in a towel as I head back to my bedroom to find clean clothes.

I feel like I’m moving through a vortex.

Maybe I’ll take a nap. I think I can convince Laiken to hold me while I nap against his furry chest and beating heart. Yep. That’s what I’m going to do.

I look around for my water bottle. Must have left it in the bathroom. I step out of my room into the hall and come face to face with my father. My breath catches as I stare at him. Did he let himself in?

Oh. I went home. To my parents’ house. I was so damn exhausted I was just following my feet.

My father stares at me. I suppose it’s too much to hope for a teary reunion.

I’ll take this awkward silence over that, I guess.

It is definitely awkward, and it stretches on as neither of us moves.

We don’t look away. Is this a battle of wills?

Are we waiting for the other person to crack and speak first?

“Elijah,” Mom says, and I shift slightly to look at her over my dad’s shoulder. She’s surprised to see me. Maybe relieved.

Her voice has broken my father’s silence, though. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was just leaving,” I say and move past him into the bathroom to grab my water bottle.

“You’re not leaving until we talk,” Dad says.

“This has been nothing but a one-way conversation for the past few weeks, so you can talk to yourself in the mirror if you like. I’m not listening to the gross things that come from your mouth.” I snag my bottle and head for the front door.

“When did you get so disrespectful? Is that something Laiken taught you?”

I don’t give in to the irritation lighting under my skin as I yank the door open. No response. That’s all he’s getting from me. Dad grabs my wrist as I step out, stopping my retreat.

My breath catches, making my chest tight. I’m not sure whether I’m startled or pissed that he’s physically grabbing me. Hands shaking, I turn to meet his eyes as I twist my wrist from his grip. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

“The least you can do?—”

I snort and practically jump off the porch and into the grass. “The least I can do is walk away,” I mutter.

“This isn’t over, Elijah. How can you decide to sleep with my best friend and act like I’m the bad guy? How can you?—”

Anger makes my eyesight blurry. How can you—?

! Despite my better judgment, I spin around to face him.

“How dare I? Is that really what you’re leading with?

You have been nothing but a shitty father since you found us kissing on the beach.

I don’t even know who you are. I never thought you’d treat me this way.

Okay, I disappointed you. Yes, you’re angry that we lied. ”

“I thought I taught you better than to be seduced by?—”

“Stop!” I shout. “Just stop right now. I’m not doing this with you. Do you even hear the disgusting things coming out of your mouth that you know aren’t true?”

“How do I know they’re not true? You were a child?—”

“I WAS A CHILD THREE YEARS AGO!” I scream. “Not three months ago. There’s a fucking difference.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Dad says as he follows me off the stairs.

His face is red. I’ve never seen him look that way.

Ever. Not just never toward me, but never in my entire life toward anyone.

“I don’t get an apology. I don’t get an explanation.

You both act like I’m nothing but a side character who became an obstacle in your way.

You took no consideration of how I would feel.

How am I supposed to respond to these stories of grooming?

How can I not see that in hindsight? How can?—”

I take several steps away from him. “You’re a shitty person!” I spit and turn away, hurt and frustrated tears trekking down my face.

“Elijah!”

I run down the road. “Fuck off, Dad. Go to hell. And take your bullshit with you. Stay away from me!”

When you’re so angry that all you have are tears, you can’t help but feel small and ridiculous as you’re sobbing, running down the road in front of a crowd of people who are happy to repeat your business as if it’s a hot new movie.

Running away from home with your parents screaming your name after you.

I don’t stop running. I have no idea where I’m going. I just keep running. I need to get as far away from them as I possibly can.