Sliver of Truth (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 3)

by Jody Kaye

  Sloan’s butt is about to hit my mattress when she jumps up like something bit her. “What is that?”

  “Huh?” I glance behind me, pushing the top button through the buttonhole of my shirt.

  “You have a hickey!” She points to the broken blood vessels to the side above where my cleavage starts. “You got some! When did you get some?”

  “I did not.” I slap her hand away as she tugs at my collar, trying to inspect the handyman’s handiwork.

  “You did. Your face is almost as red as the bruise. Strike one for celibacy! You’ll be open for business soon. If you’re not already. Who knew the sexy librarian look was as much of a turn on as they say? Hell, how long was he clamped on to you? That’s some suction.” Her brows waggle.

  “Do not go there.”

  But she does anyway. “Whoever it was and whatever else they did, you loved it or else you wouldn’t be sporting a lip tattoo.”

  “He did not! I am not open for anything!” I can’t admit to Sloan I haven’t been abstaining or living off of the self-love glove. There hasn’t been a reason to touch myself other than pretending it got me amped up while I stripped. Dusty’s taken care of my every need.

  I run a brush through my hair, twist, and pile it up on top of my head, securing it with a clip.

  “You’re not spilling even a tiny detail? You didn’t even mention you had a date—or did you swipe right and it was a hook-up?—Please, you’ve got to give me a crumb!” From the other side of the bed, she helps me drag the comforter up and fluff the pillows.

  “You’re so domestic,” I tease, trying to distract her. Sloan shares a full-fledged apartment with Carver on the other side of the building. The top two floors here are also part of the household to do with as she deems fit.

  She flashes me a smarmy face and flops on the pillow, messing up the neatness, and unwilling to give up. “So?”

  I’m not sure where to start the explanation. Dusty hadn’t told me not to tell anyone we’d gone out. Yet, this is new and I’m still curious whether this becomes anything more.

  Also, the reason I ran across the street to meet him in Sweet Caroline’s parking lot wasn’t as innocuous as I’d let on. I’d been so anxious previous to our date that I’d blow it. I worried I wouldn’t be as strong as Holly seems if our friends teased me, and whether or not they’d understand I found more about Dusty attractive than his rugged appearance. I didn’t want to get defensive, answering snide comments. Or trapped when one of the girls taunted me about his size when we all would know they meant his size. I’m not ready for the questions because I’m not sure why this is happening now and with him.

  I spent the night tossing and turning in bed. I’m unable to let go of the course I’ve drafted for a man, no matter how sexy he is or how amazing the orgasms are with him. Sloan has her Mister Right. Mine’s not supposed to show up right now. It’s too soon.

  “We went to dinner. I had a nice time. He was a gentleman. I met his daughter. We went to dessert.”

  “Woah! Back up. He introduced you to his kid? Men don’t do that. They hide children until you’re hooked and then spring them on you.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” She doesn’t mean Carver. He has no kids.

  “Damn straight.” Sloan pauses. “Cece, he’s serious. He’s not hiding. This guy may really like you.”

  I try ignoring the fact Sylvie was sort of sprung on me. However, it wasn’t as if I’d asked Dusty for details about his life before last night. We were fuck-buddies. All I had to know to make him happy was how to jerk him off. I’m also not ready for kids. Mine or anyone else’s.

  “Ooorr he’s trying to scare me off.” I’m hopeful this will make Sloan drop the subject.

  “You’re a pediatric physician’s assistant. Kids puke on you. It’ll take more than a child’s existence for that to happen.”

  I loop a hoop into my earlobe and sip the last of my java juice.

  “At least tell me if you’re seeing him again.”

  “I am.”

  She squeals.

  “Okay, now that my silly life has distracted you, wanna tell me what’s going on?” I sit next to Sloan and take her hand. “Kimber won’t be up for hours and you seem like you need an ear.”

  “Carver wants to go on vacation.”

  “How’s it an issue?” The two of them are always jetting off somewhere for business, which I never pry about.

  “This is a make life-changing decisions kind of trip.”

  “So all play and no work? Sloan, you could have worse problems than lying on a beach having your rich, hot man cater to your every toe-curling need.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “And I’m not ready for a relationship at all, but here we both are. Two peas in a pod!” I sing out, tapping her knee and standing.

  When it comes down to it being someone’s girlfriend, let alone wife is too far out of my scope of reality. But a tiny piece of me doesn’t want to lose Dusty and that part is in my chest, not my hooha. It’s why I’ve decided to say fuck it and go to Boone. Yet, I’m still not sure how after this weekend Dusty and I can keep dating casual.

  And how do I explain to Sloan he’s not the man he seems? Sure, she has an open mind, but Dusty is big and he does talk with a stutter. Am I going to get defensive of him to my friends? If they found out we’ve been having sex all these months, will they think I’m taking advantage? Some of these things I’ve hypothesized over before. But Kimber and Sloan also have men of means, and I hadn’t considered anyone would claim I was a gold digger until last night while trying to fall asleep. It adds to the list of reasons I’m screwed if anyone finds out and whatever this is falls apart.

  I gather my stuff for work and we head toward the kitchen so I can toast a plain bagel to eat on my drive in. Bumping down the hall, I ask Sloan if she wants to look at apartments with me.

  “The other thing I’m not ready for is you moving out.”

  “Aw, Hailey’s still here.” Sloan’s brother, Jasper, and his much younger girlfriend share a room on the floor below. Hailey all but grew up at the mill.

  “If I’d done what was right, she’d have spread her wings and be gone. Maybe I was afraid I’d miss her too much.”

  “I want to say I’ll stay put for your sake, Sloan. But I’ve had two goals; graduating and getting my own place. Carver’s done so much for me already. It’s not fair to take advantage.” Especially when I’ve been breaking his rules.

  “Kimber did—”

  “And Kimber left when she got pregnant and married Trig. She comes back to visit. So will I. All my besties hang here. How about we make a deal. I stay until you’ve helped me find the perfect situation.” Sloan’s about to pounce on my offer. “But you can’t KO every apartment for a stupid reason. It’s gotta be legit.”

  “Fine,” she deadpans. We walk across the old wooden floors and by the couches, pushing the swinging kitchen doors open. “I’ll even help you this weekend.”

  “I’ve sort of got plans.”

  “With suction man?” Sloan ribs me.

  I don’t answer, but shove her and we share a laugh at my expense.

  The factory kitchen is strictly utilitarian, but gorgeous nonetheless. The cupboards are gray with white marble countertops. An exposed brick wall with copper piping attached holds long wooden shelves. Bowls, plates, and platters—stacked by the dozen—rest on the lower row and there are baking dishes on the higher ones. Underneath are drawers for flatware, cups, and juice glasses. The opposite side has commercial refrigerators and freezers facing a row of dishwashers underneath the granite. On the far wall are the ranges with insane amounts of burners and so many regular and warming ovens it’s impossible to keep straight which door does what. A huge window over a six-foot sink floods the kitchen with natural light. There’s a pantry at the end.

  I place my coffee mug in the sink and soap it up before rinsing it with an industrial faucet sprayer. Then I dry and place it on a cup hook under
neath the shelving. Sloan rolls her eyes at me for not tossing it in the dishwasher. It’s a single dirty dish, and this was my designated chore growing up.

  Sticking my tongue out at her, I reach for the tray of goodies delivered mid-week from the shop where Aidy works. I slice and toast a bagel. While it’s cooking, I snag a paper sack and the last chocolate croissant for Gloria. She loved the fresh one I’d brought her from the store on Monday.

  As the toaster pops, Carver bangs through the doors in a grumpy mood. The scowl on his unshaved face proves he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He barks at Sloan, reminding me they’ve had a tough night. He’s also barefoot in a robe with wet hair. Suds drip off his earlobe.

  “Our hot water is out. Why did I buy this place? It’s a money pit.”

  “It is not.” Sloan turns the kitchen tap and splashes her fingers through it. “This one is fine. Must be a problem with the apartment’s water heater. I’ll text Dusty to see when he can come check it out.”

  Carver exits in a huff the likes I’ve never seen, muttering about what he’s supposed to do in the meantime.

  “Rinse your damn head, Mister I’m-supposed-to-know-everything.” She faces me as the door to their apartment bangs shut.

  His stomps up the staircase to their room are audible through the wall. He’s definitely in a snit over their argument. Carver hasn’t treated Sloan this way since she got here. Back then, the two weren’t on the best of terms. And for all of the silly nicknames she gives him, Sloan hasn’t sneered, shooting double-fisted middle fingers, in the wake of Carver’s demands the way she is right now in longer than I can recall.

  “Are you laughing?” Sloan pulls her cell from her pocket.

  “Huh?” I touch my face. I’d felt the strange tugging as the corners of my lips turned up when they mentioned the handyman. “No. I’m sorry y’all aren’t getting along.” I apologize and take my cue to leave.

  I’m packing what little I don’t keep a spare of up in Boone into my toiletry kit when Renata pushes her shoulder against the hall bathroom’s door jamb.

  “So can I ask?” She crosses her arms, smirking.

  Next to Holly, Renata’s the one woman I’m closest with. She’s as adept at teasing as giving sound advice. Although, I have to admit I’d prefer asking Holly for help with my women problems since it’s strange to have Beth’s mom tell me what to do now. Funny enough, whenever Beth and I had disagreements, Renata was right there lending me an ear.

  I look at her and nod, not quite agreeing but Renata’s not nosy for no reason. She keeps me protected like a fledgling under her wing, no different than the way she treats my daughter.

  “I’m taking her.”

  “And her is?”

  “Don’t be coy, Renata.” I point a bottle of aftershave in her direction, then plop it in the kit.

  “I want to hear it come out of your mouth. You wouldn’t bring cologne and extra mouthwash if you were going to the mountains with Holly.”

  “Fine, I’m spending the weekend with Celine.” My tone is gruff and my spine rankles.

  “That’s nice. That’s very nice, Dust.” Renata’s got a shit-eating grin on her face. “Celine is an attractive girl, and she works for a doctor.” I take her compliments as a seal of approval until she says, “Don’t rush it.”

  She’s already waltzing to the kitchen and I chase Renata down the hall. “What do you mean?”

  Renata twirls and places her hand on the back of a stool. “You have a little girl.”

  I swing my hand in the air, encouraging her to get on with whatever she needs to say. I don’t get the impression Renata doesn’t like Cece. The vibe is more a warning I’ll blow it if I’m not careful.

  “I’m not talking down about my daughter by telling you that you didn’t look at my Beth the way you do her. I told you Celine is beautiful, but what you see in her, Dusty. You need to ask yourself, does it go further than desire? Because starting something significant with Celine includes Sylvie. You’ll have to make room in your schedule for both of them.”

  “And you suppose Celine’s going to take up more of my time. Sylvie’s time.”

  “It could. How are you planning to juggle both? Are you even sure Celine is interested in dating a man with a child?”

  I ignore Renata’s insinuation. I can be there for both of them. Cece didn’t have a problem with our date’s interruption. This is manageable. Single dads have relationships.

  “What I’m not very tactfully putting out there is; one date and you’re off on a weekend getaway?”

  I rub the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, unwilling to correct her. I’m not about to explain the timeframe of my connection with Celine to Renata. Her best intentions aside, I can’t get into my sex life with my daughter’s grandmother.

  “Be careful is all I’m saying, and badly given your reaction. You and she may want different things outta life. Your time with Beth got cut short and Celine’s not simply a continuation of where you were the day before the accident just with somebody new. She’s gotta catch up.”

  “I know.” I grit out, tired of listening to Renata the way I’d been as a teenager with my own parents.

  If she had the whole story, I’m certain Renata might sing a different tune. Cece and I have a chance now that everything can be out in the open. It’s one we’re taking this weekend.

  “Don’t be so led by your heart taking her away that you can’t make choices with the brain God gave you.” She scolds me with a wink and a smile. “Now scoot. If you’re still home when I get back from picking Sylvie up in the carpool line she’ll convince you to bring her. I doubt Celine agreed to a kid tagging along on a romantic getaway.”

  I’m about to argue with Renata that it’s not lovey-dovey when she tugs me into a hug. “Be safe. Driving. With your heart, and hers. I love ya.”

  I take her advice—the part about making myself scarce before Sylvie gets home from school anyway—and head to fill my vehicle up before driving over to the medical complex to pick up Cece.

  The pediatric office closes early every other Friday afternoon. She’s opted to stay late to finish some charts. I shoot off a text after parking and meet her at the rear of her car, which is in almost the same spot as it was last week. Cece’s got a thick parka folded in her arms, her purse slung over one shoulder, and laptop bag counterbalancing on the other.

  “I hope you don’t mind I brought work. I only have a few left to catch up on for Monday.” She pops the trunk and I don’t give her the opportunity to add her overnight bag to the weight she’s carrying.

  I shake my head, closing the lid. “Not worried. Have plenty on my fix-it list while you’re busy.”

  Her brow furrows.

  “The place we’re headed is mine. Sylvie comes with about once a month to give Renata a break from us.”

  “And Renata’s okay with keeping her this weekend while you’re gone?”

  It takes me a minute to explain the other times Renata comes too. “She’s leaving on a cruise with friends. She travels fr-requently. When that happens she sends me up there first, on my own, for some peace and quiet.”

  “You’ve got this parenting gig figured out.” Cece slides into the truck.

  I put her bag in the back and she hands her computer and coat over the seat, keeping her purse at her feet.

  “We appreciate one another. Renata was all done raising children. She stepped up for Sylvie’s sake.”

  “Same as you did.”

  “In some respects, yes.” I love my daughter with my whole heart and only want the best people surrounding her.

  Some might argue what goes on at the mill disqualifies the men I work for. But they have an unwritten pact to stand up for one another. I’ve watched the kindness extend to the little guy, or gal in Celine’s case. Carver plays using his own rule book, but who doesn’t nowadays?

  “Need anything before we hit the road?” I ask. It’s about a three-hour drive. I’ll make a pit stop two-thirds of th
e way there since my kindergartner has trained my bladder to react like Pavlov’s dogs when I see the rest area stop sign.

  “Nope,” she replies as I turn the key. “Dusty?”

  Cees licks her full lips and I don’t give her a chance to change her mind. I cup her cheek and our lips connect. The kiss is slower, steadier than what we’re used to, and much too short. I can only stop because I know what’s waiting for us once the Appalachians are on the horizon.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

  “Me too.” I finger the interlacing plaits of the braid dangling over her chest.

  Cece’s more casual today. Jeans and a white blouse with a gray sweater have turned her into a cross between the girl I’ve watched at the factory for years and the professional I met coming out of the building last week.

  As we hit the highway, she slips off her shoes and puts her feet up on the dash.

  “Your toenail polish matches your necklace,” I comment as she stretches out. It’s a bright summery teal and her pounded metal jewelry has a turquoise inset.

  She makes a move to put her toes back into her shoes.

  “No.” I stop her by lacing our fingers together and kissing the back of her hand. I’m glad she’s comfortable enough to do this.

  She gives me a shy smile. “I should’ve asked first.”

  “It’s no problem.” Between me and Sylvie, the interior had been a sticky mess with wrappers and cracker crumbs wedged in the crevices. I’ve been more meticulous about my habits since having it detailed.

  Celine insists she’s monopolizing the conversation. I tune the radio to fill the awkward gaps and notice we both mouth the words to the same country songs.

  If she wasn’t here, I’d belt them out. Lyrics are second nature. Synapses easily reroute signals forming the next sound, and my brain and tongue work in coordination without delay. The practice helps, and this was one of the therapies I was best at. The one I keep up with because it requires scant effort and I enjoy it. Life doesn’t have to be hard if you don’t want it to be.