Shred of Decency (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 2)

by Jody Kaye

  There wasn’t a point when we found out the truth either of us felt misled. Deep down, we always knew. Plenty of kids got more gifts and better ones than we did year-round. But we also saw people with less than us giving what they had to those who were even more unfortunate. It’s the spark of what made us want to reach for more ourselves so, eventually, we’d have more to share and more to give.

  I don’t hate believing, or not believing in the spirit of Christmas. I hate how every good deed I’d done to better myself got wiped away by a single bad one, landing my name on the perpetual naughty list.

  “Hey, Aidy, we’re here.” Morgan’s voice is feather-soft along my skin. It’s almost as if he’s touched my arm.

  When I stole the sip of cola from Morgan’s drink, I’d expected the buzz from the caffeine and rush from agreeing to go with him to stay on an even high. The whole way to Wrightsville my consciousness remained aware of him behind the wheel, but I succumbed to the rhythm of the road. The motion lulled me deeper, into the kind of sleep I haven’t had in weeks.

  I tense, wiping my mouth, hoping I haven’t drooled, and blink.

  The van idles in a municipal lot on Lumina which has a bathhouse and public access to the beach. I know this area. My parents took me here when I was a child and my friends and I parked along this road during the summers in high school when we went to the beach. It’s a straight shot back to civilization. The big hotel and pier are to my right. All I’d have to do is walk past the beach houses to where the littler motor inns are and I could find my way home. It’s interesting I’m making an exit plan when I’d felt safe enough to let down my guard with Morgan a few hours ago. And have probably been snoring in his ear.

  The sun is breaking over the dunes. It’s the most beautiful, vibrant orange and yellow fading to shades of periwinkle blues. A few strings of clouds are passing over us, headed inland. The tall seagrass on the sand dunes sways like a lazy porch swing. An hour from now this will be a surfer’s paradise.

  Morgan pulls his key from the ignition and the sound of waves crashing beyond the mounds of sand reaches my ears.

  “What time is it?” I stretch, then sink back into the warm seat. Morgan’s sweatshirt falls to the side. I fold it over and place it in my lap. Tucked up by my chin, it had a musky aroma. Almost like deodorant. It’s ridiculous that I like the clean scent and I won’t be lame and make a comment on how good it smelled. Who sniffs armpits? I don’t. And I don’t want to give Morgan a reason to tease me.

  “Coming up on seven o’clock.” My jaw goes slack and I stare at Morgan’s timorous smile. He’s got a dimple in his cheek. “Seemed like you needed the rest. Besides, it was pitch black out until ten minutes ago.”

  Morgan doesn’t notice my tooth sink into my lower lip. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and goes to pay the meter, giving me a chance to fully wake.

  I sit still, silently berating myself for getting into a car with a man I hardly know to go on an hours long road trip where I freakin’ fall asleep during the ride. I could be dead by the side of the highway with no one the wiser. Okay, maybe Trig since Morgan texted him. But, like, when would they find my body?

  “Awesome choices. Get your shit together, Aidy,” I mutter.

  Glancing at the sweatshirt on my lap, I steel myself. Morgan is a good guy. Kimber and Trig trust they are safe with him living in their home. From what I’ve seen he’s fantastic with Owen. I should take what’s happening at face value and give Morgan the benefit of the doubt.

  And maybe that’s what is wrong with this whole situation. Going to the campus party wasn’t to meet anyone. It was to prove to myself I could have a good time. One foot in front of the other. The same way the women in group have shared their baby steps toward normalcy.

  Sloan showing up without Carver and our talk afterward impacted me. From what little she’s told me about Carver, he treats her well. It got me to thinking someday I might have a chance for that.

  The problem is, there’s TNT wobbling inside of my belly. I’m determined to diffuse it before the bomb explodes into full-on excitement. Morgan is out of my league. I don’t want to read into what makes an attractive guy invite me anywhere, let alone here. There is no way I’m letting a naive and bruised heart blow my life up in my face again so soon. Not when I’m trying to get my bearings.

  I flip down the mirror, ensuring I don’t resemble a crusty old sailor and embarrass either of us. Then I follow Morgan to the kiosk where he’s feeding a ten-dollar bill into the machine. It spits a one out.

  “Think three hours will do?” he muses.

  I nod. In actuality it seems like a lot more than we need, but there’s no sense in spending fifteen minutes on the beach after a two-hour drive.

  “If not, we can come back and feed the meter,” I suggest, hoping it appeases the local forecasters that I have confidence in the weather, Morgan, and… well, me.

  As we pass the van heading toward the beach, he sticks the white slip on the dash and the single into the cup holder. Morgan also removes his empty soda bottle. It goes into a recycling receptacle near the bathroom. The van alarm chirps behind us and he stuffs the key into his pocket. We walk up the ramp and then down the winding wooden path over the piles of windswept sand separating the beach from the parking lot.

  Stopping near the end of the ramp, we take our shoes off to make it easier to walk in the doughy sand. The beach is deserted. The sun is above the horizon and the waves dance, rippling up to the shore. As we get closer to the shore, I’m struck with the impression that I could walk straight out over the waves and keep going. If I looked back in this direction, I’d be carefree.

  “This is beautiful.” I’m not sure I’ve been here this early before. I dig my toes into the firmer, wet sand that’s cool from the waves that have flowed over it. Yet it’s warmer beneath, holding onto the heat, the complete opposite of the way I’d made a hole to cover my feet with sand when I was a little girl and the scorching summer sun shone high in the sky.

  Morgan’s staring into the distance. I’ve never considered him uptight, but his posture is completely relaxed. Even his jaw hangs softly, the way everyone’s is supposed to while practicing yoga. I’m not sure he recognized I was still standing next to him until I’d spoken.

  “Yeah. I, uh,—I wasn’t able to get out here for a while and it’s the first place I came when I got back. Now, I’m here every chance I get.”

  His gaze never wanders to me and I look out over the ocean, trying to focus on what he sees. Gulls squawk over our heads. The waves break in a rhythm, the sound crashing into my ears and drawing my senses back outward, anticipating the next white peak. A man strides with a longboard between us and the water. His footfalls are audible over the wet grains despite the cacophony of noises.

  I find my senses opening. I taste the salty air filling my nose. The humidity encases my skin. My shoulders fall with palms open wide. There’s a click-crack of my spine as the tension I’ve been holding loosens. And, to my utter amazement, excitement overtakes me when a pod of dolphins breaches the surface, each arching their bodies into the air at various heights. It slows my pulse to the point I have to stop and wonder if I’m still breathing.

  For the first time since it happened, I’m at peace, and I revel in the tranquility wrapping itself around me.

  Morgan and I are alone within each other’s company. We don’t speak again until the pink of daybreak is gone, and the sun is fully awake and he suggests strolling toward the pier to find breakfast.

  Spying a coffee shop sign ahead, we plot a steady course in that direction. Morgan gives me a wide berth. There’s room for both of us to spin in dizzying circles and never collide. Our current environment doesn’t have us packed in like sardines.

  Along the way we stop to watch pelicans dive-bomb, scooping fish into their oversized beaks. We laugh, broad smiles straining our cheeks, and make kamikaze sounds. My stomach grumbles and Morgan chuckles under his breath.

  “Come on, whate
ver you want to eat is on me.”

  I hold up an emergency twenty I keep stashed in the teeny tiny pocket of my denim capris.

  “What is that?” Morgan’s lip twitches.

  “Lunch money if we’re staying?” The cash is folded into a flat square. Only the green print is visible, not the denomination. I unfurl it and Morgan takes the bill with a little “huh.”

  “Mind if I hold on to this?”

  “Nope.” I shrug, unwilling to read into his reasons.

  He thanks me while ironing out the creases with his short fingernails and we keep going toward the shop. Inside we order two regular coffees and I tack a gooey cinnamon roll onto the tab.

  “Sweet tooth?” Morgan inquires as the woman behind the counter puts my sugar-laden treat into a white waxed bag.

  “Hungry tooth,” I reply.

  “Make it two.” He holds up his fingers and the barista adds one more. He slides the bag over the top of the glass case closer to me so I can pick it up and leaves a generous tip when she makes change. We go back outside into the sunshine.

  It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. I hold my hand up to shade my face, making a visor with the bag. The bakery waft gets the best of me and I decide there is no one to impress and dig in.

  “Sorry, but I can’t wait much longer.” I pull one bun out, positive by the way Morgan reacts that there is a hashtag hangry sign appearing over my head like a lightbulb would in a comic. I’ve got the bag and my coffee in one hand and use the other to shove the first gooey bite into my face.

  “Come sit. You can’t do it like that.” He encourages me to walk faster toward the sand.

  “Like what?” I lick at the roll, the chunk I’m trying to bite missing my mouth and making Morgan lose it.

  “Cinnamon rolls have to be eaten around and around. In a swirl.”

  “Is this like Oreos have to be opened up and the cream frosting licked out before you can eat the chocolate wafers?”

  “See, you get my point.” He settles onto the beach.

  I cross my legs and glide down next to him, hoping the chunk covered in thick opaque icing with a crunch to it won’t fall. In the same haphazard manner Morgan and I shook hands when we first met, I’m bumbling, trying to get his breakfast in front of him and make an indent in the sand for my coffee. “I’ve underestimated how empty my stomach is and might fight a seagull if I drop this.”

  Morgan snorts, fiddling with something over his lap. “Then eat mine too.”

  “And gain ten pounds.”

  Morgan looks me up and down. “I don’t think you have a problem there, Aidy. Plus, Kimber said you weighed more last year.”

  I blink a few times. “Everyone puts on weight their freshman year. Did you?” I poke, wanting to know more about him. Morgan’s picked up details from a conversation weeks ago, putting me at a disadvantage.

  “Nope. I played sports back then.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Sometimes Jasper, Skye, and I will have a pickup game at the mill. Mostly we work out together.”

  I take it Jasper and Skye are his friends, but “What’s the mill?”

  Confusion mars his features. “It’s ah—It’s this big refurbished cotton factory across the street from Sweet Caroline’s.”

  “The strip joint in Brighton?”

  “One and the same. Jasper and Skye live there along with my sister.”

  Oh! Morgan has a sister. Now I’m getting somewhere.

  “So it’s like apartments.”

  Morgan busts my confidence. “Carver and Trig run their business from it. But there are rooms on the upper floors. Carver’s got an enormous pad he shares with Sloan. Your mom—Kimber and Trig lived there for a long time. Why don’t you know this?”

  I bite my lip, inspecting the stump of the cinnamon roll. “I only got to know Kimber once I was old enough to make my own choices. She’s not my mom. More like a really amazing friend who happened to give birth to me and lets me have a relationship with my brother. There’s a lot of stuff I’m not sure I’ll ever know at all.” Like who my father was.

  From the frown overtaking Aidy’s face, I’ve stuck my foot in it. I forget her relationship with the family I live with is non-traditional. Aidy’s got parents. The kind who will stick up for her and gave her the all-American life I’d wanted not only to lead but to pass onto my kids.

  I sip my coffee and grind it back into the sand so it’s half-buried. It reminds me of where I am and by that I don’t mean the beach. When I was Aidy’s age, I didn’t think much further about my future than any other nineteen-year-old. I had a rough plan to do better than my parents. Have a wife. Raise a few kids. Be a respectable member of society.

  Everything changed overnight. The closest I’ll get to the dream girl and fantasy life is probably where I stand today; half-buried by my past and offering Aidy a token of friendship and a safe space to let go of her troubles for a few hours.

  She’s eaten the swirl of pastry around until all that’s left is the core between her sticky fingertips. Suddenly green in the gills, Aidy looks at the remains of her cinnamon roll like it might hurt her to finish it.

  “Full?”

  “Yeah,” she mutters, searching for somewhere to drop the last bite.

  “Wrap it in a napkin.” I suggest. “I’m saving mine for later.”

  My assumptions have washed away the comfort of our previous silence. I kick myself for not being in tune with Aidy’s feelings. I want to blame it on the lack of women in my life. Dating becomes less of a priority when you’re a social pariah, worrying about how many free days you have left on the outside. On the inside? Your future becomes so precarious. It’s all about making it to tomorrow. You don’t give two shits about anyone’s feelings. Admitting I’m out of practice is an understatement.

  Aidy whips the final mouthful toward a flock of gulls that have gathered, waiting on her to feed them. They swoop like vultures.

  “Sorry,” she apologizes, the contentment I’d seen in her posture slipping. “I didn’t mean to waste it.” She squints, creating minute crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. The icy expression criticizes her actions.

  “No worries. You’re paying for lunch. I’ll scatter a few fries and we’ll call it even. If it helps, I’m sorry too. Here, you’ll need this later.” I hold out a tiny paper crane made from her twenty.

  “How? When did you do this?” There’s a lilt in her voice.

  “While we were sitting here. Over the past few years, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and stacks of used paper going to waste, so I started folding.” I’m intentional giving Aidy an in so she’s able to ask what I know she’s dying to know. It’s the biggest albatross in the room, or rather on the beach.

  “Origami. It’s so pretty.” She edges closer to the question on her tongue, but then I see her swallow it down. “I’m sorry too, if I’m acting weird. Can I tell you something?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve never asked who my birth father was. Knowing Kimber wanted the best for me is easier to accept than finding out that he didn’t want me. It’s safer.”

  I acknowledge what she’s said, but won’t judge Aidy’s reasoning. My parents were there when I was growing up and still didn’t want me. I also appreciate that she’s confided in me.

  We both stare back out over the ocean. Now, I’m more scared of what happens if the truth stays locked up. I don’t want to hang around Aidy without her aware of who I am. It’s obvious she’s hurt having been left in the dark about details of other people’s lives.

  I wonder for a few minutes if she’ll cross the bridge when she finally does.

  “Morgan, why did the campus cop call you out for trespassing last night. Why aren’t you supposed to be there?”

  I look straight at her delicate features, into her blue eyes. “If I’m caught on campus, then I get sent back to jail.”

  Boom. It’s out. My credibility with this woman evaporates, along with the fleeting chance I might hav
e had with her. I pick up the bag and pull Aidy to standing.

  “Why were you in prison?” She brushes sand off of her bottom.

  “You know what parties are like during pledge season?” I’m not running, expecting Aidy to keep up or give chase. I’ve gotta move to get the rest out.

  Aidy nods, letting me take her empty cup and toss it in the trash along with mine.

  “My roommate didn’t make it through hazing.” I scrub my face. My pulse quickens.

  Slow it down, dude. All you’re telling her is the same story everyone else gets. How you got there. Not what happened once you were there.

  “I didn’t expect you were the fraternity type.”

  “I’m not. I had a basketball scholarship. All four years… Well, one and a half of them anyhow. Got kicked off the squad and had to quit school.”

  She shakes her head as her opinion of me shifts. “You lost me, Morgan.”

  Yup, I’m damn sure I did, and way before we met.

  “We weren’t supposed to be drinking. Most of us were underage. Even if no one talks about collegiate sports hazing, it happens. Athletes doing anything wrong are a university’s dirty little secret because, if it comes out, that affects the bottom line. Without big-name starters, who is going to the games? We get away with more. Back then anyhow. I can’t speak for what it’s like today.”

  “You forced your roommate to drink?”

  “No. I didn’t stop Rob, though, and I could have. It was my second year, I’d already been through it. Most of the shit the guys did wasn’t to break you down. More to see if you’d stand up. I knew my limits. Took no crap and the upperclassmen left me alone. I garnered their respect. Rob was a freshman. A big to-do in high school sports. They pushed him around a lot, but it wasn’t bad. I’m not making excuses, I mean in terms of what I’d seen happen to other new players on the squad. Anyhow, Rob wanted to impress them. He wanted to be a part of it. College. Drinking. We were all young and stupid, thinking we were on top of the world. Half of the clothes on our backs were free from national advertisers. People bought us stuff. Not even expensive things; coffee, lunch, all random crap. None of us saw it as abnormal. It was the reward for years of effort. My roommate was another piece of the pie, and on the court we made a great team, which is almost impossible if you hate one another. Nobody set out to do anyone dirty. We liked him. It was a brotherhood of sorts. A bigger regret for me is if Rob hadn’t died, then there’s a chance he’d be a part of my life to this day.”