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Tyler did this, I thought, amazed. He brought on that smile and he’s actually going to build houses out here.
“Cool, huh?” Tyler yelled, his eyes twinkling in a way that made my knees tremble, my heart pound. Last night echoed in me. Around me.
“Amazing.”
“Can we talk?” he yelled. His eyes damning me for running out last night. And yeah, well, fair enough.
“Is there someplace...quieter?”
He nodded and spun on his heel, opening the door of his truck. “Inside,” he mouthed, and I climbed in.
We slammed the truck doors shut and the roar outside was diminished. But now, the air was suddenly too warm. Tyler sat too close. The memory of last night was alive in the pulse between my legs. My sore breasts. The beard burn on my neck.
“You want a cookie?” Tyler asked, picking up an open box from between us on the floorboards. “I got weaseled into buying twenty-five boxes of Girl Scout cookies from Louisa.”
“I’ve got ten at home,” I said, trying not to smile.
“That girl.” Tyler shook his head and dug four cookies out of the box before handing them over to me.
I took two that I didn’t want, but was happy to have something to do with my hands besides reach out and brush away the white thread hanging on to his tanned forearm.
“So,” I said.
“Before we get to the us stuff,” Tyler said, licking at the cream center of one of the cookies as if he was in a porno or something. “I want to offer Miguel an afterschool job out here. You know, around his counseling sessions.”
I was taken aback, all filthy thoughts fleeing the cab of his truck. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Tyler laughed. “The kid is talented. He’s practically building that porch at The Manor by himself and his geometry skills—” Tyler whistled. “I think Derek and the other trades could really teach him something. You know? Something useful. Of course he—”
Nora Sullivan’s words about Tyler O’Neill being the seed of my community service program whispered in my head.
“When are you leaving?” I practically barked, not nearly as calm as I wanted to be.
“I guess we’ll move on to the us stuff, then.”
“It’s a fair question.”
He blinked, blinked again, and suddenly all his excitement vanished into cold understanding.
“You going to run me out of town?” he asked. “Like father, like daughter?”
“That’s not fair. I’m just trying to protect Miguel.” And myself.
Tyler stared out the window and I could see the pounding of his heart under the skin of his throat.
“What if I told you I wasn’t leaving?” he murmured. I went totally and utterly still. I’d come here seeking answers, but had hoped not to hear this one.
Now what are you going to do?
“I’m sticking around,” he said. “I want to see Katie and Savannah. I want to meet this guy she loves. I…I’m staying in Bonne Terre.”
“What exactly do you plan on doing here?” I asked, the words painful in a too-tight throat.
“I’m rich,” he said with a careless shrug. “I don’t need to do anything.”
“You’re just going to lie around all day? Play piano out at Remy’s all night?”
Tyler stretched his arm across the top of the seat, his fingers inches from my hair. I tried not to notice the distance between our bodies, but my skin was doing its own calculations. Every millimeter between us was mapped out and noted so that I couldn’t breathe without knowing how it brought us closer.
I shifted away and he noticed, his sharp eyes not letting me get away with anything.
“Actually, I thought Miguel and I could start a car theft ring. He could steal them, I’d chop them up for parts.”
“You’re hilarious,” I said. “Be serious.”
“Christ, Juliette, it’s no big deal. I thought I’d play piano at night,” he said. “Get to know my niece and my sister. Help Margot around the house. I’ve given this community a lot of money over the years, and Remy and Priscilla are getting old. It’s hard enough running Remy’s at their age. I think if I want to keep helping people here, I’m going to need to do some of this stuff myself.”
Sunlight sparkled around us, catching dust motes and turning the air into glitter. Such was the power of Tyler O’Neill, and I suddenly realized much to my sick astonishment he was showing me the real him. No bluff. No sleight of hand.
He wasn’t a mirror reflecting what I wanted.
It was him.
Just him. The real Tyler O’Neill.
And he destroyed me.
“You lied to me,” I said.
Tyler squinted up into the sunshine and nodded. “Several times, but what are you referring to, specifically?”
“You’re not an asshole at heart.”
He was quiet while the crunch and smash of machinery rolling over metal echoed all around us.
“I think,” he said, looking at my, his face utterly composed, his eyes rock solid, “I’m trying to change my ways.”
