Page 66 of Beneath the Stars (Sugarlake 1)

“Why not?”

“I’ve never even held one of those things before. Daddy never let me near ‘em when I was a kid.” She points to the sledgehammer on the ground. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Not much to it.” I shrug. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

She backs up. “I’m really okay.”

“It will make you feel better.”

“Who says I don’t feel good?”

My brows lift as I cock my head, staring at her.

“Ugh, fine. Just hand me the stupid thing.” She marches past me to pick it up, and I grab her around the waist without thinking. She freezes, her breaths heavy. I know I should let go, but she feels so fucking good. I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Not so fast.”

I grab the eyewear on my head, using my arm around her waist to spin her until she’s facing me. We’re close. Our energy weaves together, buzzing between us, attracting like magnets. I try to ignore the way my heart thumps in my chest as I slip the goggles over her eyes.

My fingertips slide along the curve of her ear and down until they rest on her neck. Her breaths become heavy and my eyes move to her lips. It would be so easy to lean in and taste her. I know she’d let me. I can feel how much she wants me to. But I know she’d regret it. So even though it’s the last thing I want, I drop my hands and step back.

“Go ahead, pick it up.” I gesture toward the sledgehammer. She’s still standing there, chest heaving as she blinks at me. Fuck, Goldi. Don’t look at me like that.

She shakes her head slightly, turning to grab it. She looks at me over her shoulder. “What do I do?”

I stick my hands in my pockets, trying to calm my racing heart. Trying to keep myself from grabbing her back into my arms. “Think of whatever’s pissing you off and swing.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She turns toward the wall, raises the hammer above her head, and brings it down. Not technically the proper way to do it, but she’ll be alright. By the third attempt, she’s got it down. I can tell the moment she really lets go, her anger breaking free with every swing. She’s a goddess in her turmoil. My heart fucking beats for her.

I was foolish to think it had ever stopped.

Journal Entry #320

I was in first grade the first time a teacher noticed something wasn’t right at home. Mrs. Grady was her name. She’d always pull me aside and ask me questions about my life. I was so starved for attention I ate it up like candy, thinking she just liked me enough to want to know.

The day CPS knocked on our door also happened to be the day I brought home my first official “report card.” All A’s. Mrs. Grady told me how proud she was of me and I thought surely if she was proud, how could mom not be? I raced off the bus, excited to show her, but when I walked into the house there were strange people there. Mom had a big smile plastered on her face and she ushered me in, hands on my shoulders as she introduced me to them. I don’t remember their names, only their eyes as they cataloged me from my worn shoes all the way up to the buzzed hair on my head. They made me uncomfortable and I leaned into my mom for support. She squeezed my shoulders, the grip bruising.

Once they left, the smile dropped and her eyes lost all their warmth. Told me how embarrassed I made her. That it was my fault she was like this in the first place. How if I wasn’t around she wouldn’t need to medicate so much, and how dare I try to paint her as the problem. That maybe if I was a better son, I’d work a little harder at lightening her load.

For a fucking six-year-old, that shit hits you deep. Forms scars you carry with you for the rest of your life. I cried in my room that night, lying in bed with my report card on my pillow catching my tears.

It took… a long fucking time to realize the way she was wasn’t my fault. So many relationships ruined and so much time lost from believing her lies. From carrying responsibility that was never meant to be mine.

Parent’s words become their children’s inner voice.

It’s a hell of a thing, learning to ignore it.

30

Alina

“Lunchtime!” I say, walking into the studio. I raise my arms, showcasing the bags of Chipotle. It’s Friday, and Jack asked if I’d be willing to pick up something for the crew. I was content hiding out in the office, but he said my lunch would be covered, and I couldn’t say no to a burrito bowl. Besides, I can’t avoid Chase forever.

He has me so twisted up that I can’t tell my head from my toes. Our invisible tether vibrates to life whenever I’m around him, and this time he isn’t the one trying to snap it in half. I’m not sure how to handle a Chase that isn’t pushing me away. It’s confusing. One minute I’ll want to strangle him—hurt him as bad as he’s hurt me. Then the next, I’m convincing myself that maybe we can be friends.

I set up the food on a clean table along the wall, grabbing my burrito bowl and sitting down in a fold-out chair in the corner. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a construction site, and I had forgotten what the process looked like. It reminds me of Daddy, but those memories hurt because that man doesn’t exist anymore, so I’ve tried to steer clear. Now, after literally smashing down walls, I find myself wanting to sit in the middle of it, breathe it all in.

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