The Truth About Us (Mills Lake series) Read online

  I wait a few minutes before I leave the office and slip out the front door with not so much as a glance from any of the twenty or so people sitting in the bar. Most of them are too busy watching NASCAR on the big screen to notice me.

  Outside, the sun is high in the sky making the world look flat and shadowless. I pull out a cigarette and light it before making my way back down the cracked sidewalk to my truck. If I get back to the shop, I can work on a few more things for Leroy’s big railway order before I head home. The machine shop is only a few blocks from the bar, and a few blocks beyond that is the suburb I live in. The place I share with my dad. The place he’s been since I was a teenager, supporting himself and his drinking. With a couple buddies, I turned the basement into a suite where he stays, and to help him out, my three roommates and I pay him rent to live in the main house. I hate that he spends our money on booze rather than paying his mortgage but bringing it up only causes a fight, so I just don’t. Some months I pay him and the mortgage.

  The rumble of my truck drowns out my thoughts, and I lean my head back against the seat while I finish my smoke and let the last of my orgasm tremble through my limbs. The best part about getting off is that sleepy euphoria after the last spasms, where it’s just pure forget-the-shit-around-me endorphins zipping through my body. In that window, the lies I tell myself about whom I am, where I’m going, and why I’m still here taking care of Dad’s problems are that much easier to believe.

  A tap on my window scares the shit out of me, and I jump to face my old man. His thin face stares through the glass, lines cutting into his forehead as he frowns. I roll down the window and he leans in, his breath saturated with the smell of whiskey. His eyes shift from my face to the smoke in my hand.

  “Hey kid, can I snag a cig off you?” he asks, but I already have them out of my shirt pocket and halfway to his hand. I watch him light it then lean against my truck. “Where you off to?”

  “Shop.” I ash my smoke out the window, and Dad pushes my hand roughly, scraping my forearm along the hot metal, and glares at me. I must have dropped ash on his shoe. He’s such a dick. I don’t get a chance to tell him that, because the bar door clangs, and Kayla looks both ways before settling on us.

  “Hey!” she yells and waves. “There’s an empty keg and no replacement. I need one of you to lift it to the pulley so I can get it into the cooler.” She shades her eyes with her hand and squints at us.

  Dad looks in the window and nods. “Go help her.”

  “It’s your fucking bar, Dad. I already have a job.”

  Flicking the cigarette out the window, I throw the truck into reverse and don’t even bother to check and make sure he gets out of the way. I decide to skip the shop and home. No one is better than Dad at killing my buzz, so I drive to the spot I like more than any place in the world. Mills Lake. It makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something when I step in on one side of the mile wide body of water and step out on the other side.

  My tires crunch on the old gravel as I pull onto the long dirt road to the lake. Mills Lake is just south of town and the place that gives us our name. A few tiny rental cabins dot the beach on one side with a large grassy meadow behind them. The rest of the lake is surrounded by trees and rocky beaches. I park in my regular spot just off the last cabin and jump out of the truck. My swimming shorts are in the cab under my work stuff, hidden from Jackson, Garett, and Riley who would rip into me for having actual legit speed swimming trunks. Not like Borat-style Speedos but definite stretchy nut-huggers.

  I change right in the middle of the parking lot and grab my goggles before making my way to the water. As soon as I step in the water calms me, lapping up against my ankles, shins, knees, hips, stomach. I breathe in fast puffs as I get used to the coldness. It’s probably still way too early in the year to be in here, but I need it. Slowly my body gets used the temperature, and I begin to swim. Some of my best thinking is done in this lake, and it’s the only place where I feel totally at peace. The noise in my head is replaced by the constant reminder to just breathe.

  xxx

  When I pull into the driveway of my colonial style house it looks like we're having a party, each of my roommate’s cars in the drive and lining the street. But with the three of us and the revolving door of friends and girlfriends it always looks like that. Shaking out my wet hair, I notice my dad sitting on the steps that lead down to his basement apartment. I hope I can make it past him without him noticing, but as soon as I shut the truck door he turns to look. His eyes are narrowed on me in an all too familiar way. My chest constricts as he moves toward me, faster than any drunk should move.

  When he's close enough his hand swings out and smacks me hard in the side of the head. I keep still, every muscle in my body tensing.

  "You want to talk back to me now, big guy? Now that your girl isn't here to impress." Dad spits and smacks me again, this time in the face. "You're not so tough now."

  The sting rips through my cheek, and I clench my fists at my side but still I don't say anything. It doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't change anything if I do.

  Dad hits me again and pushes my chest just as the sound of a door slamming makes me jump.

  "Corbin," Garett calls to me from the front step. His voice is tight, meaning he's watched the whole interaction. This kind of thing isn't foreign to him either. Garett's been my best friend since second grade and has been my escape route more than once.

  Dad stops at the sound of Garett's voice and I take a couple steps back before turning away. Meeting Garett on the steps, he shakes his head.

  "When are you going to get rid of that guy?" It's a question he asks often.

  "He's my dad." My response is automatic, involuntary, but there's no feeling behind it. Kind of like my smile.

  "Sure he is." Garett scoffs at me before going inside. His sarcasm is thick and weighs me down. It's not that easy.

  I feel instantly better when the door is shut and the familiar sounds and smells of my house flood my senses. A girlish squeal sounds from the living room as my roommate’s practically live-in girlfriend, Becca, jumps up off the couch, her dark hair flying out all around her smooth milk chocolate shoulders.

  "No! You idiot." She puts her head in her hands and flops back down on the couch in front of the TV.

  "Jax, control your girlfriend or we'll ban her from coming over during basketball season." I laugh and push Jackson's shaved head gently while Becca glares at me with intimidatingly dark features. She knows I'm joking because she's been around for almost five basketball seasons. I say it every year just before finals when she starts getting seriously crazy.

  "You know I can't control this." Jax laughs when Becca digs her fingers into his side. "Hey! Watch the gun, woman." He grabs her wrist, laughing as her eyes get big, and she apologizes. Jackson's in full police uniform, ready for graveyard. Becca's in scrubs, on night shift at the hospital. They're like one of those interracial, all-American, we can do anything in this country and are so fucking proud of it ad spots that play on cable TV and it's sad how much they love their life together. I don't believe in that shit. I've never seen it work.

  "At least if she shoots you, she can pull the bullet out, too." Garett laughs and I follow him into the kitchen. The house is a disaster, but mostly because Riley's at work and his OCD hasn't been around to tell us how disgusting we are.

  Garett hands me a beer and slides up onto the counter while I sift through the mail on the table.

  A letter from the bank, addressed to my dad, lies on top of the pile, and I groan. Why can't that man fucking pay a bill? I'm tired of taking care of his shit, but still I do it. Opening the letter, it's a past due notice for the loan to make improvements to the bar a couple years ago. The added keg taps and walk-in cooler have increased the selection, and in turn, increased our profit, but apparently that profit was not ending up on the loan.

  "You okay?" Garett asks, and I shake my head.

  "It's really sad that I'm the most responsible
person in my family. I've been to jail..." I smile at the thought, and Garett laughs loudly.

  "Super fucking sad, man."

  I look at the letter again. I wish I didn't feel like I had to do this. But then I think of Kayla, and the other waitress, Brenda, who has been more of a mother to me than my own mother and I can't force myself to do what I need to do.

  I've thought a million times about leaving. Leaving it all behind.

  But I know I won't.

  I know I can't.

  Chapter Three

  Sophia

  "I can't do this right now, Mom." I breathe heavily into my phone, and my head falls back against the driver’s seat headrest, wishing I hadn't picked up in the first place. I'm parked in front of the bar, about to start my first shift and I'm already nervous. I don't need this from my mother.

  "This is absurd, Sophia. I just received a letter from the college there saying you've enrolled in some art program in the fall." My mother's voice is smooth and anyone who didn't know her would think she sounded like any other successful doctor. Friendly, if maybe a little pretentious. I know better. When she uses my name instead of sweetie, or darling or some other equally fucking stupid pet name, it's serious.

  "I did enroll, Mom. I'm taking some pottery classes at a community college. I'm not buying a loft, turning vegan, and dropping acid." I attempt the joke, but the silence on the other end of the line is all I need. She's obviously serious.

  "Sophia, you pack your things and come home. Your father is threatening to cut off your credit if you don't stop this nonsense and take your LSAT next month like we planned."

  "Like you planned." There’s a pain in my forearm, and I notice that I’m clutching the steering wheel so tight that my tendons are pushing through. I've never been this forward with my parents. Not since before our family fell apart two years ago.

  "Pardon?"

  "Like you planned, Mom. I don't want to be a lawyer."

  Silence again. All I hear is the blood rushing, pumping through my ears making me dizzy. All the times I tried to tell her. The words always dying out and being replaced by yes, Mom. I’d love to follow in my father’s footsteps. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lie anymore, but I still don’t know how to tell her the truth.

  "Sophia, —" Her voice raises, but I make this thick noise to cut her off.

  "I'm late for work. I have to go now."

  "You have a job?" The way she says it makes it sound like she doesn’t believe I could get a job anywhere, ever. Not like I have a degree or anything.

  "Yeah at a bar. As a bartender."

  She sucks in a sharp breath, and I don't want to hear it, so I tap the end button and toss my phone into the passenger seat. My breath comes in fast waves, verging on panic, and I look over to my purse. Tears sting behind my eyes, but I am so fucking sick of crying. I'm so sick of doing what I'm told. I am tired of the guilt that eats up any tiny fragment of confidence I have before I can get my fingers around it. Reaching out I slam the heel of my hand against the steering wheel and it feels good, so I do it again. The bubbling hatred that shreds my insides boils over and I slam the steering wheel over and over again, cursing and screaming and thinking all the things I would love to tell my mother but can't.

  After a few seconds, I feel like I'm no longer alone and turn my head to the window. The smirking face of the same guy I saw here yesterday is so close to the window I practically crawl into the passenger seat.

  "What the fuck, Dude! Ever hear of privacy?"

  He laughs, and I open the door.

  "You’re screaming profanities in a car, parked in front of a bar. Not exactly a private spot...dude," he says in a half whisper that’s low and sexy.

  My cheeks burn, and I realize he's not the only one staring at me. There are a couple groups of people standing outside, smoking or talking, or both, and every one of them is looking at me.

  I stand up and straighten the skirt that Tobie lent me because I have no clothes other than jeans and t-shirts. The guy scans my body and holds out a pack of smokes. I shake my head, and he shrugs. “Your first night?” he asks, falling into step with me as I move to the front door. Why is this guy all of a sudden everywhere I am? He must be a regular here.

  “Yeah, I’ve never bartended before.”

  “Getting rid of nerves? If that display was about your choice to move to this shithole town, to work at this shithole bar, then I totally get it.” He laughs and holds the door open for me, forcing me to duck under his muscled, tanned arm. I wonder why the motion sends a deep tingle across my skin as I pass. I mean he’s just a guy. I lock onto his gaze, assessing his question. A guy I find very attractive.

  “Actually, a fight with my mother. The same one we’ve had a million times.” I don’t know why I just said that. I am on lockdown so well that it shocks me when I say anything truthful to anyone. "And this bar is a total shithole. But a job's a job, right?" I add.

  He nods, his mouth turning up into this half smile as he holds his hand out to me. “I totally get that, too. I’m Corbin.”

  My heart seizes. Corbin. Kayla's words slide through my head as I feel my cheeks heat up. Corbin's going to love you. The guy who owns the bar I just called a shithole grins as I struggle to reign in my embarrassment.

  I slide my hand into his. The skin is rough and calloused, and I’m convinced it has something to do with the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders.

  “Sophia.” It's more of a stutter than a solid word.

  His grin spreads wider into a real smile, and I notice his teeth are slightly crooked. “Sophia. Stunning name. It sounds too sweet to be showing so much skin. To proper for this shithole.” He reaches out and tugs the hem of the thin halter top that doesn’t quite touch the waist of a short, flowing skirt.

  I feel my cheeks burn up hotter, but before I can speak, Kayla walks up and slides her hands around Corbin’s waist. “Don’t let this guy fool ya, Sophia. He’s not as charming as he thinks he is.”

  She winks at me, and Corbin kisses her painted cheek. Her highlighted hair frames her face in perfect curls and her eyes study me with a hint of suspicion. Her huge blue irises, dramatically done up with makeup, are hard to look away from. Everything about Kayla is larger than life.

  “God, dinner rush was so busy, but lucky for you, it's Tuesday so it’ll be you and me testing out drinks and getting wasted.” She leaves Corbin’s side and throws her arm over my shoulders, guiding me to the bar. Corbin calls out behind us.

  “I’ll call the guys. We’ll work the new girl.”

  I look over my shoulder at him, but he’s already out the door. “Is he your boyfriend?” I ask, and Kayla laughs a shrill laugh.

  “Sweetie, I ain’t fifteen. Corbin and I like to fuck. We have nothing in common beyond that,” she says, and I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.

  xxx

  I had no idea that bartending would be this hard. There are more than a million different types of alcohol and ten times more ways to mix them together. Cocktails, hi-balls, shots, martinis, daiquiris, margaritas, on the rocks, neat, pressed, clean, and my brain is fried.

  Corbin went and got his roommates who’ve ordered every kind of shot, and I run my finger down the sticky drink menu to verify what is in a shot called Wet Panties. Who names these things? Drunk frat boys?

  “You’re such a fuckin’ pussy bitch eater, Corb.” One of his roommates yells from across the bar and I look up to where they’re sitting. Yep. Drunk boys name shots. There are five empty glasses in front of them and a guy with shaggy dark hair and thick rimmed glasses is rubbing his face like he’s frustrated. He’s wearing a plaid button down shirt with a long sleeve shirt under it pushed up to show two forearms covered in tattoos. He has broad shoulders like Corbin and the same lopsided smile. I think he’s Garett, but I was introduced to them quickly and then asked to memorize an entire menu. My retention of information has been severely limited.

  “Did you just make that up?” Corbin laughs,
and so do the other two. He bounces a quarter off the table and it lands in the last glass that has a few gulps of beer in it. “And I personally don’t find that to be an insult.”

  Kayla appears over my shoulder, standing unusually close even in a tight space like this. “They are always like this. College boys, minus the college.” She leans next to me and watches me make six shots of something that sounds disgusting, but smells real good.

  “What do they do if they don’t go to school?” I ask, and hate that I sound like a child, or worse, like my parents. Kayla laughs.

  “They’re like twenty-five, so totally done the school thing. Well all except Corbin. He never went. Jackson’s a cop, but he is still outranked by Ranger, the force drug dog. Riley teaches third grade, and it’s a total panty-melter to watch him with those kids. I fucking hate kids and still think it’s hot. But Riley doesn't hook up. All the girls want him, and he just doesn't care. I swear he has a secret online girlfriend or something. Garett’s the only one that is still in school, kinda. He’s gunna be a lawyer. Got accepted in New York. So he’s starting all over again. I have no idea why. High school was enough for me.”

  “The guy who coins the phrase ‘pussy bitch eater’ is going to be a lawyer?” I ask, and Kayla laughs even louder which gets the attention of the guys.

  “I guess so. He's actually quite smart; he just doesn’t like to show it.” She shrugs and picks up the tray of shots. “Come on. You can be done for tonight. You’re doing great, Sophia. Sorry you don’t get to meet David today. He should have been in tonight.”

  My nose wrinkles. "David? I thought Corbin owned this place?"

  She shakes her head. "No, he doesn't. But David's never here, so Corbin does most of the work on top of his day job."

  I wipe my hands on the towel and step out from behind the bar, catching up to Kayla. “What does he do?”

  “Machinist. He works at the shop a few blocks down. Makes shit out of metal for like trains and tractors or whatever.” She waves her hand and sets the drinks on the table. Corbin grabs her hips and pulls her onto his lap.