Forsaking Truth (2 page)

Part
I

Him

Luke’s thighs burned
as fire pumped through his veins. He’d been at it so long it was a wonder he
was still
standing. His gaze shot to the clock then
to the climbing numbers on the treadmill. He’d run just over twelve miles and
his knee was killing him.

Don’t be a pussy. Keep going.

Rage Against the
Machine pounded into his eardrums as sweat burned his eyes. His
arms pumped at his sides as he went at it like an animal.

Sixty thousand dollars a year and all
you had to do was run hard and play harder and you fucking blew it, you useless
pile of shit.

He’d been back in
Center County for eleven months, surrounded by
family
and those who claimed to love him, but his childhood home had yet to calm his
rage at losing the best opportunity of his life. Three years spent playing for
one of the best colleges of the country and he’d lost it all. Everything. Lost
the admiratio
n he grew up seeing in peoples’ eyes,
lost the sense of potential he’d felt since childhood, lost his fucking grace
and agility, all in the span of two seconds when he landed wrong and shattered
his fucking future.

His life now sucked.
He was working as a
fucking logger like the rest of
his family, which was fine for them, but he’d never seen that as his future.
He’d been planning to play for the Steelers or the Eagles. Fuck, he’d even play
for the damn Giants at this point, but they were all done with him.
Every last one of them. He’d managed to go from one of the
most sought-after recruits to being as useless as tits on a bull.

No one got it. His
family sure as shit didn’t. This town was like a coffin. Once people settled in
they never left. He’d left and
fate sent him back.
Sometimes he wished they’d sent him home in a box, because that was how
pointless his life had become.

Sharp pain shot up his
heel and into his injured knee.
Son of a bitch!
His hand shot out and killed the
machine, catching his weight
in the last second. He
panted, his chest heaving, leg throbbing, as his gone-to-shit body trembled.

Yes, he still trained.
Yes, he was in better shape than most. To the naked eye he looked like a finely
honed athlete, but those who knew him were aware thos
e
days were over. Never again would he run like he used to. Never again would he
hear a stadium of fans chant his name as he scored the winning touchdown. Never
again would he be the man he used to be.

Gripping his water
bottle, he chugged the rest and dra
gged his forearm
over his drenched brow. His shirt was soaked through and he needed a shower
before heading to his aunt’s bar to welcome his cousin Ryan home from college.

As he made his way
back to the locker room of the gym he grabbed his things and hit
the shower. Did his family realize
his
graduation would have been this week
too? He could have gone back, paid what the scholarship committee had revoked
after his injury, but for what?

He wasn’t smart like
his brother Colin or his little sister Sheilagh.
He
was a football player. Everything else was second to the game and when a school
like Notre Dame wanted you to play for them, you played with your heart. Everyone helped him manage the rest,
because they wanted to see their Fighting Irish win. Once he
no longer played, all the other shit fell away.

Sure, his team came to
check on him as he’d recovered, but as the news got out, those visits went to
shit as well. His grades dropped when the responsibility fell solely on his
shoulders and, like the pussy h
e was, he bailed.

Returning home was a
metaphorical castration. He’d never felt like more of a failure or less of a
man. The family was patient and supportive, but nothing hid the pity he saw in
their eyes.

He’d hobbled around on
his crutches for months
and when his physical
therapist finally gave him the go ahead to hit the gym, he hit it like a
vengeful beast hoping to annihilate every obstacle that stood in his way.
Problem was, the obstacle was himself. This was him now. This was his pathetic
life.

No
prosthetics or surgeons could repair what had been broken.
So every God damn morning he woke up, strapped on his gear, and headed to the
lumberyard like every other average Joe in Center County working to make an
average fucking living.

Once he slid on hi
s jeans he checked his phone. The party had already
started. God, he hated family shit. It had been almost a year and everyone
seemed to accept his lackluster return home, but he knew how they really saw
him—a fucking failure. He’d go, make an appearance,
congratulate
Ryan, and say his goodbyes.

The barn across from
his family home was almost finished. What had been his father’s tool shed for
the past twenty years was now in the process of becoming Luke’s home. He didn’t
ask to make the conversion, just st
arted cleaning it
up and moving his shit out of the big house and into the barn. The plumbing was
nearly done and this week he might actually be fully moved out of his parents’
home and into his new place.

The big house was big,
no doubt, but his family su
ffocated him. His youngest
sister, Sheilagh, was seventeen. She was in that
the-world-revolves-around-me
stage. His other sister, Kate, was out
of the house, making her own family. Colin, his oldest brother, was also out.
Unlike Luke, Colin was fulfilling
his dreams and on
the last leg of his journey to becoming a priest. Kelly, his youngest brother,
was now twenty-one and tending bar at O’Malley’s, and Braydon, the next in line
was in college on his way to becoming an architect.

Then there was Finn,
Luke’
s twin. Finn was perfect. He never wanted too
much and seemed to get everything he asked for in life. He fell right into the
logger role. Had himself a girlfriend named Erin who he’d likely marry and
someday the business would be handed over to him. They w
ere identical, but that’s where their similarities ended. He loved Finn,
didn’t judge him for being content in their fishbowl town. It was Luke’s envy
of his twin’s contentment that ate at him. He couldn’t recall what it was to
hold a sense of satisfaction
in his life.

As he pulled up to
O’Malley’s his insides tightened. Instinctively, he wanted to blow off the
night and bolt, but Ryan was his closest cousin growing up and it was only
right to give him props after doing what Luke wasn’t man enough to do.

He
pulled the door open and a cacophony of voices greeted
him. His family was good people, but they were loud as shit, didn’t come with
filters, and for the most part someone was usually drunk.

He went to the bar and
nodded at Kelly. His brother poured him
a draft and
slid it over the counter. “Ryan here yet?”

“In the back. Mum was
looking for you.”

Luke rolled his eyes.
“She can relax now. I’m here. Just like I said I’d be.”

Kelly eyed him, but
kept his mouth shut. Out of all his brothers, Kelly was the
most easygoing. There wasn’t much he took seriously, aside
from getting laid. They all knew Luke had changed. He was glad they’d finally
started to accept it. He wasn’t putting on a show for anyone anymore and they
could either deal with his surly disposit
ion or keep
walking.

He grabbed his beer
and headed to the back of the bar. His aunts had put out a spread and he found
Ryan sitting with his sister Sheilagh, and Patrick, Luke’s other cousin. He
clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Congrats, man. How’s it
feel to be holding that big fancy diploma?”

Ryan smiled. “Pretty
damn good, Luke.” They shook hands, gripping each other’s fondly and pumping
hard. “Luke, this is my buddy, Tristan. Tristan, this is my cousin, Luke.”

Releasing Ryan’s hand,
Luke turned his
gaze to his cousin’s friend and
stilled. A cool chill chased up his spine as the most startling set of eyes
settled on him. “How ya doin’? You go to school with Ryan?”

“Yup. Good to meet
you.”

As they shook, Luke
quickly removed his hand and stepped back,
disliking
the sensation shooting up his arm at the contact. Tristan spoke with a twang.
His hair was longer and his face had its fair share of stubble. He wasn’t as
big as Luke, but he also wasn’t small. His gaze caught on the large buckle of
his belt. “Wh
ere you from?”

“Texas, but I’m gonna
give Center County a try. Ryan’s folks are putting me up for the summer and I’m
gonna be logging while I look for a use for my degree.”

“You just graduate
too?” Luke asked, feeling slightly claustrophobic around so many
success stories. He settled uneasily into a chair.

“Yup.”

“Luke works at the
lumberyard too,” Sheilagh said.

He turned and frowned
at his sister. “What’s up with you?” She had some dumb ass look on her face and
way too much gloss on her lips.

She
scowled. “Nothing, asshole. I was just talking.”

“Why you looking like
that?” Seriously, he’d never seen her with that expression before. She looked
like a cow-eyed idiot. His gaze narrowed as he saw her shirt. “You missed a
button.” Her boobs were out eno
ugh that he could see
the lace of her bra.

Her face turned
crimson and she mumbled, “You’re a dick.” She shoved away from the table and
disappeared toward the bathrooms.

He glanced at his
cousin, Pat. “What’s up with her?”

Patrick shrugged and
his little—d
rama queen—sister’s presence was soon
forgotten. Drinks were had and stories were told. Ryan was glad to be home, but
much like the rest of the degree toting population of Center County he’d likely
never do more with his diploma than cover up cracks in the
drywall.

An hour later Luke was
ready to go. He found his mother and said goodbye. She gave him the same
disappointed sigh he’d been getting since returning home. Every time he made an
excuse at a family function her mouth tightened with concern and the
merriment that usually filled her green eyes faded a bit
more.
Get used to it
.

As he left the bar he
left behind a good deal of discomfort. There were just too many of them, all
happy and content with their fucking success stories.

Plucking his keys from
his pocket he turned toward his truck and stilled.
There was Ryan’s friend, Tristan, smoking a cigarette in the shadows.

“Hey,” Luke said, to
be polite.

Tristan shifted and
flicked away his butt, the red cherry smoldering on the ground, forming a coil
of
gray smoke. “Hey.”

“You need a ride or
something? I’m taking off.” This had to be overwhelming for the guy.
McCulloughs needed to be taken in small doses until one built up a tolerance.
Being submerged into a bar full of them was probably like being pecked
to death by a hoard of rabid chickens.

“Sure, if you don’t
mind. Ryan’s my ride, but I don’t think he’s leavin’ anytime soon.”

Maybe it was because
he smoked that Tristan had such a deep gravelly voice. Luke didn’t stand around
to think about it. He head
ed toward his truck and the
other man followed.

As he pulled out of
the parking lot, he noticed the deep woodsy scent coming off his passenger. It
made no sense why he was cataloguing so many personal characteristics, but his
mind couldn’t seem to stop. F
or instance, Tristan
wore a tethered leather bracelet around his left wrist. Guys in those parts
didn’t wear jewelry, but maybe it was a Texas thing.

His jeans were torn at
the knee and his index finger had a silver ring. Luke couldn’t make out the
design
on the band. His shirt was worn and tight
around his toned biceps. And he whistled through his teeth.

“You like it here?”
Luke asked, trying to break the silence and stave off the whistling.

“It’s better than
Texas.”

“What’s wrong with
Texas?”