“Oh, a boyfriend?”
She eyed me suspiciously, then turned back to the case. “No. My mom.”
“Oh.” I took a step closer, my arm brushing hers, sending an odd zap of energy through to my bones. I struggled to swallow. “So, no boyfriend then.”
“No boyfriend,” she repeated.
We stared at the wall of pinned and labeled butterflies, entranced by their preserved wings that glowed in hues of oranges, yellows, greens, browns and blues. My tongue swiped over my bottom lip, trying to snap out of the weird bubble I’d gotten myself into.
The small bed beside her flashed in my periphery, but my focus quickly became taken over by her. She was warming up to me, oddly enough, but I couldn’t find it in myself to jump the gun like I’d been so ready to do only twenty minutes ago.
The image of her sitting in the grass as my friends all nudged my shoulders ran through my head again before I shook it out. “Is that what you were doing in the field? Collecting butterflies?”
She hesitated, her eyes fixed on a noticeably empty space in the display in front of us. “Phoebis philea.”
“What?”
“The name of the butterfly I was sitting in the field for is calledPhoebis philea.” She blinked, then angled her head just enough for me to see that she had completely morphed. This girl in front of me had gone from white as a ghost to a vibrant, blushing beauty in seconds. “Also known as the orange-barred sulphur. It has yellow wings with brownish spots, and the larva feeds on—”
“The money bush.” Her eyes widened, and because that stirred something more in me, I added, “I like the yellow flowers on it. Catches my eye when I’m out there, so I looked up what it was.”
“Yeah.” She nodded and tipped her small body toward mine. “My full name is Lyra Thomas, but you can keep calling me Ly.” Her soft smile snuffed the room from my view completely as something else warmed me. This close to her, I noticed she smelled like that—warmth. Like sunshine.
“Well then, Ly, is it okay if I walk you home again tomorrow?” Her brow quirked up. “As a friend,” I amended.
She brightened more than I believed possible. “Yeah, Car. I’d like that.”
6
Lyra
The Band-Aid
Every bone in my body told me to get back to my car, drive back down the dirt road, and never return.
Too bad my skin was tougher than that.
Lighting up a cigarette, I pushed my feet into a pair of rather large boots by the door and strolled out to the front porch. A dusting of sprinkler water grazed my still-burning cheeks as I pressed my hips into the wooden railing. Taking a long drag, I let the cherry burn bright as I stared out toward the barn.
No, ‘stared’ wasn’t the right word. I glared like I was ready to burn that bitch to the ground because every few passing seconds, the edge of a backward-facing snap-back came into view through the breezeway windows.
My bones urged me to move from the porch, to toss what were probably his boots right at his truck before I fishtailed from the driveway. I pressed my lips to my cig as I reached down, ripping off the damp bandage that was coming loose from my skin.
Mytoo thickskin.
I’d come back to town with a purpose, and hoped to Hell that Carver Roland had long forgotten about me. I thought he’d be away—enlisted in the Marines, or in another town and with a wife and a few kids, probably getting ready for another with the energy he had. He’d always wanted that life—a perfect one.
One that resembled his upbringing.
I squinted my eyes as I tossed the bloody bandaid over the railing, right by the stairs. Fuck him and fuck obeying any orders he thought I’d willfully obey.
Did he make me come harder than I had in years last night? Yes. Did seeing him hard with his fingers down my throat bring back pictures of him naked? Sure did. But good dick could be found anywhere, attached to men who wouldn’t dare boss me around like I was—what did he call me? Trash.
Pulling the rest of my cigarette from my lips, I pushed the cherry into the wood, burning a circle into its pretty stained color. A faint horn honked in the distance, and as I shielded my eyes from the midday sun, I saw a man who might think I was trash, but sure as shit wouldn’t have the balls to say it.
Jamie waved as he came closer, driving a camo-colored UTV. I discreetly flicked the butt into a patch of flowers and slapped on a smile that would please even the hardest of southern mamas as he parked.
“Hey, pretty lady. You sleep well?”
