Read Online Forsaking Truth by Lydia Michaels - Free Book Online

me around,

Luke. You throw a punch and I’ll swing back. I may not have as much mass as

you, but I ain’t no slouch.”
    “I’m not gonna hit

you.”
    “You sure about that?”
    He shut his eyes,

wishing he could hit himself. “Look, last night…I’ve never done anything like that before and I don’t plan on doing it

again. I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”
    Tristan’s nostrils

flared. “Are you suggesting I’d otherwise inform the town—who by the way is all

strangers to me—that I was used and tossed out on my

ass the next morning when my lover’s shame set in?” He laughed dryly, harshly,

and without humor. “Yeah, I’m good with keeping that little tidbit to myself.”
    They weren’t lovers

and it pissed him off that Tristan had used that term. Before Luke c ould reply, Tristan snapped, “Just take me home.”
    They rode in utter

silence. Tristan didn’t even whistle like he often did when the quiet stretched

on. Each time Luke glanced his way he noticed the hard set of his jaw and the

tightness around his eyes.
    Wh en he pulled up at his aunt’s he turned to make some

excuse, but Tristan was out of the truck before he had the chance, slamming the

door in his face. Great.
     

     
    “Luke, take Tristan

over to the shed and get him suited up. Why don’t you work with him today and show him the ropes of climbing. He’s gotta ring

the bell a dozen times before we can give him a chainsaw.”
    Luke sighed and headed

to the shed. He wasn’t going to argue with his dad. That would stir up

questions. As he passed Tristan, he snapped, “Come

on.”
    In the shed he dug

through the equipment racks searching for lanyards, proper sized cleats, and a

decent harness. “What size are your shoes?”
    “Thirteen.”
    His brow lifted as he

kept sorting. Thirteen was a big foot. He found a set of cleats in th e back that would work, but they needed to be sharpened.

“How much do you weigh?”
    “Around two hundred.

Maybe two ten.”
    That surprised him as

well. Tristan wasn’t bulky. He was lean. He was obviously hiding some muscle

mass under all that firm flesh. “How t all are you?”
    “Six-three.”
    They were the same

height. He grabbed the right strength J hooks and the right weight harness.

“Get yourself some glasses and a hard hat from the pile.”
    They left the shed and

went to the hanger where all the lockers were. Luke g rabbed

his spikes and handed Tristan the wide stirrups to support his size thirteens.

Settling onto a bench, careful not to make eye contact, he withdrew two gaff

gages and tossed one at Tristan. He caught it without flinching.
    “All right, this is

your sta ndard spike. You got the shaft, that’s this

long part that runs along the inner calf, the cup, that’s the soft part that

supports the climber under the knee, and the stirrup, that’s the part that fits

under the boot. Most climbers get their own spikes once they learn their preference of support.”
    He held up his gage.

“This is your gage. It keeps you alive and you use it every day, no matter

what, before you leave the ground. Once a gaff blade is replaced it’s garbage.

Do not toss it back with the others.”
    He knew he was going

fast, but he wanted this done with. He pointed to the blade at the bottom of

the stirrup. “This is the gaff. You want to check its radius, width, length,

and sharpness. A chiseled point gives you easy penetration.” He swallowed.
    Keep it about

trees.
    “Yours probably needs

to be sharpened. I’ll show you how to use the vise.”
    Tristan silently

followed him to the sharpener in the back of the shop. He instructed him on how

to effectively clamp the spike in place between two blocks of wood a nd unrolled his sharpening tools.
    “You got your smooth

cut file, honing stone, and gage.” He ignored the sensation thrumming through

his body as Tristan crowded behind him. He reached for the file. “Take your

file in