Page 21 of Misguided
He pulls out a tall glass and sets to work filling it, complete with a couple of cubes of ice.
“Tell me about your time in the middle of nowhere,” Callum asks. “You learn any Robinson Crusoe shit, like how to fashion your own spear and hunt yourself a deer?”
I can’t help but chuckle at the smirk on his lips as he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth.
“As cool as that would be, nope.”
He makes a mock sad face. “What did you do, then?”
I know he expects some funny anecdote about how I counted and named all the daisies in the grass beside my trailer, but there’s nothing funny about being cut off from your loved ones for over a year, not knowing if you’d ever see them again.
Especially when you won’t.
“Fuck it.” I jam the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to force the unwanted tears back in. I spent enough time in Dog’s room letting go of my grief; now it’s time to pull my socks up and soldier on.
Time to be the role model my father always wanted.
“Hey,” Callum says as he rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay.” I smile, still wiping my cheeks. “You meant well.”
The hangarounds stare at me like I’m some anomaly. Callum’s gaze follows mine, and he frowns at the two young guys.
“Respect, boys.” He sighs.
The hangaround to Callum’s left shrugs. “Sorry man. I’m just trying to figure out what the deal is.”
“This,” Callum says, thumbing my way, “is Mel, daughter of the late Judas.”
At least one of them gets the reference. Guy’s been doing his homework on the club. The other one, the guy behind the bar, looks as blank as a clean slate.
“He was the southern president before Hooch,” I explain. “Hooch is my brother.”
“Oh.” He raises both eyebrows, and then promptly checks his appearance.
The reaction is normal and totally expected. People hear the connection, and they immediately act as though the Duchess of York has walked in. Lincoln may be our mother chapter, but there’s always been this air of regal pride that surrounded our family and Fort Worth.
I never knew why. I still don’t.
“It’s all good,” I say dismissively. “Don’t feel the need to clean up your act or anything.” I chuckle. “I swear like a sailor when I’m angry and I could probably drink the both of you under the table. No need to treat me like a lady.”
“You joining us this weekend, then?” Callum asks.
“What’s this weekend?”
“Sawyer’s birthday.”
Shit. “Right.” I smile sheepishly. “I forget the dates a lot now.”
“I bet.” Callum winks, picking up his bottle. “We’re setting up the grills out back, getting a couple of those giant hamster ball things for a laugh.”
“Sounds like fun.” And nothing I want to be involved in.
Before I went away, I used to crave the rowdy nights the boys would host. Dana and I would sneak in, the old ladies doing a great job as lookouts and hiding us from Daddy when he got too close. It was the thrill I lived for, but now, since being on my own for so long, even this interaction I’m having right now is draining the life from me.
“You know he’s with Abbey now, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Pardon?” I smack myself on the chest to help the sip of Sprite I was taking work its way down.