Page 56 of The Golden Boys
Like always.
I hadn’t made either Scar nor myself much of a lunch, and didn’t have money for concessions at the game, so it goes without saying that we’re starving by the time we reach our side of town.
We drop off Shane and Jules, then I make the quick drive home, going as fast as I’m legally permitted. The second Scar and I burst through the back door, laughing loud enough to wake the dead, we race for the kitchen sink.
“Respect your elders,” I yell, yanking her backward by her shirt.
A shriek leaves her mouth and she playfully shoves me aside. It’s a fight to the death, both wrestling to be the first to wash our hands and dig into whatever Uncle Dusty sent this time.
One solid hip bump knocks Scar into the cabinet and I’m in the lead. By the time she finally catches her breath from laughing, I’m done rinsing and grabbing two forks from the drawer.
“You cheated!” she yells. “No one stands a chance against those hips.”
“Hey! Watch it,” I warn her, laughing at the well-timed insult.
She ignores me, opting to forego an apology, and drops down in the seat across from me.
“Ah, burgers,” she sighs after flipping open the lid of her to-go container. A second before digging in, she dramatically inhales the aroma.
“I know you thanked him when we stopped into the diner, but don’t forget to shoot Dusty a text later, too,” I remind her.
“Always do.”
The only thing that keeps me from wolfing down my food is that I’m now caught up watching my sister. Not only is she breathtakingly beautiful, she’s also the best kid I know—good grades, responsible. I probably shouldn’t take credit for that, but I can’t help feeling like I kind of had a hand in her being so awesome. Of all the things I’ve ever done, helping take care of her is the most meaningful.
“I was so hungry my stomach was two seconds from eating itself,” she says with her mouth full. “Only thing missing is ketchup.”
She hops out of her seat and I watch as she bounds over to the fridge. From down the hall, the floorboards creak after Mike’s door slams, and I know he’s coming this way.
Scar doesn’t say a word, but she rolls her eyes in anticipation of good ol’ dad joining us in the kitchen.
“How come no one told me it was dinnertime?” His speech is slurred, which doesn’t come as a surprise.
“Because there’s no dinner foryou,” I answer.
Scar takes her seat again and our gazes lock across the table.
My gut tells me it’s time to gather our containers, grab a blanket, and eat picnic-style on my bedroom floor. It’s what we used to do when our parents would get into it back when we were kids. I’d lock the door and turn the radio up to drown them out. She was young enough that it worked—out of sight, out of mind—but Hunter and I knew all too well what went on beyond that bedroom door.
“Let me have a fry,” Mike grumbles, reaching toward Scar’s food without asking.
“Touch anything on that plate and you won’t live to taste it.” My warning earns me a hard glare from my father.
A haughty laugh leaves him, and he folds both arms over his CPPD t-shirt—a throwback to when he was still on the force. You know, when he was still a respected citizen of this town.
“You think you’re real hot shit, don’t you?” he asks. “Walking around here acting like you’re better than everyone else, when the truth is—”
“Please,” I begged. “Please tell me what you think you know about me. Seeing as how you’ve never in your life taken any interest in anyoneof your kids, Mike.”
His glassy stare levels on me again and I sense a challenge in his eyes. Another humorless laugh leaves his mouth and I’m tense all over, ready for whatever insult he’s prepared to hurl at me next.
“Your just like your mother. You know that?”
This is his favorite insult, and the way those words leave his mouth, there’s no mistaking he believes them to be the most hurtful thing he could possibly say to me. Which speaks volumes about how he feels about her. For now, anyway. Were she to come home today, he’d welcome her with open arms. No questions asked.
“Well, maybe it’s because Mom and I haveonething in common,” I reply, staring him straight in the eyes. “We both hateyoursorry ass.”
The muscle in his jaw hardens as my words cut deeper than I realize they will. And to push me to my limit, he swipes his hand across the table, knocking both mine and Scar’s dinner to the kitchen floor.