Page 47 of Really Truly Yours

Resettling the hat, I explain what Sydnee told me about Donny’s weird affection for the dump.

Tripp shakes his head. “That’s just pathetic.”

“Kind of makes it hard to hate him, doesn’t it?”

Tripp snorts. “I don’t hate him. He’s nothing to me.”

Wrong on multiple levels.

Blowing out my frustration, I look back to the sad little structure. “I better get this over with. Wait for me before you go up.”

Convincing Donny may take some doing, and I might need Sydnee’s help. After my ugly show earlier, I can no longer count on her being on my side.

Indeed, the greeting is not warm when I let myself into the house. Donny cowers like a kicked dog.

“Hey,” I say, taking them both in as I close the door behind my back.

And Sydnee? That pretty face won’t be smiling for me any time soon. Her censorious glare hits me square in the gut.

Each time I’ve visited Donny, things have ended with me being a jerk. This behavior is not like me. I’m the happy one in the Smith family. The guy who rolls with the punches, whose glass is perpetually half-full.

“Donny?”

Bony shoulders huddled, he turns his face to the wall.

The final remnants of my anger vaporize. Nobody likes to be pitied, but I’m sorry. Anyone who looks at Donny and doesn’t feel pain is a lousy human being.

Which confirms in my heart that Tripp will come around. He’s the best man I know.

I remove my sweaty hat and drag the ottoman in front of the whopper-jawed recliner and sit, eye to eye. “Donny?”

His gaze goes everywhere except me. Yellow tinges the whites of his eyes.

“Donny, you cannot stay here. There’s no way we’re going to be able to rig something up to keep out the rain. I’m worried the whole roof is going to come down on you.”

He snorts. “That’d fix things nice for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’d fix ’em alright. Fix ’em so you and I’d never be able to get acquainted.”

That draws a peek.

“I’m sorry, Donny. I was a jerk.”

“I don’t need no apologies.” He still won’t look directly.

“Well, I need them. I’ve been out of line, and I’m sorry.”

Hope sparks in his eyes. It slips away. “You’re just sayin’ that to get me to leave.”

“Nope. I want us to talk. Get to know each other. And hopefully, Tripp will be a part of that, too. Eventually. But in the meantime, we need to move you somewhere safe. We’ll get you a hotel for a few nights, and I’ll work on getting someone out here to see what can be done about the house.”

He finally meets my gaze squarely.

“Does that work for you?”

Sydnee

Grayson Smith is a louse.