Page 83 of The Best Kind of Bad

“She wasn’t a big fan of Silver Bend.”

I chuckle. “Most of the people who live here aren’t. It’s usually a love-hate relationship.”

“Yeah, but most people don’t tear out and never come back.”

“Some stay. It’s true.”

“You did.”

“Yeah. And I love this old town. But sometimes, I hate the place. If that makes sense.”

“I think it kind of does. I’ve been trying to understand whyshehated Silver Bend so much. And this feels like the answer. But know that I’ve got the answer, I’m not sure what the question is.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s like I’m skipping ahead to read the last page of a book. Everything that came before is out of sight.” She sighs. “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“You know what Jimmy Buffet has to say about that.”

She taps my chest. “Would you be available to help me take my mind off things?”

“Baby, I’m always available for you.”

She smiles at my cheesy words, but it's more than a line. It’s the damned truth. I’d give her everything she asked for and more if she’d be willing to put up with me.

I’m not a catch and I’m quite aware of that. Good for a fun time, but not the guy anyone is looking to run long term with.

There are times when I can almost live my life like a normal person, forgetting about my reputation and where it came from.

But it never takes long for reality to come crashing down on me. I live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I hear tires on gravel outside, a certain rattling car engine, I know who’s out there. It’s my past, and it’s demanding my attention.

Leaving Marnie at the table, I step outside, trying to cut him off.

Juice stops just inside the farmyard, his car idling loudly. I motion for him to follow me to the barn, staying away from the house altogether. This is a guy who took the fall when I broke the window on the old parsonage. He helped me weather my first hangover, which was at a critically young age. He’s not what you’d call the cream of the crop, but he’s my friend and he’s been there through the thick and thin. And I know as well as anyone what it feels like to be somebody’s shameful secret. I shouldn’t treat him that way and yet, as he pulls up to the barn, I want nothing more than to send him on his way.

He's my friend, but I’m having serious misgivings.

And those misgivings come in the form of one anemic, shady ass motherfucker riding shotgun. Skunk.

And it figures, both Marnie and Sienna are suddenly standing right outside the house. I do a quick double take when I see my sister. She was supposed to be at a sleepover tonight. I’ll have to investigate why she’s back already, but as it is, I feel a little like a rooster in the henyard staring down a pair of foxes.

Juice may not be the most savory individual you’ll ever meet, but he does have a sense of decorum. He knows where the line is and how to not cross it. Skunk has no such scruples, and he’s staring at my sister and Marnie like he wants to eat them up.

Juice shakes my hand, making idle talk about the construction on Highway 23. Skunk’s not even pretending to listen. He’s got his leering eyes glued on my sister. “Hey, bud.” I say, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “That’s jail bait over there, as far as you’re concerned. Quit looking at my sister like that before I kick your ass.”

He turns to me, affronted. “I wasn’t looking at the young one. I was looking at the brunette.”

A fresh surge of fury rolls through me. “Don’t look at her, either. She ain’t on the market.”

Skunk grins at me, but there’s a flicker of resentment there. “She your girl?”

“You’re damn right she is.” I glance at Juice. “Is it entirely necessary to bring Dildo Baggins along every time you come out here?”

Juice laughs, coughing, when he sees Skunk’s expression. “We’re the dream team. I’m educating him in the ways of the warrior.”

“Weed warrior.” I say. “What brings you by, man?”

Juice shrugs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Just killing time. Came by to see if you need anything.”

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