Page 36 of Sunshine

Jason’s face falls. “Wells . . . we’re going to state. Ofcoursethey care about you.”

“Oh, they care about me now that I’m on their precious winning football team?” He glares at Jason, and my heart thumps hard in my chest. I sit in the chair on the other side of Wells, the cold plastic a shock to my bare thighs where my cheer skirt doesn’t reach, and brace for the argument I know is coming. Wells has little patience for Jason when he drinks, which, to be fair, is valid. When Jason drinks, he becomes . . . someone else, someone I don’t even like sometimes. But Wells is more wound up than normal, which is saying a lot. And he’s right—people have treated his family poorly for as long as I can remember.

“Hey,” I say quietly to Wells, and they both look my way. “Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath, his brown eyes murky with distrust. “I just . . . I think I should go home.” Something over my shoulder catches his attention, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Fucking dammit,” he mutters before shooting out of his chair and marching past me with a wild look on his face.

“Oh hey, Wellsy boy,” a familiar voice croons, and I turn around to find Rhett stalking toward our table. He’s dripping in cockiness, his dark cowboy hat riding low enough on his brow that it mostly hides his smug gray eyes as he appraises his younger brother. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“What are you doing?” Wells asks, voice lowand urgent as he steps into Rhett’s personal space. Eddie and Martha Brown eye them suspiciously from the table next to us, and my stomach flips with nerves.

“Who me?” Rhett counters, his face a mask of innocence. “I thought the whole town was invited to this little shindig. Whywouldn’tI be here to support my youngest brother?” His eyes sweep the scene before landing expressly on the gazebo in the distance as more and more people crane their necks to see. “Huh, that gazebo looks a little different. Did they rebuild it or something?”

“Rhett, what the fuck?” Wells asks, shoving Rhett in the chest. “Quit trying to start shit.”

Rhett’s expression shifts from bland amusement to anger in half a second, and he shoves Wells back. “What? Afraid we’ll give them all somethingnewto talk about?”

“All right, all right,” Sheriff Joe calls out, winding himself through the growing crowd. Jason must realize this is turning more serious because he rises from his chair and moves to stand behind Wells. I stand too, but my feet are rooted into the ground as I watch Sheriff Joe lock his gaze onto Rhett. “Mr. Bennett,” he says loudly over the low murmuring around us. “Always a pleasure.”

“Mr. Bennett is my father,” Rhett replies a bit haughtily.

“Oh yes, I know your father well.”

It seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Rhett’s eyes smolder as his lips press firmly together.

“Rhett, chill out,” Wells tries, his own expression slipping into one resembling fear.

“Is there a problem here?” Mayor Moore steps up from somewhere to the right, eyes bouncing back and forth between the sheriff and Rhett.

“That’s whatI’m trying to figure out,” Sheriff Joe says. “It looked like Rhett and Wells were on the verge of a physical altercation.”

“I’m here to support my brother, notfighthim,” Rhett spits out, face flushed. “But I forgot how hard it is to exist in this god-forsaken town without somebody worried about what the Bennetts are doing.”

“Rhett,” Well snaps, his tone near pleading.

“Dad.” Jason gives his father a pointed look.

Mayor Moore looks from Rhett to Jason to the sheriff before settling his gaze back on Rhett. “Look, son, we don’t want any trouble, and I don’t think you do either. You’re welcome to stay and support our Mustangs, but if I catch a whiff of any funny business, there will be hell to pay. Am I clear?”

Rhett’s expression is so thunderous it sends a shiver of nerves through me. “Crystal.”

Mayor Moore nods. “Come on, Joe,” he says. “Let’s go find our wives—I think I saw them head toward Eleanor’s flower booth.”

The sheriff finally tears his eyes away from Rhett, like a dog called back to his master.

“What the hellis the matter with you?” Wells whisper-yells as we all make our way to the parking lot in front of Sandy’s Sundries. It’s one of the bigger parking lots in the vicinity of town square and where Wells parked his truck a couple of hours ago when we arrived. “Mom told you to cool it with your town escapades.”

Rhett scoffs, his shoulders high and tense beneath his black leather jacket. “You think I’m going to listen to that horse shit? These people have been mocking our name since before either of us was born, Wells.” He pulls a small silver flask out of the front of it and twists off the cap to take a swig.

Next to me, Jason sighs. He seems to have sobered up in the last few minutes, the loose and bubbly joy flattening. He’s lucky no one smelled the vodka on him. “I don’t know why it always has to be like this,” he says to no one in particular.

Rhett wheels around, pinning him with a look so heated I’m nervous he might be about to hit him. “I expect you wouldn’t, golden boy,” he spits out.

“Jesus,” Wells mutters, reaching a hand up to press gently against the center of Rhett’s chest in a move that’s half support, half warning. After a beat, his eyes soften. “Did you ride here?”

Rhett takes in a deep breath through his nose before letting it out in one swiftwhoosh. “Yeah.” He tilts his head toward the smaller lot that’s reserved for June’s Cafe, where his motorcycle sits waiting.

Wells tosses his keys toward me, and I’m surprised when I catch them. “Follow me in the truck?”

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