Page 29 of The Bad Brother

“That woman is not a surgeon and her imaginary boyfriend didn’t cheat on her. She just made up some bullshit sob story to weasel her way in here and now that she has, I can’t do anything about it without hanging River out to dry.” Pulling back my cue, I crack the tip of it into the white ball and sink a bank shot. “She’s a soft touch. Always has been.”

“River?” Cade looks at me like I just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “River’sa soft touch? Says the guy who’s turned his bar into the Island of Misfit Toys.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I know what he means, I just don’t like the sound of it.

“It means you’re King Stray Collector of Barrett County.” Rather than wait for me to miss, Cade puts his cue back in the rack attached to the wall and sits on a nearby barstool to watch me clean up the table. “Me. Sera. River. Austin—you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without something to rescue.”

Insulted for some reason, I glare at him from across the table. “Is that right?”

“It is,” Cade tells me with a chuckle. “You might have most of this town fooled, but you don’t fool me. Sorry tohave to be the one to break it to you, but you’re a good guy.”

“The fuck I am,” I growl at him. Hearing him say it makes me angrier than it should. Maybe because I could’ve been. Might’ve had the chance to be a good man, once upon a time but not anymore.

“The fuck youaren’t,” Cade shoots back, still laughing. “Hell, you can’t even find enough inner asshole to kick a bunch of church ladies out of your bar.”

“You’re not a stray,” I gripe at him while I take my next shot, ignoring his point about my church lady problem. It’s been two weeks since the bus accident and they’re still here, waiting to be let in with their goddamned mops and buckets when I wake up in the morning. “None of you are.”

“Riv’s a recovering addict you caught trying to rob this place, when she was barely eighteen.” Like I forgot, Cade holds up his index finger. Flicking out finger number two, he shakes his head. “Sera is the Hester Pryne of Barrett County.”

Bent over the pool table, I look up at him on a laugh while taking my next shot. “The fuck you know who Hester Pryne is?”

“I can read, motherfucker,” Cade says, with a good-natured grin while flipping up finger number three. “Austin is a pick pocket from Dallas and I’m an ex-con on parole who lives with his mother.”

“You’re a good dad and probably the closest thing I have to a best friend,” I remind him, my tone hardening slightly because I don’t like it when he talks shit about himself.

“I scrub toilets and mop floors at the grade school andwhen I’m not doing that, I’m here, either slinging beer or letting people try to cave my skull in for money.” When I don’t answer him, Cade drops his hand and sighs. “Look—all I’m saying is maybe this chick just needs a soft place to land, like the rest of us.”

“You see that bracelet on her arm?” Table cleared, I toss my stick on top of it. “I promise you—she’s got plenty of soft places to land. If shit is as bad as she’s claiming, why didn’t she just go back to wherever she came from instead of slumming it on the wrong side of the river.”

“Maybe wherever she comes from doesn’t want her back,” Cade says quietly, a not-so-gentle reminder that I’m not just King Stray Collector—I’m the most fucked up toy on the island. When Tank brought me home, I’d just been released from the Texas State juvenile detention center after serving eighteen months for wrongful death with malicious intent. After I was sentenced, my father looked me in the eye and said,you’re no longer our son. When you’re released, don’t come home.

That was the last time he ever spoke to me.

“Yeah.” I give him a bitter laugh that twists my guts before it goes sour in my mouth. “Well, I don’t want her here either.”

“That’s too bad because I don’t think she’s going anywhere, anytime soon.” Because if history has told him anything, it’s that arguing with me about it isn’t going to change my mind, Cade offers me a shrug. “Like you said, heartbroken surgeon or not, she’s got you over a barrel. There’s no way you can get rid of her without risking River.”

“Just because I can’t evict her, doesn’t mean I can’t get her to leave,” I tell him with a smile.

“I don’t know, man,” Cade says with a skeptical smile of his own. “Maybe we didn’t meet the same chick but she seemed pretty determined. I don’t think you’re gonna get rid of her as easily as you think.”

Still grinning, I pick up my cue and walk it to the rack.

“Watch me.”

EVEN THOUGH IT’S ONLY BEEN FOURdays, I wake up Tuesday morning, feeling like I’m twelve and it’ my first day at a brand-new school.

That’s to be expected, Sloane. You’ve suffered some very traumatic losses recently. Any change in routine is bound to trigger your anxiety. It’s barely ten o’clock. You have plenty of time to shower and get ready for work. You can even go in early and stop by the cafeteria for some breakfast before your shift.

Real breakfast food would be nice. I’ve been living on expired canned goods and stale crackers for the past two days. Thankfully, I can just swipe my badge and have whatever I take from the cafeteria deducted from my paycheck. As long as I don’t get sick of cup o’noodles, I should be able to feed myself while I wait for payday.

Plan formed, I sit up, pushing myself to the edge of the bed to plant my feet on the floor. Making my way across the bedroom, I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

Deciding my hair can last another day without a shampoo, I pile it on top of my head, securing it with a few errant bobby pins that got left behind in the vanity drawer while I wait for the water to warm.

Sticking my hand under the spray and satisfied with the temperature, I step into the shower with an audible groan. Whoever built this place didn’t skimp on the water pressure, bless their soul. Retrieving my washcloth and a bar of soap I liberated from the hospital supply closet, I begin to scrub while the warm, pounding pressure of the water beats my muscles into submission, loosening the tension in my neck and shoulders while another sort of tension starts to build between my thighs. Between planning the wedding, trying to be whatever version of the perfect woman Ethan was demanding at the moment, and my shifts at the hospital, I can’t even remember the last time I had sex, let alone an orgasm that didn’t leave me feeling empty and vaguely dissatisfied.

You do it all the time.

---