Page 2 of Spencer and the Younger Girl
“You’re sorry?” She rounded on him. “Sorry is what you tell your mother when you leave the goat pen open, and they get free.”
Yes, that happened.
“Sorry is what you say when you shoot a hockey puck through the barn window, scaring Harbi into kicking one of the hands.” She shoved him. “When you disappear before graduation with only a short goodbye note and then don’t contact us for three years? That deserves a heck of a lot more than sorry.” She turned on her heel and stomped back into the house.
Spencer stood on the threshold rubbing the back of his neck. He looked to his dad.
“Your ma is glad you’re home, Spencer.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” This was going to be a long month.
His mom appeared again with her purse hanging off one arm. “I have a hockey game to get to.” She brushed past him.
“Since when does ma watch hockey?”
His dad grabbed a jacket off the hook by the door. “Since your brother made the high school team.”
“Damo, really?” They’d played together when they were younger, but it was nothing more than shooting pucks at the chickens or deking around goats in the yard. Yeah, they were stupid kids.
Spencer didn’t even know how to skate.
His dad closed the door and locked it. “You missed a lot around here.” He walked past him to the truck where his mom glared from the passenger side.
Spencer watched them, unsure what to do. He had nowhere else to go, and they’d just locked the house. He eyed the bunkhouse—usually home to the ranch hands—wondering if he could pick the lock so he wouldn’t have to sit here on the stoop for the next three hours.
His dad’s window lowered. “You coming?”
Was he?
For his brother, he’d go anywhere—even if that meant joining the entire town he’d hoped to avoid.
Spencer threw his duffel in the bed of the truck and climbed in behind his mom in the cab. Dust kicked up behind the tires as they drove down the long driveway.
When the Lyft had dropped him off after a long day of flights, he’d just wanted a hot shower and a bite to eat—oh, and a lot of avoidance.
But nothing was ever that simple.
* * *
Exhaustion weighedSpencer down as he weaved through the crowd, keeping his ball cap pulled down over his dark hair. If anyone recognized him, there’d be questions.
Where had he been?
Why did he leave?
What brought him home?
Answers he wasn’t ready to give anyone.
A blond girl bumped into him and cold seeped into the sleeve of his black shirt. He cursed, making the girl stop walking and turn to him.
“What did you just say to me?” She narrowed her eyes.
He shook out his wet sleeve. “You spilled your drink on me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you weren’t watching where you were walking.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.
“Hadley,” another girl called. “Come on.”
