Page 12 of Home in the Country
WAYLON: I’m gonna puke
CASE: You say way worse cutesy stuff about Marlee
SORREN: Stop talkin’ about my sister
WAYLON: She’s my wife, ya know
HANK: Why is everyone so hostile?
OTTO: I liked you better when you weren’t getting laid regularly
HANK: No you didn’t
SORREN: Are we done now? Case found Otto—can we be done?
CASE: You keep up that attitude and we’ll kick you out of the chat
SORREN: I’VE BEEN TRYIN’ TO MAKE IT HAPPEN SINCE YOU PUT ME IN HERE
OTTO: I feel like the yellin’ is uncalled for…
Hank snickers, and I throw a wave and a goodbye over my shoulder before walking out the door. The sun is bright and warms my skin as I make my way to my truck. Only a few puddles remain from last night’s storm, but they’ll be dried up before long.
Flipping on the radio, “Chattahoochee,” by Alan Jackson plays through the speakers. I turn up the volume and wind my way through the streets of Clementine Creek. It’s one of my favorite songs, but it’s not touchin’ my mood. I’m exhausted and it’s only partially the cat’s fault.
“Yo!” Case yells from our front porch. Jumping up, he grabs our lunches and coffees and hustles over. “Dude, took you forever.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a morning.”
He hands me the cup, and I instantly take a sip and wince. No matter the temperature in Tennessee, our first cup of coffee isalwayslava hot.
I’ve also nevernotburned my tongue because apparently I never learn— might be a theme in my life.
“You okay?” Case asks as I drive us out of town toward the building complex we’re working on.
“Fine.”
“I would have come home if you’d just told me.”
I don’t even have to look at my brother to know he’s upset, but I do because I deserve to see the hurt on his face. Case is the only one that knows how much I pined after Fallon in high school and how devastated I was after she ghosted me that fateful spring break freshman year of college.
We’d always been labeled asthose Thayer twins,and after she left, we truly lived up to the hype. People expected a certain image from us, and we gave it to them—haven’t stopped either.
Despite being my twin, Case has always resembled Waylon more than me. His eyes are this cool blue-gray color that more than a few girls have calledsoulfulrather than my glacier-blue ones. Plus he keeps a neatly trimmed beard that women go crazy over, and I’ll probably be carded at bars for the rest of my life.
I’ve stopped fighting the battle and accepted that I’ll just look young and devilishly handsome to go along with my boyish charm.
“I knew you were busy, and I just didn’t want to talk about it.”
“But you called Sorren.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah, but that’s why I called him. Did he tell you that?”
“Nah, Waylon was bitchin’ about his truck seat bein’ wet. I just put it together.”
Extending an olive branch, I say, “You wanna grab a beer after work or are you meetin’ Ashley again?”
