Page 138 of That Moment
Scotty nods once. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Dad mutters, gripping the porch railing. “Because I think it’s time we stop talkingateach other and start talkingtoeach other.” He finally settles back into his seat, grumbling, “You can sit down, boy. No need to stand there like you’re about to face a firing squad.”
Scotty hesitates but lowers himself onto the step, arms resting loosely over his knees. I stay beside him, heartbeat still thudding in my ears. I might be a grown woman, but my dad still intimidates me, and for as much as I want to be happy no matter what, I still want him to be proud of me and be happy for me, too.
Dad swirls the ice in his glass before speaking again. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not about money. Never was.” Scotty nods once at him in understanding. “I know you can provide for her if you had to. I’ve been around long enough to see how hard you work. Shit, that’s why I tried to poach you for the brewery a long time ago.”
“Thank you, sir. My dad would be proud to hear that.”
“Your old man was one of the good ones. He was a bit set in his ways, but he was a man of his word.” Dad leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What I worry about isn’t if you cantake careof her. It’s if you’ll respect what she’s worked for. She’s got a mind sharper than all the men I’ve ever met combined. Sometimes she lets it get to her head,” he mutters, earning my glare, “but she’s built her life her way.”
“I know that,” Scotty says, quiet but steady. “I wouldn’t change a damn thing about her. She’s… stubborn as hell, sure. But it’s one of the reasons I fell for her. It’s one of the manyreasons I admire her. She’s independent and hellbent on doing things her way.”
Dad’s brows lift, just slightly and he lets out a huff that’s about as close to a laugh as you’re going to get with him. “That she is.”
“Hey,” I elbow Scotty, “don’t start bonding over your inaccurate opinions of me.”
Dad just shakes his head and leans back in his chair again. “You know, I spent a lot of years thinking I had to prove myself, too. When I was younger, I couldn’t stand being ‘Hudson Slade, Drake’s little brother.’ Everywhere I went, that name came before me. Even when I worked there during high school, people treated me like a tagalong.”
He stares out at the dark yard, like he’s reliving those memories. “That’s why I enlisted. Figured if I couldn’t make a name for myself here, I’d make one somewhere that didn’t give a damn about Slade money or family.”
I’ve heard pieces of this story before, but not like this, not this raw.
“Turns out, all that time trying to prove myself didn’t change much. Even after years away, when I came back, I still felt like I didn’t fit. Took me a long time to realize you don’t have to prove your worth to anyone but yourself.”
Scotty nods. “That’s exactly why I never joined Slade Brewing, Sir. Everyone thought I was crazy for turning down a shot to work there years ago. I could’ve had an office and benefits. But that wasn’t my path. I knew from a young age I wanted to work on cars.” He holds up a finger, “I’m good at it, always have been, and two,” he adds a second finger, “I realized I could get paid for it.”
Dad studies him for a long moment. Then, with a faint grunt, nods. “Can’t argue with that.”
The night air seems to shift, the tension starting to slowly dissipate. Dad sets his empty glass on the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright then. If we’re all done with the dramatic porch speeches, let’s go inside before your mother comes out here wondering if I buried one of you in the pasture.”
Scotty huffs a small, nervous laugh. “Yes, sir.”
When I look at Scotty, his eyes meet mine. “You okay?” I whisper.
He gives a small, crooked smile. “Better than earlier, but I’m still not convinced he won’t try to kill me later.”
“I promise.” I smile up at him, sliding my hand into his, “I won't help him hide your body if he does.”
Inside, I can already hear Mom moving around the kitchen, calling our names. Dad opens the door and motions for us to hurry up, “Let’s eat before your mother decides to feed the neighbors instead.”
Scotty glances at me. “Guess I’m staying for dinner?”
I squeeze his hand, feeling a nervous flutter run through me. “Guess so.”
The clink of silverware and the quiet scrape of plates fill the space between us. It’s not silence exactly, just that thick, uncomfortable quiet that feels awkward as hell. No one speaks for a full minute. I steal a glance at Scotty. He’s calm on the surface, but I can see the faint tension in his jaw. I nudge his leg gently under the table. He flicks his eyes toward me, one corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
“So,” Mom says finally, setting her fork down with a soft clatter, “that went better than expected.”
Dad snorts into his drink. “That’s debatable.”
She shoots him a warning look. “Hudson.”
He grumbles something unintelligible and takes another bite of potatoes.
I clear my throat. “This chicken is really good, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says sweetly before turning to Scotty. “What about you, Scotty? Are you okay? You’re still breathing, so that’s a good sign, right?”
