Page 67 of Bourbon Bliss
“Hmm.” His eyes were on his beer. “I had a feeling something of the sort had happened.”
“I’m not sure what I did. But whatever it was, I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say, son.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Damn girl gets it from me, most like. I’m no good at this either,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “She’s never been with anyone who thought she was worth the trouble.”
Something about June was coalescing in my mind. A realization I couldn’t quite pin down. I didn’t know much about her past relationships, but I had a feeling this was important.
“You’re saying she’s been hurt? Did guys she dated in the past treat her badly?”
“First one did,” he said, and there was no mistaking the heat in his tone. “There were a couple others, when she got older. But I think that first one set the tone. Didn’t court her properly. Hurt her in the end.”
She’s never been with anyone who thought she was worth the trouble.
The sheriff’s words ran through my head on repeat. I knew he was right—I could feel it. And it broke my fucking heart.
“I think what you’re trying to tell me is that I need to be the one to reach out to her,” I said. “If I think she’s… worth the trouble.”
He sighed, his shoulders relaxing, like he was relieved I’d figured out what he’d been trying to say. “That’s right.”
I nodded slowly and took a drink of my beer. Damn straight she was worth the trouble. I still didn’t know what I’d done wrong. But it seemed to me that her daddy was trying to send me back onto the field. Maybe the game wasn’t over yet.
22
June
Even the distraction of SportsCenter couldn’t pull me from my malaise. I sat on my parents’ couch, the game ticker rolling across the bottom of the TV screen, and felt miserable.
I’d been miserable since the day I’d walked out of George’s house. And it wasn’t getting better.
My parents had invited me, along with Cassidy and Bowie, for Sunday dinner. On a Wednesday. Which usually would have irritated me to no end, but today I didn’t care. I hadn’t felt like cooking anyway.
The meal had been fine, as these things went. My dad had made half-hearted attempts to pull me into the conversation. My mom had asked me nosy questions. Suspicious sister that she was, Cassidy had eyed me across the table. I hadn’t said a word about George, but I could tell she knew something. It was only a matter of time before she stopped making out with Bowie on the back porch—thinking none of us knew—and came inside to force me into talking.
I couldn’t decide if I hoped she did or hoped she didn’t.
She made the decision for me. I heard her attempt at quietly sneaking in through the back door, and she said something to Bowie. He stayed in the kitchen, presumably to help my mom with the dishes.
“Juney, what’s going on with you?” she asked when she came into the living room. “I’ve never seen you so upset.”
“I’m not upset, I’m getting a cold.”
She raised an eyebrow and plopped down on the couch next to me. “Don’t lie to me. You’re no good at lying, and you shouldn’t lie to your sister anyway. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
I cleared my throat, trying to find the right words. How did one express things they didn’t understand? I couldn’t sort out what I was feeling. How could I tell Cassidy?
“I slept with George.”
Cassidy stiffened. “I can’t tell how you feel about that by the way you said it. Did youwantto sleep with him?”
I nodded, then shook my head. “Yes, but no, but I don’t know.”
“He didn’t force you, did he?”
“No,” I said, surprising myself with my own vehemence. “No, it wasn’t like that at all.”
