Page 102 of Highball Rush
Scarlett walked toward the dugout, a half-empty mason jar of moonshine in her hand, her long ponytail sticking out the back of her Cock Spurs hat. Someone in the stands shouted her name, and she raised her moonshine in greeting, a big-ass smile on her face.
I took a deep breath, a sense of resignation stealing over me. I wanted to have this conversation with her like I wanted a kick to the teeth. But it needed to happen. And although my sister could hold her alcohol like nobody’s business, it’d be better if she was completely sober. That was probably her first drink, so now was the time.
I flexed my busted hand, feeling the scabs pull. I hadn’t broken anything when I’d punched the beam, but I’d bloodied my knuckles a bit. With a sigh, I walked over to stand beside her—faced the field, rather than looking at her straight on. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “Where’s Maya?”
Her question poked at the big knot of feelings in my chest. Not because there was anything wrong with Callie. She was over by the concession stands with Cash. But it was an in-my-face reminder of who Scarlett really was. She had my back. Always. Even when I didn’t deserve it.
“She’s getting a hot dog.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t say anything else. Just stood next to me. She knew I was fixin’ to say something. I could tell by the way she waited, doing me the courtesy of not forcing me to make eye contact with her.
“You might have been right about some things,” I said, finally. “I’m not going to say he was a good dad, because he wasn’t. But you weren’t totally wrong about him.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“And maybe…” I paused, clearing my throat. We Bodines were terrible at apologies, especially me and Scarlett. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about it. Loyalty is one of your best qualities.”
“Aw, Gibson.” She threw herself at me, sloshing moonshine all over, and wrapped her arms around me.
I grumbled and squeezed her back.
“You’re a good man, Gibson Bodine,” she said. “I’m glad you’re my brother.”
“Yeah, you’re all right too.” I pried her arms off me and pushed her back a step. “Go get warmed up. We have a game to win.”
“Sure thing, Coach.” She punched me in the arm before walking away, her ponytail swinging.
Huh. I felt lighter. Like a bit of the weight I’d carried for so long had just lifted.
I went back to the dugout to get my team ready for the game and spotted Darren in the stands. The bribe-taking lab tech hadn’t bolted on us. It helped that he was staying free of charge in one of Scarlett’s rentals. Sheriff Tucker had interviewed him—twice—and he’d been true to his word. Told him everything. At this point, we were keeping him here in Bootleg more for his protection than for his cooperation.
Once the investigation against the judge finally broke open, things were liable to get dicey. We’d all rest easier when he was behind bars. But we had one shot at him. As much as the wait stretched my patience, like a stringy piece of Misty Lynn’s gum, I knew the sheriff was right to hold out until the case against him was rock solid.
I did a double-take. Speaking of that nicotine-gum-chewing shrew, Misty Lynn was currently seated next to Darren, arching her back to shove her fake boobs at him. The lopsided grin on his face told me she had him fooled. I rolled my eyes. We’d have to pull him aside and give him a warning. I didn’t much like Darren, but I still wouldn’t wish Misty Lynn on him.
“Okay, players, let’s get warmed up.” I clapped my hands together a few times. Coaching the Cock Spurs was mostly a matter of herding the players as they got progressively more drunk, then getting them on the school bus so they made it home. It was a pretty good time.
I had to shout at George twice to stop trying to grab June over at home plate—she was our umpire—and get his ass over here to warm up. That, and guzzle an extra-large jar of moonshine. Getting George sloppy drunk early was our concession to having a former professional athlete on our team.
Jonah joined us after kissing his girl, Shelby, and sending her up to the stands.
“You gonna show us all that muscle is good for something tonight?” I asked. “Or is it just to look pretty?”
He shook his head, smiling. “At least I don’t look like a big, angry lumberjack.”
Bowie glanced back, raising an eyebrow, his eyes darting between us.
“The shitty thing is, I can’t even insult your face,” I said. “Because we look too fuckin’ much alike.”
Jonah shrugged. “What are you gonna do? We’re Bodines. We make this look good.”
“That we do, brother.” I gave him a friendly slap on the back. “That we do.”
Bowie was still watching, but I ignored him, my attention suddenly fixed on the beautiful girl with crazy hair strolling our direction. My blue flannel was tied in a knot at her waist, emphasizing her curves, and her denim shorts gave me an eyeful of her tanned thighs. She had a hot dog in one hand, Cash’s leash in the other.
