Page 132 of Highball Rush
“Don’t you dare talk about Jenny like that, you dirty home-wrecker.”
“Go home, Misty Lynn,” I said. “You’re just out here trying to make trouble and we don’t need any more of that.”
Misty Lynn stuck a hand on her hip and took another drag from her cigarette. “You ain’t special, you know. You probably think you are because the stupid people in this stupid town kept your posters up for so long. But they were wrong about you. You’re not the town sweetheart. You’re a filthy liar.”
Scarlett squirmed against my grasp. I was going to lose her. “Can I get a little help, here?”
Nash jogged over, his thick arms like tree trunks stuffed in flannel. He eyed us warily.
“Come on, Nash, just hold on to her for a minute,” I said.
“I’m gonna kill her,” Scarlett snarled.
“Crap on a cracker,” Nash muttered, getting his arms around her so I could extricate myself. “Scarlett, don’t blame me for this.”
“Let go of me, Nash. It’s about time someone served up some Bootleg Justice on that lying, cheating, piece of bleached-out fake-boobed garbage.”
“Go home, Misty Lynn,” I said again.
She tried to flick her cigarette toward me, but it wound up flying into the fire.
“You think you can just waltz back into town, with your ugly purple hair, wearing the same dress every other day. Do you even own another one?”
“This from the girl who’s been wearing the same tube tops and ratty leggings since seventh grade,” Scarlett said.
Misty Lynn wasn’t paying attention to Scarlett, and I had a feeling trading insults with Gibson’s sister wasn’t why she’d come out here.
“Gibson doesn’t know what’s good for him,” she said, her eyes on me.
“You think that’s you?” I asked.
“Better than you,” she said. “At least I didn’t trick a whole town into believing I’m someone else.”
Why was I even having this conversation? “What’s your point?”
Something in her expression changed, her heavily mascaraed eyes narrowing, the corner of her mouth tilting upward. It was like she could sense she wasn’t getting to me and had just thought of a new angle.
“I had him first, you know.”
“Had him?” I asked. “What you did was fake your way into his life for a very short time when he was too young and dumb to see you for what you are. And then you cheated on him after his mother died. Instead of holding onto him and loving him through one of the worst times of his life, you kicked him when he was down. I don’t know if you’re trying to make me jealous, but it won’t work. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”
Misty Lynn crossed her arms, but I turned toward the sound of tires tearing down the long drive. Gibson’s truck spat gravel as he slammed on the brakes. He hopped out and ran toward us, rushing straight toward me.
“Gibs, don’t be mad,” Scarlett said, shrugging out of Nash’s grip. “We just wanted something fun to do while we—”
“I ain’t mad at you, Scar,” he said, his eyes on me. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Scarlett asked.
“Goin’ to see the sheriff. Get everyone out of here. This ain’t the time.” His gaze swung around and landed on Misty Lynn.
I’d seen Gibson angry. I’d seen him so far gone with rage he’d bloodied his own knuckles. But I’d never seen his face like this.
“Get her off my property,” he growled.
“You ain’t still mad about the wallet thing, are you?” Misty Lynn asked.
He stared her down, fists clenched, and I had no idea how Misty Lynn wasn’t wilting under the intensity of his gaze. I’d never been afraid of Gibson, but if I’d been in her shoes, I would have been.
