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As I mull that over, I decide that maybe that can be an advantage this time. Brody and Shay are going to find out about Allyson being back, but I don’t want to have this conversation three separate times. If I tell Bobby, I can probably get away with one telling and then a few grunts to Brody and Shay. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.
I sigh, pretending like I’m put out by his fussing even though he’s just looking at me. “Allyson’s back. Her kid’s on the football team I’m helping coach. It’s weird.”
Boom. Mic drop. Full story and no drama on my part. I should win a damn award.
Bobby sits up, delicately putting Betty the Guitar in her case before turning to me and punching me in the bicep. “What the fuck? Lead with that next time!”
I push him over and we tussle a bit. We should’ve probably outgrown this by now, but somehow, we never did. I’ve had more bruised ribs from roughhousing with my brothers than from fighting anyone else. Well, except for being on the football field.
After a few go’s, we push off each other and settle. It felt good to get that out, and I tell him so. “Thanks. I think I needed that.”
He lifts his chin in recognition but doesn’t leave it alone. “Good. Now spill.”
“That’s it,” I admit with a single lift of a shoulder. “She was at practice. It was weird. She didn’t know I was ‘still in Great Falls’, I guess.” I do the finger quote thing around the words because I don’t believe one single second that she thought I’d magically up and moved away.
“More,” Bobby demands hungrily like a damn gossipy woman talking behind her program after church on Sunday. “What’s she look like? She married? Her kid a demon spawn from hell?”
I press my lips together but tell him anyway. “She looked . . . good. Still blonde and blue-eyed and beautiful. She had on denim shorts and a tank top, and her tits looked like fucking peaches.” I glance up at the tree above us, thinking the fruits don’t do justice to Allyson’s rack. “No wedding ring, but she did have on other jewelry. Not sure if that means she’s single or if I give a fuck. Cooper’s a good kid. Mouthy as hell, but good.”
I can tell he’s weighing all that, considering his next words. “You thinking ‘bout hitting that again?”
He doesn’t mean fucking her, or at least not just fucking her. Once upon a time, Allyson Meyers was my drug of choice. I became a willing addict and loved every second lost in her until she took it all away. I crashed . . . hard. Bobby was the one to pick up the pieces and put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I lick my lips. “I don’t think I can. I’m not strong enough for another round with her. She’d cut me to pieces. Hell, I’d carve out my own heart and hand it to her on a silver platter.”
Bobby’s the only person I’d be this frank with because while he’ll share the basics with anyone and everyone, he keeps the emotional shit to himself. I’d do the same for him.
“And you know she’d say thank you like the well-mannered girl her momma taught her to be and then throw my heart in the trash. Or run over it with her car.”
Bobby snorts. “Roadkill. Good imagery, and pretty accurate for back then. You were gone, man. For a long while.”
He doesn’t say it aloud, but we’re both thinking it. Some people were happy about it, because it was my senior year that I really earned the nickname Brutal . . . and I sent a lot of kids home sore. A few I even sent to the hospital. I shared my pain with the world in the only way I knew how.
Right when I started to get my feet back under me, finishing high school and going to State myself to play ball, was when everything went to shit again. And that time, it was so much worse. That was when Mom died and I’d come home for good, taking to the fields of our farm and never stepping foot on a football field again.
“You still mad at her?” he says quietly.
At first, I think he’s talking about Mom. I think we were all a little mad at Mom for leaving, even though she damn sure didn’t want to. She fought tooth and nail, cussed every cancer cell to hell, but it still won and took her from us. But I realize he’s staying on topic and means Allyson.
Am I mad at her?
“Maybe a little,” I concede. “Angry, sad, hurt, and a whole host of other emotions all tied up in a messy knot.”
“What are you gonna do then? You committed to those boys,” Bobby reminds me, but I wouldn’t dream of backing out on them or Mike now. My word’s good, even if not everyone ascribes to that sentiment.
