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He nods and disappears, leaving Easton and me alone.
“You see Dusty?” he asks.
“Yeah, I did. I want to talk about you, though. How’s everything going? He said you’re doing great at the shop.”
“When I come in on time?” Easton quirks a brow.
“It’s his business.”
“I know.”
“You like it?”
“It’s a job. Dusty doesn’t suck. Makes it all right.”
The bartender sets a beer in front of me, and I wait to see if Easton is going to ask me any questions or start up any kind of conversation, but he doesn’t. “I’m staying at Dad’s. I don’t know what in the fuck I was thinking agreeing to that. He hasn’t changed a bit.”
“He’ll never change.”
I don’t argue. Easton is right.
“Rhett got pissed at me because I didn’t make Dad’s plate for him. What the fuck is that?”
Easton shrugs. “Rhett.”
Yeah, it is Rhett. “You gonna talk to me or what?”
“I’m talking. Just waiting for you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am. For you to try and fix me. Figure we should get that out of the way first, then see if we still have anything to say to each other.”
The dull ache that had already been in my chest turns sharp and piercing. “I’m not here to tell you how much you’re fucking up or to try and fix you. Have you seen our family? Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all of us are in some motherfucking glass houses.”
Easton chuckles softly like he didn’t really want to let it out, but damn, it feels good to hear.
“I wish we’d done better by you,” I admit. “If anyone fucked up, it’s the rest of us.”
He turns his head in my direction, frowning, brows drawn together in confusion. Have I never said anything like that to him before?
“We all have shit to feel guilty about. We’ve been suffocating on it for years, but I’m the last thing you need to have regret over.”
“Why?” Does he think he doesn’t deserve it? And what the hell would he have to regret or feel guilty about? Easton was just a kid.
He motions behind me. “Food is here. Better eat up.”
Not sure what to say or even what I feel, I sit beside my little brother, drink a beer and eat wings and fries with him, determined that if anything changes this summer while I’m here, I want it to be that I have more of a relationship with him.
Mom would want that.
I want it too.
CHAPTER SIX
Dusty
It’s been a few days since I was at the Swifts’ and I haven’t seen or talked to Morgan again. I’m sure he’s busy dealing with his dad and other family stuff, but since we fell back into our friendship—even if it’s only temporary—it feels like old times. And before, Morgan and I didn’t go days without at least talking to each other. We were maybe a little codependent, but I could never find it in myself to care, and I still don’t.
This won’t turn out well for me. I know that going into it because I don’t have it in me not to want Morgan, but if he’s here and he’s offering friendship, I’m going to take him up on it…or stand here and obsess about him like a goddamned child.
I’ve already finished the paint job on the Honda, and now I’m helping Easton with the SUV and tinkering with my 1967 Mustang I got a few months back. She’s a fucking mess, doesn’t run, and is filled with rust and body damage. Everything needs to be rebuilt and redone, but it’s been my fantasy car all my life. It’s always been my dream to find an older one and rebuild her, so when I managed to find one and had a little extra money put back, I bought her. Still, I haven’t really done much work yet. For some reason, I can’t seem to make myself.
