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“We remodeled a few years ago.” He pats the bar top. “It’s my baby.”
“This is wonderful, Scooter. I’m real proud of you.” Scarlett turns toward the bar and has no choice but to acknowledge me. “Hey, Tuck. Dean,” she adds, tipping her head at my brother.
He tilts his beer in her direction. “How are ya, Scarlett?”
“I’m doing good. Thank you for asking.”
“What can I get ya to drink?” Scooter asks, grabbing a glass from under the bar.
“Oh, I’m not here to drink. I called in a to-go order of food with the kitchen.”
“Let me go see if it’s ready.”
Scooter disappears, and Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, how’s your dad?”
“He’s good. Came home two days ago.”
“Is he waiting in the car?” I ask, ready to go out and talk to him if he is. I haven’t seen Rick since his stroke.
“Oh, no. He’s at home.”
I furrow my brow. “Is Lexi with him?”
“No.” Her eyes dart to Dean and then back to me. “Is she supposed to be?”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You left him at home by himself?” My harsh words echo through the bar, and a hush falls over the small crowd.
“For five minutes. He’ll be fine.” The flippant tone of her voice only fuels my anger.
“He had a stroke, Scarlett. What if he tries to get up and falls?”
“I told him not to get up until I get back.” She props her hand on her hip, lifts her chin, and pins me with those defiant eyes of hers.
I laugh humorlessly. “And you think he’s going to listen?”
“Of course, he will.”
“You’re a piece of work, and you’re the one who hasn’t changed a bit. You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”
“Fuck you, Tucker.”
“There’s not enough alcohol in this bar to make that happen.”
Dean stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, brother.”
I easily shake him off. “Do you even know your father? He’s more stubborn than you are. He thinks he’s fine and doesn’t need anyone to stay with him, and you think that just because you told him to sit tight, he actually will?”
Scarlett’s lips part, no doubt to give me a piece of her mind, but nothing comes out. Her face pales, and next thing I know she’s running out the front door mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like “shit, he’s totally right.”
“Two spaghetti dinners and an extra side of garlic—” Scooter’s words cut off when he notices that Scarlett is gone. “Where’d she go?”
“Loverboy here just made the poor girl cry.”
I shoot Dean a look. “She did not cry.”
“Maybe not, but you were an ass.”
“She left Rick home by himself,” I argue.
“Well, congratulations.” Scooter sets the bags of food on the bar in front of me. “You just bought two spaghetti dinners and a side of garlic bread. That’ll be eighteen fifty.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull my wallet from my back pocket and slap two tens on the bar. “Your spaghetti is overpriced.”
“And you’re a shitty tipper.” He snags the money and shoves it into the cash drawer. “Now, get outta here and take that poor girl and her dad their food.”
“Poor girl, my ass,” I mumble. Grabbing the bags, I turn for the door. “You’re dead to me, Scooter. You too, Dean,” I say when he snickers.
Scooter just laughs. “We still on for Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah. See ya then.”
“Good. And, Tuck,” he yells, when I kick open the front door. “Pull that stick outta your ass before you knock on her door.”
By the time I make the short drive home, my anger subsides, and I almost feel bad for the way I talked to Scarlett. Rather than pull into Rick’s driveway, I park in mine and walk across the front yard, which is overgrown. I make a mental note to get it mowed sometime this week.
With a deep breath, I climb up the steps toward the front door. The house is quiet aside from the murmur of the television wafting through an open window. With the bags hanging from one hand, I use the other to knock.
“No, you stay put,” I hear Scarlett say.
The sound of the television is muted, and a second later, the door flings open. Scarlett stands in the doorway, and she looks pissed.
Or maybe hurt.
A pang of guilt hits the center of my chest.
“What do you want?”
I hold out the bags of takeout. “You forgot your food.”
She seems shocked that I’d take the time to bring it to her. She stares at the bags for a few seconds and then yanks them from my hand and slams the door in my face.
Okay, I probably deserved that.
I’m still processing what just happened when the door whips back open.
“Here.” Scarlett holds out some money. “I forgot to pay for the food before I left.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”
