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I can’t bear to look at Cass, who rests a calming hand on Titus’s forearm. I hear her murmur softly, “Not our circus, not our monkeys. It’s just clueless people.”
Leela’s sharp eyes widen, begging me to let her speak up.
Just as I’m rapidly shaking my head no at Leela while she’s already pushing her chair back to turn around and have a word, someone else speaks up.
“Elijah Eastburn was a trash collector.”
The voice is gruff, authoritative, and at full volume. The room goes silent except for the sound coming from the TV.
When I swivel around in my seat, I see him. Hercules Treadway is standing at the edge of the table of the two commentators, a damp and dingy bar towel slung over his shoulder. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s staring right at the man in the turtleneck.
“Excuse me?” asks the man.
“Oh shit,” Cass whispers. I can feel her looking at me, but my eyes are glued on Herc.
“Eastburn was a trash collector who started a textile company in 1901. His boss let him salvage discarded equipment, and he had a knack for fixing old machines. In five years, he had his own shop. Fast forward a few decades, and his brand was the Southeast’s biggest weaver of furniture upholstery. He employed thousands, even through the Great Depression. During the War, they made parachutes, and when they had no thread for parachutes, he found a way to pay people.”
The woman slagging off my family is staring at her plate of fried pickles.
The man is clearly wondering why a kid half his age in a dirty tank top thinks he can teach him anything.
“And,” Herc continues, “when the textile industry started outsourcing their labor to foreign sweatshops, the Eastburns kept their factories open and continued to pay their factory workers benefits. How do I know all this? I’m glad you asked….”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Hercules, do not dare point me out. Don’t you dare talk about how we used to date.
But wait a minute. Howdoeshe know all of that? We never talked about my family history. I didn’t even know some of this stuff, and I’m not sure he isn’t making some of it up.
But he doesn’t look at me or invoke my name, thank god.
“I know all this because my great-grandparents, uncles, aunts, and a dozen other relatives all worked for Eastburn Textiles for decades. They put food on the table and got mortgages because of that company. So, yes, my father was a self-made man convicted of white-collar shit nobody understands or cares about. And, yes, he did pay his debt to society. But the reason the Eastburns have their names on everything is not that they put it there. It’s because other people saw fit to make it so.”
Herc turns away and buses a nearby table, showing me his back. Outside on the deck, Herc’s father is still chatting up tourists and a few locals.
Herc may not have invoked my name, but I still want to crawl under the table. Half the locals here know me by sight, and I can feel them staring between Herc and me.
“Oh, Herc,” I hear Cass whisper. I swear to god, if that girl starts to cry, I’m going to vomit.
“Do you know that guy?”
By staring at Herc, I completely forgot the man sitting to my right.
I manage to tear my eyes away from my ex, realizing now that I’m being rude to Carson. With the most charming smile I inherited from Mama, who got it from my Nana, I reply, “Why yes. That’s my ex.”
He leans into me, his arm resting on my chair’s back. “Interesting. How’d you like to make him jealous?”
My smile falters a little. “You don’t want to do that, Carson.”
He cocks his head to the side and leans in closer, giving me what I assume is his most charming, boyish smirk. “And why is that?”
Can’t he see I’m barely keeping it together right now? I’m going to have Mila dump Ashley at the bottom of the lake for bringing me a blind date without asking.
“Because I don’t want to do that.” I say it flatly, hoping he’ll get the point.
I don’t add that Herc could smash him like a mosquito without trying, and right now is not a good time to provoke him. Especially after he stuck up for me.
And whywouldhe do that, after the way things ended? Those people weren’t wrong; we Eastburns are among the wealthiest assholes on the lake. And Herc doesn’t want my friendship. He’d made that clear.
But he can’t make a scene like that and then not acknowledge me.
