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“Sold the house,” Duke grumbles from the backseat.
Butch peers at him through the rearview mirror. “Yeah? That was fast. Didn’t you just list it on Monday?”
“Seemed fitting to finally be rid of it after five years.”
I cringe a little at the deeper meaning. The very notion he’s been holding onto a house he and his wife bought and lived in before she passed…then chose to stay there even after she died… I can’t imagine. I give Butch’s rough hand a squeeze.
“I was telling Cass earlier about that time Levi got his head stuck in between the stair railing at Ma’s,” Butch says, trying to lighten the mood. He glances between the rearview and the road. “Remember his face when Ma grabbed the butter and Pops grabbed the chainsaw.”
I smile, biting my lip to keep from laughing like we did at the restaurant.
“I should have driven her out to her folks’ place like she asked me to.” His voice is absolutely broken as he says those heart-wrenching words. Pain and regret radiate from the backseat to the point I’m on the verge of tears on his behalf.
I twist in my seat as Butch says, “Come on, man. Don’t go there.”
“How could you have possibly known?” I ask. “You can’t carry that kind of guilt forever.”
Duke’s eyes narrow in my direction. “I do know,” he says. “She wouldn’t have been on Terry Welsh’s plane at all had I driven her.”
Five years ago…Terry Welsh’s plane…I remember that. I was away at college, but I remember the phone call I got from my dad, telling me all about the small plane crash that killed four people due to unforeseen engine failure. The Welshs were close friends of my father’s, and I believe Terry was Alison’s uncle, but I never asked who else was on the plane.
I remember it being a sad day for our tight-knit community. Things like that don’t happen here often, if ever. It was a scary reminder of how fragile life can be.
“You don’t know that for certain,” I say quietly. “You could’ve just as well ended up on that plane with her.”
Duke’s eyes linger on me for a moment, his jaw clenching before he jerks his gaze out the window. Point taken. I slip back into my seat facing forward as we ride the rest of the way to the house in silence.
When Butch parks the truck in his usual spot in the driveway, he climbs out and comes over to my side, taking the to-go container and helping me down. He closes the door and takes my hand, leading us toward the house and leaving Duke still sitting in the backseat with no signs of movement.
I look back over my shoulder. “Shouldn’t we help him get inside?”
“He needs a minute to himself,” he tells me, unlocking the door and pushing inside. “You hit him with a hard truth, Sunshine. He’ll be in when he’s ready.”
Frankie yips from his spot still parked on the couch. It always takes him a minute to get untangled from his burrito blanket.
Toeing off my sandals, I step into the kitchen as Butch kicks off his boots, following me in. I set my purse on the island,turning around only for him to step closer, pinning me against the counter. His big, mountain-worked hands settle on my hips.
My fingers toy with the buttons on his dress shirt, peering up at him with a bat of my lashes. Not necessarily aiming for subtlety. “Thank you for taking me out tonight. Dinner was amazing.”
I expect him to smile, maybe lean in and kiss me, but his expression remains hard. “It didn’t exactly end how I thought it would.”
I tip my head to the side. “No?”
“Well…” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought before the front door slams into the wall and chaos ensues.
Duke crashes through the door and trips over my sandals, landing a hard shoulder into the wall as he falls to his knees. Frankie freaks out, likely assuming there’s an intruder. Barking and scurrying across the floor, his paws slip and slide over the hardwood, sending him toppling over his own bulk and colliding with one of the bar stools, causing said bar stool to tip over and smack the floor with a loud bang.
“For fuck’s sake,” Butch mutters as Frankie races around the island to my side in his apparent terror.
I giggle, scooping him up. “Not a very good guard dog, are you, chub?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Duke grumbles, getting to his feet and kicking shoes out of his way as if they have personally offended him. “I only have to work for a fuckin’ livin’.”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Butch scowls, attempting to help his brother right himself and getting shoved out of the way.
“Fuck off.”
Butch sighs heavily, giving me a stern look that screamsthisis what he was referring to a moment ago. He turns to his brother. “Get your boots off and sit the fuck down,” he says. “You’re onthe couch tonight. I’ll be down in a minute, don’t say anything that’ll get your teeth knocked out.”
