“Hmmph,” she answers.

  “Woman, your Fat Pussy is ready. You planning on handling it yourself, or you want me to take it to table nine?” the disembodied voice calls out from the kitchen before I can reply to Charlene’s self-confident taunt.

  Charlene rolls her eyes and huffs, leaning in. “He means my burger, not my fat pussy. I don’t have one of those. Mine’s pretty as a porno.”

  “Um . . . okay?” I stutter. I thought I could handle a conversation. Apparently not.

  She whirls in place, leaning back against the table like she hasn’t got anywhere better to be or anything else to do. I can see a small tattoo on the back of each arm with a name and date.

  “Tay Tay, can you give a girl a minute to see if she can get laid, please? Marcus, go get your burger real quick. Mama’s busy making friends.” A guy across the room nods agreeably and gets up to grab his own burger. “Thank you, honey-baby.” Whirling back, she smiles in my direction. “Now, where were we?”

  I blink. Winston grins, and I’m beginning to think he chose this place specifically to set me up for whatever this is.

  “Oh, that’s right,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Pretty pussy. Now, my hair extensions cost me a penny, my nails cost me a dollar, and my makeup was free. Got these lashes done over at the beauty college by a student,” she confides to Winston. Laser locking me in her gaze once more, Charlene adds, “But I’m not one of those high-maintenance types. You ain’t never seen something look this good that costs so little, I guar-on-tee you that, Mr. Wyatt. And don’t get me wrong, I ain’t looking for no baby daddy—got two of those already—or a ring on my finger. It’s just that sometimes a girl likes a dick with a heartbeat instead of a pulse mode, know what I mean?”

  Somewhere along her crazy line of propositioning, I find surer footing. She’s half playing. Her signals are clear: If I want a ride, she’ll let me play cowboy. But it’s no skin off her ass if I don’t. “That’s definitely understandable. But I’m afraid my heart quit beating a long time ago, if you catch my drift. You’d be better off with machine-gun mode on your nightstand friend.”

  Telling a woman that I’ve got a case of the no-rise dick disease is definitely not a move I’d usually pull from my playbook, but in this case, fighting fire with fire seems like a safe choice.

  And it works, as Charlene cackles loudly and then slaps Winston’s bicep. “Honey-baby, you did not tell me your kinfolk was funnier than a hyena on laughing gas. Big-ass liar too. I’mma bet you’ve got an engine like a Harley. Steel hard and thrums all night. I like this one. Keep him around.” Then to us both, she says, “I’ll be back with those beers and Fat Pussies.”

  She lifts and lowers her eyebrows quickly, still suggesting more than a mere burger meal. As she sways her hips and struts away, I turn to glare at Winston. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

  He chuckles. “Oh, Charlene and Tayvious—that’s the mouthy cook back there—are fine, and entertaining as fuck. Besides, you should’ve seen yourself . . .” He lets his eyes go wide and his jaw drop open dumbly, his voice picking up a drawl. “Um . . . what? I uh . . . don’t want to sex you up despite your free-and-clear offer, ma’am.”

  “Fucker, that’s not what I sounded like,” I growl. He purses his lips thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Shit, was it that bad?”

  “You did save it with the limp-dick comment, but yeah. Preeetty bad, Golden Boy. Kinda nice to see you fall off your pedestal a bit, though.”

  Why does that sound like he’s talking about a lot more than my crash-and-burn attempt at not hurting Charlene’s feelings? Still, I scoff. “Pedestal? I smashed that thing to fucking ruins a long time ago. You know that.”

  Winston sighs. “Yeah, guess you did.”

  Charlene runs by, dropping off our beers and blowing me a kiss as she scoots on her way, catching up on serving her other tables after hanging out at ours for so long.

  I take a big swig, not even tasting it as I swallow but needing the liquid courage. “Alright, back to business. What the hell is going on around here?”

  Winston takes a healthy drink of his own before asking, “You want the good, the bad, or the ugly first?”

  I shrug. Doesn’t matter, I need all of it. Let Winston tell it however the hell he wants.

  He hums, and takes another sip. “Let’s go chronological, I guess, starting when you left. After that, I went to school, got my architecture degree. Did my internships with Uncle Jed, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agree, not surprised.

  “While I was at school, I met Avery. She’s actually from Cold Springs, but she’s a little younger than me, more Wren’s age, so we’d never met before, though she knew exactly who I was. She was taking nursing classes and wouldn’t give me the time of day, no matter how hard I tried. But eventually, I won her over. Fuck, it was hard, but she’s worth it.”

  I’m surprised at the soft tone in my brother’s voice and the sparkle in his eyes. “So she’s the one?”

  The very idea is foreign, especially for the Winston I know. That Winston tried to fuck his way through the girls’ soccer team, or at least date his way through them. But maybe I don’t know him so well anymore, I realize.

  The idea is uncomfortable. I’ve certainly changed while I’ve been gone, but in my mind, everyone else stayed exactly the same, frozen in time. But maybe we’ve all changed?

  “The one and only,” he says emphatically. “We’re getting married, rain or shine, hell or high water.” His eyes go wide, as if he’s being hit by the idea for the first time. “Fuck. I’m getting married, Wyatt.”

  I reach over to place a hand on his shoulder, patting him comfortingly. “It sounds like she’s either a psycho or an angel. I’m betting the second. Especially if she’s putting up with you, so don’t fuck it up, bro,” I tease. He answers with a big grin, and I consider whether maybe he’s not surprised so much as he is excited about the idea of marrying Avery.

  “I can’t wait to meet the magical woman who’s turned you into a blubbering romantic, waxing poetic about her awesomeness and admitting your unworthiness.”

  He ignores the playful jab. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. You’re going to love her. She’s . . . different than us, Wyatt. That’s what I love about her.”

  He glances down to his still-empty ring finger as though imagining the wedding band that will soon be there. “Funny thing is, the day I met her, I was talking shit like usual, and then she walked in the room. I was blown away, but knew she’d smell the douchery on me. I had to grow up a fuckton before she’d even give me a chance, but I’m so glad she did. So fucking glad.” His eyes clear as his mind returns to the here and now, and our discussion of me meeting Avery. “We’ll have to see when we can get that to happen because she’s really busy with wedding stuff, plus she takes care of her grandpa.”

  “Shit. That’s a lot to handle,” I say, stating the obvious because I don’t know what else to say.

  Thankfully, Charlene drops off our burgers, saving me. “I put a little extra sweetness in yours, honey-baby.” That sounds sketchy, so I hesitate to taste my food, but Winston does so easily. Slowly, I pick up the delicious-looking burger and take a tentative bite.

  “Damn, this is good,” I tell Winston. “Whatever ‘extra sweetness’ Charlene added to mine, do not tell me, please, because I really want to keep eating this.”

  My brother laughs, choking on his mouthful of burger, which serves him right. Looking to turn the conversation back toward more productive avenues, I ask, “So Avery takes care of her family?”

  “Yeah, and she does it with a smile. Her grandpa lives with her, but he has an aide come in to help with some of his personal care. He says he doesn’t want Avery seeing his frank ’n’ beans—that’s what he calls them.” Winston laughs and I chuckle along. “And she works shifts at the nursing home when they need her. PRN, they call it, but basically it means that when someone calls in sick or needs a vacation day, they call her. So she might work days on end or not at all for weeks. Could be day shift or night shift, or even a long weekend double.”

  “That’s tough,” I comment. “You know, the unpredictability of hours or money.”

  “Yeah . . . but that’s Avery. She’s amazing.”

  “You ever think that’s why she hasn’t realized yet that you’re . . . you?” I tease.

  “It’s definitely crossed my mind,” Winston admits. “But I’m different than before too. Or as much as I can be.” A shadow crosses over his face, and his bright smile fades into a frown in a matter of seconds. Back to the hard shit, it seems.

  “Sounds like we’re moving into the bad? Or the ugly?” I prompt, not tiptoeing into it. I’d rather rip the Band-Aid off and take the scab with it.

  Winston scoffs. “Yeah. So after school, I came home and started working for Uncle Jed full-time. Avery was still in school, so I went balls to the wall for the company, getting in on every project they’d let me in on and learning everything I could. It was good at first. The other people accepted me, saw that I was trying to work hard and listening more than talking. I felt like I was growing, putting my degree to use, and I advanced up the chain quickly. Not because of my name, though it didn’t hurt,” he says sardonically, “but because I’m damn good. I am, Wyatt.”

  It sounds like he’s trying to convince me. What he doesn’t realize is that in the past few years, I’ve learned a few things myself. “I don’t doubt that, Winston. You were always smart, you just fucked off. And yet somehow managed to still get As and Bs.”

  He nods appreciatively at the compliment.

  “This latest project is a bitch, though.” He shakes his head. “It’s years in the making. Research, politics, plans, contracts. It’s big, bigger than anything Jed’s done. He says it’s going to be his crown jewel.”

  “Are you talking about the subdivision thing? I saw a big billboard on my way into town and then a bunch of signs saying to vote no to rezoning. Along with the Fuck Jed sign, though I guess I’m not sure if that’s about the subdivision thing or in general from Etta.”

  Winston nods, his face serious. “I don’t think any of us expected there to be so much pushback. Fuck, I think Jed thought everyone would see him as the savior messiah, bringing us out of the dark ages into the bright light of the future. But there’s a lot of outrage, from more than half the town. And Dad’s taking the brunt of it, having to walk the line carefully between his roles for the city and his relationship with Jed. He started drinking a while ago, stressed out and exhausted. It’s not constant, or at least I don’t think it is, and we all watch closely, but it’s too often. He’s falling apart in front of my eyes, and I don’t know how to help him or what to do. I thought the wedding might help, give him a happier focus, you know, but even that went wonky.”

  “How so?” I ask.

  The sigh that passes Winston’s lips is one of full surrender. “Jed. As soon as Avery and I announced the wedding and started making plans, Jed pulled me into his office. He offered to pay for the wedding.”

  “Please, for the love of all fucks past, present, and future, tell me that you told him no,” I beg. I know my Uncle Jed and how he works, and what Winston just said has danger written all over it.

  “I tried, but you know how he is,” Winston says forlornly. “Avery and I wanted something small. She’d have been content with the two of us at City Hall. She didn’t grow up this way, Wyatt. When I asked her for her wildest wedding fantasy, she talked about a cake from the local bakery, flowers from a farm out in the country, and a dress that made her feel beautiful. She wants everyone to smile and dance, eat, and have a good time. That’s it.”

  “And now that Jed’s involved?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “It’s become this cable-channel fucking monstrosity of a wedding, with everyone from work, and I don’t mean the people I actually see. I’m talking vendors and business associates. He acts like my wedding is a networking event, for fuck’s sake,” he huffs. “It’s still at the house, I made sure of that because I want to get married in the garden out back, but that’s about the only thing the same. There’s going to be big white tents, a live band, and ten thousand dollars’ worth of champagne. Avery doesn’t even like champagne! She’ll probably have a white wine and call it good.”

  “What else?” I prompt him, leading him to a big reveal I can feel beneath his fretting about drinks and tents.

  “It’s a lot, Wyatt. We’re over a hundred grand at least. And rising . . . daily.”

  My jaw drops. “Holy shit, man! For a wedding? You should’ve just run off to Vegas or Hawaii or something.”

  “I wish we had,” he agrees gloomily. “This is going to haunt me, but it got so out of control so fast. I didn’t know what Mom and the wedding planner were doing, or what Jed was adding to the list because it . . . it . . .”

  “It was easier to not know,” I finish for him. “Been there, done that. I understand how that goes better than anyone.” He looks at me sadly. “You’re going to be beholden to him now. He won’t give you a contract, but . . . it’ll be there. A big fuckin’ debt sheet, your balls listed as the collateral. That’s his game, and he led you right into the trap like leading a pig to slaughter.”

  “A really fancy slaughter,” he corrects. “With a band.”

  “Just like the Titanic. They’ll play while you sink into Jed’s control.” Winston presses his lips together in agreement. “Does Dad know? About Jed paying?” I’m honestly scared of the answer. Has Dad learned nothing from what happened with us?

  Winston shrugs. “I don’t think so. He probably figures Mom has it under control because he’s been too worried about the optics of the wedding to worry about who’s paying for it. I mean, with the whole town split down the middle about this subdivision and bringing in fresh blood—and money—it’s a really shitty time to have a big blowout bash of epic proportions. People are already gossiping about the cost, the guest list, the whole thing.”

  “And you just want to marry the woman who straightened out your shit, and live your happily ever after?” I summarize.

  “Yeah,” Winston sighs. “So . . . welcome home, big brother.”

  I scoff, and take a bite of my burger. “I wish I could say it’s good to be back, but that’d be a lie. The only reason I’m here is because you said please, you damn fucker.”

  Winston laughs darkly. “Thanks, Wyatt.”

  “Anytime.”

  We fall into silence, digging into our meals. My mind turns all the information over and over, looking for angles and strategies, for Winston, Dad, and even Jed. Not because I’d ever help Jed, but because by thinking the way he does, maybe I can figure out what the hell he’s up to. Because he’s always up to something. He only does things that benefit him. That’s a sure thing.

  “How’ve you been?” Winston asks after a bit, probably looking for some good news in the day.

  I shrug, trying to encourage my brother without making my plain, normal life seem like a victory to lord over him. “Good. I work, I go home, I work, I go home. It’s . . . peaceful, I guess is the right word? I like earning a dollar with the sweat of my own brow and the work of my own hands.”

  I look down at my once soft and smooth hands, noting that they’re covered in scars and rough calluses now. I consider each mark a badge of honor. My honor. Here’s my education, my lessons taught and left on my flesh forever.

  “Never would’ve guessed you’d end up the hard-labor type,” Winston says around a mouthful. “Mom and Dad would shit themselves if they knew.”

  He’s probably right. I do custom woodworking, using centuries-old methods of joinery and responsibly sourced heritage woods. It was slow going at first, but I’ve made a name for myself in certain circles, ones that have nothing to do with my family.

  My brow furrows at Winston’s last comment. “They don’t know? I figured Jed told them years ago.”

  “He knows? I had to hire a damn investigator to track you down!”

  Of fucking course. When I left, determined to strike out on my own, Jed hunted me down, trying to guilt-trip me into coming home, but I refused. He even tried to throw me some pity contracts, saying he wanted to support my “little business,” but I turned them down.

  “He tried to play his games with me too,” I explain simply. “I thought I’d gotten away scot-free, but I guess he’s holding that card for another day.”

  “Sounds about right,” Winston says with an eye roll. I’m sorry that he’s getting to know firsthand how convoluted this family can be. I really hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  You knew. You just had to save yourself.

  It’s an ugly truth to admit, even silently. But it’s a little like putting on your own oxygen mask before helping anyone else in an airplane. I had to escape for my own well-being. I meant to come back and save Winston and Wren someday, but it never seemed like the right time, and I told myself that they could’ve walked away on their own too.

  They didn’t have to wait for me.

  But maybe that’s all bullshit to excuse my guilt, because they got trapped. And my leaving made the trap that much stickier for them to get out of.

  I have to own that.

  The sound of shattering glass snaps my attention away, and I see Charlene standing in a pile of glass by the bar, a river of orange-red liquid around her heels as the bartender rushes to get a broom. Despite the initial flash of imagery, it’s not blood . . . It’s something else.

  “Etta’s gonna be pissed!” Charlene whines, wringing her long-nailed fingers in distress. “We have too much overflow!” Turning toward the pool tables, she raises her voice over the din of the bar: “Would be nice if the other waitress, who’s still in the building, having fun playing pool, would stop for a bit to help out.”