Sidecar Crush

But what was Jameson supposed to think? If I’d never been straight with him about Brock, and I kept quiet about it publicly, was it any wonder he’d question the truth?

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to do some apologizing.

I put my whiskey on the coffee table and stood. “Thanks, Daddy. I need to go.”

“Course you do,” he said. “Take care, sweetheart.”

“I will.”

33

JAMESON

T here were hours yet before the sun would come up, but I couldn’t sleep. I’d slept the evening away after Leah Mae had gone, and woken up around midnight. Since then, I’d been tossing and turning, replaying everything in my mind.

What the hell had happened? I’d been angry, no doubt about that. But how had it turned into me storming off, leaving Leah Mae outside in the cold? Telling her I was going to Charlotte alone. And I’d called her Leah.

I’d meant to. Wasn’t proud of that. Lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling at four o’clock in the morning, I could hear how cold it had sounded. It had been downright mean, and I knew it. Too late to take it back, now.

Since I wasn’t sleeping anyway, I got up and went out to my workshop. Flicked on the lights. The place was a wreck. There was stuff everywhere—discarded bits of scrap, nails and screws, tools. It was typical for the aftermath of finishing a project. I tended to create a bunch of chaos while I worked. When I finished, I’d clean it up so I could start over again.

I couldn’t leave for Charlotte until I got my tire fixed, so I went to work on setting my workshop to rights. Put stuff away, returning bits of metal to their bins. Found new places for the smaller pieces that I could use later. Tools went back in their drawers or on hooks on the wall.

There was a stack of boxes over by the door that I hadn’t dealt with yet. Stuff from my dad’s place. I stood in front of it, my hands on my hips, eying it all with suspicion. More than likely, there was nothing in there but junk. Scarlett had said to save pictures, but everything else could be tossed out or given away.

I blew the dust off the top box and opened the flaps. There was an odd assortment of things. Faded papers, old bills, one of Scarlett’s report cards. A discipline slip with Gibson’s name on it. A half-empty roll of tape. Some brittle ribbon and an old sewing kit. I figured there wouldn’t be much else of interest, but I dug around a bit more.

At the bottom, I found a large yellow envelope stuffed with old pictures. Scarlett would want these, for sure. I pulled out a few and thumbed through them. Mostly us as kids. There were a bunch of Gibs. I could tell it was him by his big, cheesy smile. Didn’t see that expression on him often nowadays, but he’d always hammed it up for pictures. Got yelled at for it, too.

And then I found one of her.

My mama had been a pretty lady. Scarlett took after her. She’d had long auburn hair and freckles on her nose and cheeks. Big gray eyes. She was wearing a Sunday dress—all covered in pink flowers—and holding a baby. It was hard to tell who the baby was. One of us boys, to be sure, judging by the blue outfit. By her smile, I reckoned it was Bowie. He’d always been the easiest of us all. He’d probably made Mama smile all the time.

I blew out a long breath. I missed my mama. She’d been the only one in the house who’d really seen me. There hadn’t been much she could do about Dad, but at least she’d noticed me some of the time. When I’d drawn her pictures, she’d put them up on the fridge. Granted, they’d always seemed to get knocked down and trampled. But at least she’d told me she liked them.

Although, truth was, she hadn’t been the only one who’d seen me. I’d stayed out of Dad’s way as much as possible—life had been easier that way. Bowie had always been busy with all his friends, and Scarlett was the baby. We’d had to raise her ourselves for the most part.

But Gibson had paid attention to me, in his own way. He’d made sure I had a lunch every day. Kept the bullies at school off my back. Showed me the best hiding places for when Dad was drinking and it was best to be scarce. Maybe that was why fighting with Gibs was bugging me so much. Gibson and I didn’t fight. He kept a lookout for me and ignored me the rest of the time. Been that way since we were kids. I wondered if it would ever go back to that, or if I’d screwed it all up by dating Leah Mae.