Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He has a dog? I’ve never had one in my life. Rhett and I never had one growing up, but Dusty did. I liked playing with him.
When it’s clear he’s not there, I head back to the car and drive to the bar. It’s only a little after seven. Maybe he goes there for bar food at the end of the day?
Davies is one of the older bars in Birchbark. It’s been here as long as I can remember, owned by a guy everyone calls Old Man Davies. I don’t think it’s one of the most popular bars in town with newer Birchbark residents and the younger, college-age crew, but what do I know?
I head inside, and the first thing my gaze catches on is my brother sitting at the bar with his back to me. His shirt is the same navy blue as Dusty’s from earlier, and I have a feeling it has my old friend’s name on it as well.
My stomach twists in a different way from how it did when I saw Dad or Rhett. While Easton and I aren’t close either, there’s no animosity. I wanted more for East. I wanted him to be the best of us all because Mom wanted him and Ella so damn much. While I carry anger for Rhett, I feel like I let Easton down.
The bar is fairly busy. I work my way around people and tables, heading to my brother. The stool beside him is empty. There’s a mug of beer in front of him and a plate of greasy fries and wings, so at least he’s not here only drinking.
“Hey,” he says, without looking up at me.
I chuckle. “Don’t be too excited your big brother is home.”
“The wings here are delicious.” Easton wipes his hands, which are also covered in tattoos, then finally turns my way. His slender nose, blond hair, and fair blue eyes are so much like Mom’s that it steals my breath. “You got out, Morgan. Why the hell would you come back here?” he asks, and I snicker again, feeling a pinch in my chest I can’t explain.
“Come here, East.” He stands, and I pull him into my arms. He comes easily but doesn’t hug me back as tightly as I hug him. His body is tense, like it makes him uncomfortable, so I pull away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He sits back down and then…just starts eating again. I take the stool beside him.
“You want anything?” the bartender asks.
“I’ll have what he’s having.”
He nods and disappears, leaving Easton and me alone.
“You see Dusty?” he asks.
“Yeah, I did. I want to talk about you, though. How’s everything going? He said you’re doing great at the shop.”
“When I come in on time?” Easton quirks a brow.
“It’s his business.”
“I know.”
“You like it?”
“It’s a job. Dusty doesn’t suck. Makes it all right.”
The bartender sets a beer in front of me, and I wait to see if Easton is going to ask me any questions or start up any kind of conversation, but he doesn’t. “I’m staying at Dad’s. I don’t know what in the fuck I was thinking agreeing to that. He hasn’t changed a bit.”
“He’ll never change.”
I don’t argue. Easton is right.
“Rhett got pissed at me because I didn’t make Dad’s plate for him. What the fuck is that?”
Easton shrugs. “Rhett.”
Yeah, it is Rhett. “You gonna talk to me or what?”
“I’m talking. Just waiting for you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am. For you to try and fix me. Figure we should get that out of the way first, then see if we still have anything to say to each other.”
The dull ache that had already been in my chest turns sharp and piercing. “I’m not here to tell you how much you’re fucking up or to try and fix you. Have you seen our family? Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all of us are in some motherfucking glass houses.”
Easton chuckles softly like he didn’t really want to let it out, but damn, it feels good to hear.
“I wish we’d done better by you,” I admit. “If anyone fucked up, it’s the rest of us.”
He turns his head in my direction, frowning, brows drawn together in confusion. Have I never said anything like that to him before?
“We all have shit to feel guilty about. We’ve been suffocating on it for years, but I’m the last thing you need to have regret over.”
“Why?” Does he think he doesn’t deserve it? And what the hell would he have to regret or feel guilty about? Easton was just a kid.
He motions behind me. “Food is here. Better eat up.”
Not sure what to say or even what I feel, I sit beside my little brother, drink a beer and eat wings and fries with him, determined that if anything changes this summer while I’m here, I want it to be that I have more of a relationship with him.