counter when you’re done,” Betty said, laying the bill face-down on the table. She walked off and resumed her position behind the counter, and Brendan continued to devour his food.
“Hey, you’re Darryl Rhodes’ youngest, right?”
Brendan looked across a few booths at one of the few patrons in Schmidt’s this Sunday morning. A haggard, weather-beaten face glared back at him. The leathery texture on Foster McLean’s face hadn’t changed at all in the last ten years, and Brendan got that sinking feeling.
“Yes, sir,” he replied coolly, placing his sandwich down.
“You got a lot of nerve showing up here.”
Brendan knew where this train wreck was heading, but also knew he’d have to play it out with more than one disgruntled father before his time in Shallow Creek was done.
“Clint’s your son, right, Mr. McLean?”
“Damn right, and you did wrong by him, and by me, with what you did to your brother.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out, sir.”
“Don’t sass me, you little shit.” McLean banged on the table, earning a scowl from Betty. “They were heading for the state championship before you screwed it all up.”
The slurred words slipped right past Brendan. He’d been through much worse in high school, and he’d been just a boy then. Real life extended well beyond high school football, but some folks in Shallow Creek couldn’t quite grasp that concept, especially drunks like Foster McLean.
Seeing no point in causing anymore trouble for Betty as her lunchtime regulars started to filter in, Brendan inhaled the rest of his sandwich and moved to the counter. As he closed out his tab with the lady, McLean continued to heckle him, calling on other patrons to join in. Thankfully they all ignored him, except for one man Brendan didn’t recognize, who told the old drunk to take it easy. Part of Brendan wished McLean would disregard that advice and take things a step further, just so Brendan could feel vindicated in kicking his teeth down his throat.
To make up for McLean, Betty offered Brendan a free dessert in a to-go box, but Brendan politely declined as he headed back out through the door.
Chapter 22
Yet another location added to Brendan’s no-go list. His dad would most likely interrogate him again if he went home, Michelle’s place was obviously off-limits, and now even the diner wasn’t an option. Calling Marcus was also out of the question, and not just because his friend was at work. Brendan figured that Marcus just needed some time to recuperate from getting shot in the back.
Not knowing where else to go, Brendan followed the familiar streets into the neighborhood Michelle lived in during high school. If Mrs. Prost, or whatever her maiden name was, followed the same pattern as the rest of Shallow Creek’s residents, she still lived in the same house she did ten years ago, and that’s where Brendan would find Kim.
Brendan hadn’t really thought to call ahead, but was relieved to see her battered little coupe parked in the driveway. His truck dwarfed the small car as he pulled in behind it. Walking up to the exterior stairs heading up to the above-garage apartment, Brendan saw no movement behind the closed blinds of either front-facing windows. A knock to his left spun him around to see Kim’s mom waving at him from inside the house, through what he remembered as the kitchen window. He gave a small wave in return and climbed the stairs slowly, wondering what he was really doing here.
Muffled voices traveled through the door. At his first knock, the conversation ended. He knocked again. This time he could hear someone, or something, rustling around on the other side of the door. Floorboards creaked slightly as the apartment’s occupant approached the door.
“Who is it?” Kim called. The door had no peephole, which most residents would consider an unnecessary security feature in this small town.
“It’s
“Hey, you’re Darryl Rhodes’ youngest, right?”
Brendan looked across a few booths at one of the few patrons in Schmidt’s this Sunday morning. A haggard, weather-beaten face glared back at him. The leathery texture on Foster McLean’s face hadn’t changed at all in the last ten years, and Brendan got that sinking feeling.
“Yes, sir,” he replied coolly, placing his sandwich down.
“You got a lot of nerve showing up here.”
Brendan knew where this train wreck was heading, but also knew he’d have to play it out with more than one disgruntled father before his time in Shallow Creek was done.
“Clint’s your son, right, Mr. McLean?”
“Damn right, and you did wrong by him, and by me, with what you did to your brother.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out, sir.”
“Don’t sass me, you little shit.” McLean banged on the table, earning a scowl from Betty. “They were heading for the state championship before you screwed it all up.”
The slurred words slipped right past Brendan. He’d been through much worse in high school, and he’d been just a boy then. Real life extended well beyond high school football, but some folks in Shallow Creek couldn’t quite grasp that concept, especially drunks like Foster McLean.
Seeing no point in causing anymore trouble for Betty as her lunchtime regulars started to filter in, Brendan inhaled the rest of his sandwich and moved to the counter. As he closed out his tab with the lady, McLean continued to heckle him, calling on other patrons to join in. Thankfully they all ignored him, except for one man Brendan didn’t recognize, who told the old drunk to take it easy. Part of Brendan wished McLean would disregard that advice and take things a step further, just so Brendan could feel vindicated in kicking his teeth down his throat.
To make up for McLean, Betty offered Brendan a free dessert in a to-go box, but Brendan politely declined as he headed back out through the door.
Chapter 22
Yet another location added to Brendan’s no-go list. His dad would most likely interrogate him again if he went home, Michelle’s place was obviously off-limits, and now even the diner wasn’t an option. Calling Marcus was also out of the question, and not just because his friend was at work. Brendan figured that Marcus just needed some time to recuperate from getting shot in the back.
Not knowing where else to go, Brendan followed the familiar streets into the neighborhood Michelle lived in during high school. If Mrs. Prost, or whatever her maiden name was, followed the same pattern as the rest of Shallow Creek’s residents, she still lived in the same house she did ten years ago, and that’s where Brendan would find Kim.
Brendan hadn’t really thought to call ahead, but was relieved to see her battered little coupe parked in the driveway. His truck dwarfed the small car as he pulled in behind it. Walking up to the exterior stairs heading up to the above-garage apartment, Brendan saw no movement behind the closed blinds of either front-facing windows. A knock to his left spun him around to see Kim’s mom waving at him from inside the house, through what he remembered as the kitchen window. He gave a small wave in return and climbed the stairs slowly, wondering what he was really doing here.
Muffled voices traveled through the door. At his first knock, the conversation ended. He knocked again. This time he could hear someone, or something, rustling around on the other side of the door. Floorboards creaked slightly as the apartment’s occupant approached the door.
“Who is it?” Kim called. The door had no peephole, which most residents would consider an unnecessary security feature in this small town.
“It’s
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