"Least of all you."
I bristle. My fingers flex. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dad side-eyes me, then looks back at the road. We're coming off the back road now and onto paved asphalt.
"You can be a handful, Wyatt."
"Christ," I mutter, rubbing an open palm over the stubble that rings my lips. "Why do you say shit like that?"
"Why do you get your feelings so goddamn hurt?"
I hate this. I hate feeling berated for having feelings. I go silent. What else is there to say, in this enclosed space that suddenly feels warm despite the air conditioning blasting from the vents.
"I just don't want you to fuck it up with Jo," my dad says, his tone gruff. "She's probably the best thing that's ever happened to you."
I blow out a noisy, angry breath. "And knowing me, I'm likely to fuck it up, right?"
My dad pulls into an open parking spot at the feed store. "Cut the shit, Wyatt. I know why you missed dinner last night. Does Jo?"
"I told her where I was."
"Did you tell her the truth about why you were there?"
Of course not, because I can't. Because nobody knows the damn truth, including the man who's sitting beside me casting judgment.
I don't want to talk to him anymore. I don't want to plead my case or tell him it's not what it looks like. I want him to back me, to assume I'm doing right even when it looks like I'm doing wrong. The way he would for Wes or Warner.
"Let's go." I get out of the truck, walking around to the front and waiting for him. Trey, the feed store owner, has everything we need all ready to go. We've been placing and picking up the same order for longer than I've known how to tie my shoes.
We're silent as he rings us up, but I can feel his curious gaze. Usually I joke or make conversation with Trey, but not today.
Warner calls just as we're leaving. "What's up?" I say into the phone as I press the speaker button.
"Tenley's in labor. We're at the hospital." Excitement trickles through his voice. "They say it's progressing quickly."
"We're stopping for gas, and then we'll get your mother and Gramps and make our way over," my dad says, leaning over to talk into the phone.
Warner gives us instructions for what room they're in and we wish them luck and hang up.
"I'll be damned," my dad says, a smile on his face. "Another grandbaby."
I wish I'd recorded that. Nobody would ever believe those words came from the mouth of Beau Hayden.
Dad pulls off for gas on the way home. There are only two pumps, and one of them is out of service. We have to wait in a short line, and both of us are antsy.
When it's our turn, my dad shifts the truck into drive and inches forward. I'm starving, and thirsty, and I'd better rectify that before I go sit in a hospital and wait. As soon as we're at the pump I'm going to run inside the convenience store and grab—
"What the fuck?" my dad growls, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. A small, shiny sports car has cut the line and slipped in front of us, lining himself up with the gas pump. The owner gets out and walks around the back of his tiny car, refusing to look our way.
The passenger door opens at the same time my dad rolls down his window. "Hey, asshole. You think you're too good to wait in line like everyone else?"
The driver grabs the pump and turns, fixing my dad with a contemptuous stare. It's the same look as the Marks brothers, but on a person with far more money. I guess entitlement can develop independent of wealth.
"You snooze you lose, old man." The guy inserts the nozzle into the car and releases it.
The passenger climbs reluctantly from the car.No fucking way. Sawyer Bennett.
He has the decency to look embarrassed. He murmurs something to his friend, who glances at the side of our truck where the HCC logo is affixed, and shrugs.
