“Tate’s at least a seven,” Korine says, gesturing toward where Tate’s already double-fisting beers. “But Bush? That’s a guaranteed nine. Maybe a ten if someone challenges him to shots.”
“Mudd still has him beat. He’s a ten for sure. He’s already taken off his shirt and started showing off his beer belly.”
Korine glances over to where he’s currently locked into an arm wrestling match with a biker whose name I don’t know.Both men have stripped off their shirt, seemingly to show off the muscles they don’t have.
“Remember last Fourth of July?” Sydney laughs. “He tried to ride his bike into the pool.”
“There’s no pool here,” I point out.
“Exactly why we’re giving him a ten.”
They snicker at their own joke, and I force a smile, trying to look like I belong here.
But I don’t. These women have history, inside jokes, shared experiences I’ll never understand. They’re old ladies. Friends themselves.
I’m none of those things. Just the niece, the sister that tags along…
Zoe stands up, shaking her head at something Ozzie’s just put on. “I love that man, but his taste in music is trash. Be right back.”
She marches over to the speakers, her long braids swinging. Within seconds she and Ozzie are playfully arguing about the playlist.
Sydney and Korine watch with smirks, then change the topic.
“How’s Mace handling Tom being back?” Korine asks, lowering her voice. “I notice he’s not here this afternoon.”
Sydney sighs. “You know how he is. He won’t talk about it. Just scowls and changes the subject.”
“Blake told me about him deciding not to go on the pickup trip.”
“He and Tom have barely said a word. Needless to say, it’s been awkward at the Cutler residence.”
Just like that, I’m invisible again. They’re deep in conversation about dynamics I don’t understand and histories I don’t know. It’s almost like Shay and Yvette all over again, even if I know deep down Sydney and Korine aren’t like that.
They’re the opposite, two women who actually look out for each other and others too.
But it doesn’t help when my mood’s already down. I’m not even sure how to pick myself up anymore. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this… despondent.
I let my eyes wander across the patio, taking in the scene. Moses is tossing a football with some of the younger guys. Uncle Eddie’s at a card table, cigar in his mouth, stack of chips in front of him.
Then there’s Silver.
He’s standing with Tito near the back fence, beer in hand but not really drinking. He looks tired, almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping well.
I can relate. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately either. But what could it be that’s troubling him?
As if he senses me watching, his head turns. Our eyes meet across the crowded patio. The only two people in a crowd of many who have tuned out the noise around us and zeroed in on each other.
It’s quickly become a superpower of ours—some strange, unexpected ability to peer at each other from afar and understand what the other’s thinking.
My pulse jumps like it’s been shocked. I can read the concern in his gaze. His genuine probing as he silently asks if I’m alright.
Because he cares. Because I’ve been on his mind.
Even after I pushed him away and told him to leave it—me—alone.
I look away fast, no longer able to bear the intensity of his piercing blue eyes. But as I do, I accidentally knock over my root beer in the process.
“Oops,” I murmur, grabbing a stack of napkins to wipe at the table. “Sorry. Guess I should pay more attention.”
