“What are we going to do, Poppy?” Owen asks, worry making his brows crash together. “Where will we live?”
“That’s my job to figure out as a grown-up. And your job is to pack up your backpack so we can go home and eat dinner,” I say, smiling at him and trying to center him back to normal—something we both have to do after Sully pops up. I’ve had twenty-seven years of practice being disappointed. Owen’s only had eleven. I’m better at this than he is.
Inside, I’m fuming. I’ve played nicely. I’ve put up with far more bullshit from my dad than a person ever should have to do. But now, I’m close to done. I am going to figure out how to make sure he never gets another dime from us and leaves us alone for good.
Chapter 2
Poppy
Wanna Be Loved by The Red Clay Strays
Iturn the key and let the truck rumble to life while Owen wrestles with his seatbelt beside me and asks,“Can we get dinner from The Black Dog?”
I shut my eyes, just for a beat, because my body answers before my brain can—a burger with all the fixings. Hot and salty fries dunked straight into Momma Mary, the cook’s ridiculously delicious cheddar sauce. Food that feels like a warm hug and costs more than I could spend right now. My stomach twists with equal parts hunger and guilt, because I know exactly how much is in my checking account and exactly how many bills it can’t cover right now.
I open my eyes and stare out the windshield, doing the math I never stop doing. Groceries or gas. Heat bill or tires. Wanting one meal at a restaurant shouldn’t feel like a luxury, but it does. And somehow that makes me want it even more. Because wedeserve better than Sully shaking us down and making me struggle.
But there’s fourteen dollars in my bank account. Fourteen doll hairs exactly. And I still need to fill up with gas tomorrow. So, dinner I thankfully thought to put in the Crock Pot at home is what it is. And I’m getting sick of Crock Pot dinners, too.
“We have white chicken chili in the Crock Pot waiting at home,” I say as cheerfully as I can manage. But dang, that burger sounds so good after this long day. I’d kill for that burger.
He groans as if I’ve personally destroyed his dreams. “Not the Crock Pot.”
Me too, buddy. Me too.Unfortunately, when he’s older, he’ll learn the Crock Pot isn’t our enemy.
“Come on,” I say, ruffling his hair and trying to get him out of his funk. “I’m starving. Let’s go home and eat a warm and yummy dinner.”
Truth is, I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Stress fills me up faster than food ever could. That, and we barely have any groceries right now. Everything goes to Owen first.
As I put the truck in reverse, my eyes land on the photo wedged into the dashboard. Ollie and I were at Wilder Ranch in high school, years ago, both of us holding onto the reins of his old mares. My hair was longer then and my smile brighter. Mom was still alive, and it was a different life. I wasn’t fighting for grocery money and working myself to the bone.
We take the quick ride home in silence, and I pull into the driveway. The porch light flickers like it’s too tired to do its one basic job.
That porch light will be someone else’s problem here soon, it sounds like,I think sadly.
I can tell that Owen is trying to pretend he’s not upset after what happened with Sully, but his face is tight, and he keeps wiping at his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking. Icrouch in front of him when we get out of the truck. “Hey, look at me.”
He does, chin wobbling and eyes glassy.
“It’s okay to cry,” I tell him. “He makes me cry sometimes, too.”
“He told me once that real men don’t cry.” Owen blinks, looking at me.
“Maybe Sully doesn’t cry, but he’s also not a real man. A real man doesn’t treat their family this way.” I tilt my head and add, “Ollie cries sometimes, and he’s a real man.”
Sully will never be the man that Ollie is. And I hate that he says things like that to Owen. He’s not the one to be handing out life lessons. No one should aspire to be like Sully.
Owen nods. “I texted Ollie and told him Sully showed up.”
I smile softly. “You can text Ollie, buddy. He’s our friend.”
He nods through his tears, still fighting them back.
“It’s you and me, buddy,” I tell him, brushing a tear off his face. “I swear I’ll make this life better for us. Whatever comes our way, I’ll fix.”
He nods, and it kills me to see him trying to put on a brave front. I hug him tight, wishing I could absorb every hurt he’s ever felt and make everything better. Only this time, I’m not so sure that I can. I don’t think I can save the house and keep paying on the shop, too. It has to be one or the other, and I need the shop to work to make money.
A flash of headlights sweeps across us. I hear the familiar rumble of Ollie’s truck as it pulls in. Of course, it’s Ollie. The cavalry shows up even when you think you don’t need it. But we always need Ollie. He makes everything better. He’s like the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Happy, funny, and always making jokes. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when Ollie’s around.
