“River,” he says, hooking his aviators on his shirt pocket. “You about done with that part?”
I say nothing, motioning toward the shop, and he follows me back. Retrieving the muffler from a shelf in the back, I hand it over. The less I have to talk to my brother, the better. Nothing good ever comes from engaging in conversation with this narcissistic asshole.
“How long has this been sitting here?” There’s a hint of incredulousness in his tone that makes me want to knock out that pretty boy smile he takes so much pride in.
“Couple of weeks.”
Rubbing his hands along his jaw, he shakes his head. “Would it’ve pained you too much to give me a call? You know I’ve been waiting on this.”
“Guess it slipped my mind.”
Rolling his eyes, he inspects the muffler. “It’s not perfect, but …”
“I suggest you take it to an actual body shop next time.” I hook my thumbs through my belt loops.
He scoffs. “Why waste perfectly good money when we’ve got a master welder in our family?”
“You need anything else, Seth?” I exhale, counting the seconds until this prick gets the fuck out of my hair.
His lips press together. “Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? Got a hot date?”
I don’t answer.
“It’d be nice if you did,” he adds. “You gotta move on sometime, River.”
“Get the fuck off my property.” My teeth grit. I see red. I feel everything.
Seth lifts a hand in protest. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying what everyone else is too afraid to say to your face. Someone’s got to.”
“Get. The fuck. Off. My. Property.”
“Fine.” Seth turns to leave, kicking dust beneath his boots as he walks—which I’m sure is intentional. Stopping, he turns back. “I always knew you’d never amount to anything without Allison. She was the only good thing about you, and you didn’t even deserve her.” He sneers. “And look at you now. A waste of fucking air. Your little family would be so proud right now, don’t you think?”
Before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I’m charging at him. His shirt is gathered and twisted tight in my hands, his back is pressed against the shop wall, and my face is so close to his I can smell last night’s beer on his breath.
His eyes flicker with more amusement than fear, and while I’ve never wanted to kill anyone in my life, the thought resides in the back of my mind for a noticeable second.
“What are you going to do, River?” Seth laughs before his expression fades into something darker. With a forceful push, he shoves me away. “Hurt me. You know you want to.”
“You’d enjoy that too much,” I say with a sneer. “Won’t be doing you any favors. I think I’ve done enough of those, don’t you?”
“More like the other way around.” Pulling his shirt into place, he straightens his shoulders as he walks off.
My jaw tightens, locks.
I stand outside my shop, watching as my brother returns to his truck, climbs inside, and peels out of my drive. When he’s out of sight, I get back to work, hands shaking and vision still bathed in angry red.
I’m almost done changing the oil in the tractor when Leighton appears.
“Molly sent me home with some lunch,” she says. “It’s in the house. You want to go eat?”
“Not hungry.”
“How are you not hungry? You’ve been up since six o’clock this morning working.” Her hands rest on her hips. “Come eat. I’ve got a funny story to tell you about one of her boys. You’re going to die laughing.”
“I’m good.”
“River.” She sighs.
I drag my hands on the front of my jeans, rising to meet her stare. “Fine.”
“Did something happen in the span of the last hour?” Leighton asks.
Dragging in a deep breath, I manage to convince myself not to take my disdain for Seth out on her.
“Sorry,” I say. “My brother stopped by a little bit ago. He tends to put me in a mood.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“Aw, he can’t be that bad,” she says as we head out of the shop.
I follow her to the house, resolving to force myself to eat since I’ve got a busy afternoon ahead of me.
“You don’t know him like I do,” I say. “No one does.”
Chapter Twenty
Leighton
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This was my dad’s favorite. I assumed everybody liked tuna noodle casserole.
River picks through his dinner with his fork, separating the peas from the rest.
“It’s fine,” he says.
“I can make you a sandwich,” I offer.
He shovels a bite into his mouth, shaking his head. It’s kind of him to eat what I cooked when he’d clearly be more content with a frozen TV dinner.
The sound of hail pinging on the roof grows louder by the second. It started pouring rain a couple of hours ago, and River had to come in from the field, so I thought I’d make a little comfort food while he relaxed.
“Sounds horrible out there.” I get up from the table, making my way to the window over the kitchen sink. “The sky is green.”
He’s not the least bit fazed.
“Come look,” I say.
“You’ve seen one green sky, you’ve seen them all.”
“It’s like this sick, putrid green,” I marvel. “And those clouds … we should watch for funnel clouds. Do you have a weather radio?”
He takes another bite of casserole before pointing to a little white box on top of the microwave. Grabbing it and extending the antenna, I flip it on and listen carefully.
“The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning in effect until seven PM for the following counties: Appaloosa, Barwick, Bonesteel, Denniston, Fire Creek, Porterstown, Sioux Valley, Underwood, and Wharton … tornadoes, hail, and damaging winds in excess of seventy miles per hour are expected … if you reside in these counties, please seek cover immediately. A funnel cloud has been spotted twenty miles west of Bonesteel Creek. Again, please seek cover immediately,” the voice on the radio instructs.
“You hear that?” I ask River, who seems to be in his own little world. “Let’s head to the root cellar.”
Glancing up, he shakes his head. “Go for it. I’m staying here.”
My jaw hangs. “You can’t. There’s a tornado coming.”
“They always say that. Nothing ever happens.”
“You have no way of knowing nothing’s going to happen.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He stares blankly ahead.
“Where do you keep your flashlight?” I don’t wait for him to answer as I rummage through random kitchen drawers. Finding a red flashlight in the third drawer, I test it to make sure it works before grabbing a couple bottle of waters from the fridge and a blanket from the living room. My cell phone is the last thing I take. With my arms full, I move toward the door. “Come on. I’m going to need help getting into the cellar with all this stuff in my arms.”
Groaning, he takes a slow look in my direction. “You’re overreacting.”