The Fable of Us

The same way his Adam’s apple bobbed before he turned and looked at me . . .

His eyes locked onto me, boring through me in a way that made me wish I’d worn body armor before stepping into this place. Unlike the rest of him, Boone’s eyes had changed. They were still the same chestnut shade, but the lights in them had burned out. That spark of trouble or excitement or whatever emotion he’d ever felt had gone out, leaving something dull and lifeless behind.

“On second thought, I’ll take that five back, Tom.” Boone’s eyes stayed fixed on me as he held out his hand. “This woman’s taken enough from me for this lifetime and my next ten. I’m not giving her anything else, the last five in my wallet included.”

Tom grunted at Boone, shoving the bill deeper into his pocket before grabbing a shot glass and pouring something into it.

When I swallowed, my throat burned—parched from the memories I had of the man ten feet down from me, painful from the unpleasant memories that outweighed the pleasant ones. “That’s okay. I can go.”

I stood from my stool as Tom slammed the shot in front of me. It smelled like the cleaner my mom used to insist the maids use to clean the showers with—the same stuff the FDA later banned after discovering it blinded people if even a splash of it wound up in their eyes.

“No need to leave on my account, Miss Abbott. We all know you and your family come and go wherever they want, as they want, whenever they want.” Boone’s voice took on the sharp edge I used to hear him use with others but rarely with me. “Besides, you’re an expert at pretending I don’t exist. It’s been a while, but I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike. Carry on ignoring me. I’m confident I can return the favor.” He twisted around in his seat until he was hunched over in the same position I’d found him in.

I’d known this trip would be a disaster of record-breaking proportions, but I hadn’t factored in running into Boone Cavanaugh at The Hide and Seek. I didn’t need another complication in this already-complicated trip home. I needed to get in, get out, and get moving on.

The frustration that was more owed to fate vented out and latched on to Boone. “Oh, give it up, Boone. Your same old ‘The Abbotts Are the Root of All Evil in South Carolina’ speech is old. Find some fresh material.”

My eyes squeezed shut when I realized what I’d said. Usually I was a seasoned pro at biting my tongue and remembering my manners, but with Boone, that well-honed skill had never worked. Years later and it still didn’t. I said what was on my mind before thinking it through—that was always Boone’s and my way.

“You’re right. I am in need of fresh material, something that’s never in short supply when it comes to your family.” From his voice, I could imagine the look on his face—one side curled into a scowl, the other flat with apathy. “How about this for fresh? ‘Little Sister Abbott Weds Big Sister Abbott’s Old Sweetheart and All-Around Buttplug Rumored to Have Been Fucking Them Both Until Big Sister Found Out and Dreamed About Castrating ButtPlug, But Instead She Flew in To Wish Them Well in Their Forthcoming Nuptials.’” Boone cleared his throat. “How’s that for new material?”

My stomach churned. In addition to my breathing problem, now I was having stomach issues. Leave it to Boone Cavanaugh to unleash the all-out body assault.

Plugging my nose to get it down, I lifted the shot glass to my lips and drank it in one gulp. My body convulsed. The stuff tasted how I’d guess that shower cleaner had tasted too.

“If you’re going for overdone and sensationalized, then I think you nailed it. Well done.” Sliding a bill out of my wallet, I nodded at the bartender when his eyes dropped to my empty glass. My stomach was still twisting from what Boone had just said, from what he’d just brought up. “I’m paying for my own drinks tonight, so why don’t you give Boone another of whatever he’s drinking for that five he just gave you. I don’t want anything from him either.”

Down the counter, a harsh huff sounded.

We were quiet for a moment as Tom poured us each our drinks, but as was typical, that quietness never lasted long when Boone and I were in the same room.

“Ford McBride is pathetic. You should be thanking every deity real or imagined you aren’t the sister who wound up with him.”

I tried to exhale in an effort to calm myself. I couldn’t do it. “Who says I’m not?”

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