glanced over at the twinkle lights illuminating the door. Under one of the neon beer signs, the time showed his buddy was late.
The door swung open and Braxton breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a familiar figure enter and shake the rain off his jacket. “Lou.”
Sliding a beer across the table to his best guy pal, he rubbed at the fresh bruise on his temple. Mrs. VanDevender “accidentally” dropped a planter on his head earlier in the day. If he didn’t know better, he would assume she was trying to kill him.
“Brax.” His best friend slid into the seat opposite him and accepted the beer. “So, shit’s hitting the fan.”
“Yeah, that’s why I called you.”
“No one in town is real happy with you right now.”
He nodded and took a swig of his own beer. “I noticed. What the hell is going on?”
“Here’s the deal…when you left, your dad was sort of a jackass to Abby. Everyone knew it. She’s a local girl and she didn’t retaliate against him. This showed everyone that she respected her elders, which meant a lot to the old guard. Anyway, years pass, she takes care of her batshit crazy mom and her grandma till she dies. She does community service and all, and you go around doing whatever the hell you were doing—”
“Lou, she won’t talk to me about anything that’s not within the realm of business, refuses to, and you know what I was doing and—”
His best friend waved him off with a wiggle of his beer. “Doesn’t matter, jackass. You fucked up and she played the saint. Now you’re back. She put out a distress call to her little buddy Carnie. They basically blacklisted you as the jerk that left her and mentioned, not too subtly, that you’re pressuring her and lying to her, to boot.”
“Lying? What the fu—” Again, Lou cut him off, round face serious.
“The letters, man. She still doesn’t believe you wrote the letters. You didn’t, by some chance, keep copies of them? I mean, that would clear things up for the town.”
“Copies?”
“Didn’t think so. Still can’t believe you wrote her all those years. That was kinda girly, man.”
“Shut up, jackwad. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”
Lou grinned. “I’m not the one getting his shit beat up by old women.”
“Fuck off.”
They clanked beers and drank for a moment in companionable silence.
“So, how do I combat her attack of sympathetic townsfolk?”
Lou considered it or watched the game. Braxton wasn’t sure which.
After a few minutes, his round face broke out in a grin. “You beat her at her own game.”
“Tell me you have a plan.”
“I have a plan.”
“Tell me it doesn’t involve duct tape or a duck.”
Lou choked on his beer. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Braxton grinned. “Shit, no.”
“Most of the town forgets that Carnie and I used to have a thing.” Lou rubbed a hand over his mostly bald head. “I’d almost forgotten the fuck-for-a-duck story.”
“I’ll never forget that story.” Smiling, Braxton sipped his beer.
“Just because your love life is in the shitter right now, doesn’t mean you have to bring up my mistakes from days gone by.” Lou glanced at the game.
“Do you remember how that joke even went?” Braxton asked.
“Sure I do. Dying old man tells his two sons to take a dollar each, go to town and whoever comes back with the best thing wins the family farm. One son makes about five trades—apples for a chicken, chicken for a goat—ends up with a cow. The other son buys a duck. He passes a cathouse and one of the ladies offers him a fuck for his duck. He accepts and it was so good, she wants him to do it again. He agrees but only if she gives his duck back. Little while later, he is walking with his duck back home and a car hits him, killing his duck. A rich guy jumps out of the car, says, ‘please, don’t sue. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.’ So, the boy goes home and tells his father, ‘I got a duck
The door swung open and Braxton breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a familiar figure enter and shake the rain off his jacket. “Lou.”
Sliding a beer across the table to his best guy pal, he rubbed at the fresh bruise on his temple. Mrs. VanDevender “accidentally” dropped a planter on his head earlier in the day. If he didn’t know better, he would assume she was trying to kill him.
“Brax.” His best friend slid into the seat opposite him and accepted the beer. “So, shit’s hitting the fan.”
“Yeah, that’s why I called you.”
“No one in town is real happy with you right now.”
He nodded and took a swig of his own beer. “I noticed. What the hell is going on?”
“Here’s the deal…when you left, your dad was sort of a jackass to Abby. Everyone knew it. She’s a local girl and she didn’t retaliate against him. This showed everyone that she respected her elders, which meant a lot to the old guard. Anyway, years pass, she takes care of her batshit crazy mom and her grandma till she dies. She does community service and all, and you go around doing whatever the hell you were doing—”
“Lou, she won’t talk to me about anything that’s not within the realm of business, refuses to, and you know what I was doing and—”
His best friend waved him off with a wiggle of his beer. “Doesn’t matter, jackass. You fucked up and she played the saint. Now you’re back. She put out a distress call to her little buddy Carnie. They basically blacklisted you as the jerk that left her and mentioned, not too subtly, that you’re pressuring her and lying to her, to boot.”
“Lying? What the fu—” Again, Lou cut him off, round face serious.
“The letters, man. She still doesn’t believe you wrote the letters. You didn’t, by some chance, keep copies of them? I mean, that would clear things up for the town.”
“Copies?”
“Didn’t think so. Still can’t believe you wrote her all those years. That was kinda girly, man.”
“Shut up, jackwad. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”
Lou grinned. “I’m not the one getting his shit beat up by old women.”
“Fuck off.”
They clanked beers and drank for a moment in companionable silence.
“So, how do I combat her attack of sympathetic townsfolk?”
Lou considered it or watched the game. Braxton wasn’t sure which.
After a few minutes, his round face broke out in a grin. “You beat her at her own game.”
“Tell me you have a plan.”
“I have a plan.”
“Tell me it doesn’t involve duct tape or a duck.”
Lou choked on his beer. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Braxton grinned. “Shit, no.”
“Most of the town forgets that Carnie and I used to have a thing.” Lou rubbed a hand over his mostly bald head. “I’d almost forgotten the fuck-for-a-duck story.”
“I’ll never forget that story.” Smiling, Braxton sipped his beer.
“Just because your love life is in the shitter right now, doesn’t mean you have to bring up my mistakes from days gone by.” Lou glanced at the game.
“Do you remember how that joke even went?” Braxton asked.
“Sure I do. Dying old man tells his two sons to take a dollar each, go to town and whoever comes back with the best thing wins the family farm. One son makes about five trades—apples for a chicken, chicken for a goat—ends up with a cow. The other son buys a duck. He passes a cathouse and one of the ladies offers him a fuck for his duck. He accepts and it was so good, she wants him to do it again. He agrees but only if she gives his duck back. Little while later, he is walking with his duck back home and a car hits him, killing his duck. A rich guy jumps out of the car, says, ‘please, don’t sue. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.’ So, the boy goes home and tells his father, ‘I got a duck
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