Page 3 of Brett and Rowdy (Gomillion High Reunion #5)

Chapter Three

B rett looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment, making sure his little hipster tie was straight and that his hair was… contained. That was the best he could ask for.

He had made it a point never to buy a pair of khaki pants, so he wore his good dark jeans and a burgundy shirt, and he was now going to walk out the door before he freaked out and changed.

Brett figured he was who he was.

The statue dedication had gone well. Really well. The town had been very appreciative, several people had come to shake his hand, and their old principal had offered to take him to lunch…

Lord. He’d gotten out of that by telling the man he was going to the opening reception for the reunion, and he needed the room in his jeans for canapes. Which he hoped was true.

He needed to get something out of this mess.

Finally, he decided that he was going to be late, and he headed out to his truck. If he failed to meet Crystal at the damn kickoff reception thing, she would probably send the cops to do a welfare check or something just to humiliate him.

And fuck knew, he didn’t need that.

He grimaced, then turned out of his place and into town, traveling along the county road that remained largely unchanged since he was a kid.

A lot of places in Pickens and Oconee County had grown a ton.

Clemson, for example, was largely unrecognizable from what he remembered as a wide-eyed five-year-old going to Death Valley for his first college football game.

That wall of orange had been so awesome.

But his little corner of Gomillion was like the land that time forgot.

He cruised into town, circling around to the high school. There he parked, where he sat with his hands on the wheel for a moment, wanting to flee. Then he took a deep breath and let go so he could text Crystal.

I’m here

Okay, cool. It’s what? 6:45?

Yeah

Still have 15 to sign in. Meet you at the small gym door

Ugh. He hopped out of the truck, trudging up to the door, where people way more “dressed” than he was wandered in, mostly in pairs. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to?—

“Brett!” That was Ann Marie Combs, who had been on the committee he’d had to submit his sculpture to. “Are you here by yourself?”

“No, ma’am. Crystal is on her way.”

“Oh.”

The temptation to just turn around and walk away was huge, but he resisted.

“My kids love her when she brings the bookmobile around. It’s just… it’s always such a blessing.”

“Yep. Blessing, that’s what it is.” He did not roll his eyes. He did not. He wanted to, but he didn’t. God, he wanted a cigarette. He’d quit a good ten years ago. It was a waste of money, and he’d seen what lung cancer could do.

“So the way this works is that we have your name badge here, and everyone gets a card.”

“A card?” What the fuck?

“Yeah, we’re going to play an icebreaker game.”

He did not snarl. Nope. No snarling. He should not have done this. No way. No how. “Oh, goody. I can’t wait.”

Where the fuck was Crystal?

“So your card’s going to have someone famous on it, like oh… Brad and Angelina, or Beyoncé and Jay-Z.”

The temptation to say lube and fudge packing was huge, but he resisted because he was here for Crystal, because Crystal wanted to come, and she didn’t want to be by herself, and he wasn’t going to be an asshole.

Except that he wasn’t going to play any fucking stupid games and try to talk to people.

He wanted to have his fucking pimento cheese and barbecue, and then get the fuck out and go have some beers.

“Dude, you made it. I’m here.” Crystal looked cute as hell in a great big white button-down and a pair of jeans, her dark hair in a long ponytail and her eyes lined.

“If I tucked in my shirt, I’d look just like you.

We’re matchy matchy.” She bumped shoulders with him and then smiled at Ann Marie like a tiger baring her teeth at its prey.

“Well, look at you. Aren’t you pretty, honey? I love your dress.”

Crystal was so much better at this shit than he was.

Ann Marie started going through the whole spiel of what it was that they were supposed to do, and he just put on his name tag.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t even look at the card when he put it in his back pocket.

Brett had known some of these people his whole life, in theory, and it was a shock to him how few he recognized.

He lived a pretty private life, and a good amount of it was online.

That was where he did his business, that was where he did his socializing.

He had Crystal here, a handful of folks that he communicated with—mainly for supplies, and a couple of guys he’d go have a beer with if he was bored.

Mostly cowboys who had him shoe their horses.

No matter what, he couldn’t seem to get away from that old cowboy thing. There was something about a man in a pair of Wranglers that did it for him. Every goddamned time.

Crystal came up and hooked their arms together. “All right, I got my card. I got my name tag. There’s supposed to be a wall of photos.”

“Yay. I want pimento cheese.”

She pinched his bicep, not a bit gently. “You know what? I’m going to make you pimento cheese.”

He gagged a little bit. “Sweetheart, I love you more than I love my luggage. But your pimento cheese tastes like old ass.”

Brett gave some woman in a sundress a wink as she gasped. That was what happened when someone eavesdropped.

She arched an eyebrow at him, a wicked grin on her face, and he gave her his best smile.

“I said what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on. We don’t have to be stressed. We’re coming for the food and the fun, right?”

Actually, no, he was here for Crystal, but whatever made her happy. She deserved this. “I am here for the food and the fun. I am not playing any kind of weird-assed game.”

“Yeah, let’s pretend like we have each other’s cards.”

Brilliant broad. “Excellent. Are you going to be gasoline or matches?”

“Dude, I totally want to be matches.” She grinned at him, tossing her hair, which had an amazing purple streak in it.

“Look at you.”

“I know. I finally talked the library director into loosening the damn dress code. I drive the goddamn bookmobile. I’m not a fucking librarian.”

He made his eyes go wide. “Are you suggesting that he’s a stick in the mud?”

“Would I do that? That might cost me my job, and I need that job at least until I make a few more sales. Besides, I honestly kind of like it. It’s actually a lot of fun.

The kids are cool. And I feel like, at least when I hit some of the places in town that aren’t as wealthy as others, I’m making a difference. So, I’ll take it.”

“You’re a good woman. Where’s the pimento cheese?”

“Looks like the canape table is over there.” She held out an arm. “Shall we?”

“God, yes.” No games. Just food, drink, bye-bye. Well, maybe dancing, but that was still a ways off. Maybe they could step out and come back without anyone noticing…

He stopped when they got to the food table, staring at it in horror.

“What the hell is all this?”

Crystal stared too, just as stunned, he thought. “Is that melon? Wrapped in ham?”

“That can’t be ham. Ham is crispy and salty. That looks like limp lunch meat. There’s no pimiento cheese.”

“There’s no mac and cheese balls.” Crystal’s eyes kept getting wider.

“There’s no barbecue! Or deviled eggs. Is that a sweet potato with crap on it?”

“Holy shit.” They glanced at each other, then began to edge away from the table, both of them moving fast. He felt like he was in one of those comedy movies where people did that, but this wasn’t funny.

“Hey, you two!”

They both whipped around to face—oh good Lord and butter, what was her name? She’d been on the set painting crew with him for the play their senior year.

“Uh, hey, Jessica.” He had to squint at her name tag.

“Nothing you wanted on the buffet?”

“Oh, we were going to make the rounds and come back. See what there was to drink.”

“Well, you have fun!” She waved and waded back into the gathering crowd.

“Run,” Crystal said out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ll go to the Huddle House over in Seneca.”

“Split. I’ll meet you at the front door.” They separated just like they always had when in trouble, doubling the target.

They whirled away from each other, but he only got three steps into the crowd before he slammed into someone, hearing an, “Oof!”, and the startled bark of a dog.

A dog?

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” the guy snapped. “Don’t hurt my dog.”

“Why don’t you pay attention if you’re so worried,” he shot back.

The guy scowled, waving at the dog, who wore a vest-type harness that read, “Guide dog. Do not pet.”

Shit. The fucking guy was blind.

He looked up, his ready apology dying on his lips. Because older or not, blind or not, he knew this man.

“Rowdy? What the hell are you doing here?”

Rowdy frowned for a moment, that whiskey and gravel voice teasing at him. Then it occurred to him, and he rocked back on his heels. “Brett?”

“Holy hell. Really, what are you doing here?”

“Rowdy. I investigated the canapes. Don’t both—Well, now. Hello, Brett.”

Rowdy could hear Brett’s sharp intake of breath, and he knew what the man was thinking. Of course he would be here with Ashley. Hell, the fucker still believed he’d cheated on him with Ashley, and had never once asked.

Not once.

Of all the people he’d been forced to go to high school with, he’d expected Brett to think better of him.

“Our girl graduated from Clemson last weekend,” Rowdy murmured. “So she asked me to stay for the reunion.”

“I thought you were married, Ashley!” Brett blurted.

“I am.” Ash had put on her frosty real estate broker voice. “You know Dan, Brett. So that’s a stupid statement.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I have to go.” The sound of boots ringing on the floor came over and above the music, which wasn’t too loud yet, because they were still all mingling.

“Are you okay?” Ashley asked.

“He damn near mowed me down.” Rowdy paused. “How does he look?”