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

Chapter Four

“ W estern omelet, please,” Brett murmured. It had been a toss-up between that and the fried shrimp. “And a waffle on the side.”

“Grits or hash browns?” their server asked, pen hovering.

“Grits. And no other bread.”

“You got it.” Crystal had already ordered her honey butter chicken biscuit combo and a huddle-up sampler for them to share. He might not make it out the door before he keeled over needing a nap, but it would be so worth it.

“I have fond memories of the yumminess of this stuff when we were teenagers,” he murmured.

“You used to come here with Rowdy, huh?”

“Yeah, you know, we’d sneak out here after scrounging through the damn car seats for change, so we could buy a cup of coffee and a hash brown…

Okay, so I’d buy a Coke and a hash brown, and he’d buy a cup of coffee because somehow that son of a bitch was drinking coffee by the time he was six years old. ”

He rolled his eyes at himself. Rowdy had always seemed so much more fucking put together than he had, so much more sure and grown up and like he knew exactly what he was doing and how he was going to do it and damn the consequences.

Rowdy never worried about any of it—not what people thought, not what people said. He just did things.

It had made Brett crazy when he’d been a teenager. Now he understood it was jealousy. Envy was a cruel fucking bitch of a mistress.

“Why exactly did the two of you break up?”

“You mean besides the fact that he was cheating on me with our friend?” Hadn’t that been enough?

“Wait, I thought you broke up, and then you found out about the baby. I didn’t know you were still together then.”

He shook his head. “No, we’d been broken up before he got her knocked up.

” That was only fair. They’d broken up in May of their junior year, and everyone had known Ashley was pregnant by Halloween, for sure.

Now, the baby had come in what? February?

So she’d have had to have been sleeping with Rowdy in short order, but—Fuck, it didn’t matter.

“The simple fact is, Rowdy wanted to leave. You know he was dead set on going back to New Mexico as soon as he got out of high school. That’s all he ever talked about—going back to the ranch, going back to the ranch, going back to the ranch.

And I was like, what about college? What about this?

What about that? What about staying here?

We could stay here. And there was no—” He shrugged, taking a deep, calming breath.

“There was just no compromise with him. He hates it here.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Rowdy had been unhappy from the second he set foot in South Carolina. There was nothing about any of it that he’d liked. Not a bit.

Not the food, not the people, not the humidity, not anything.

And the simple fact was this was where Brett’s people were from.

This was where he was from. This was part of his identity, and he hadn’t had the strength or moral turpitude or hell, he didn’t know what.

But he couldn’t fight against it. He couldn’t fight against the waves of anger and unhappiness, and he didn’t want to feel ashamed of where he’d been born.

And so he’d told Rowdy no. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t going anywhere. Rowdy could stay, and they could be a thing together after graduation, or they could just break up right there and then.

Rowdy’s response had been, “Get the fuck out of my truck.”

Crystal nodded, adding more sugar to her coffee.

“Well, not everybody’s meant to be here, and he was an outsider, you have to admit.

I mean, he was definitely Western, stomping into class in Wranglers and boots and a gimme cap in his back pocket with that button-down.

He didn’t look a thing like these South Carolina boys, and you know it. ”

He barked out a happy laugh. “Of course I know it. God, why do you think I hooked up with that? There’s nothing hotter. He’s like a damn gay archetype.”

“So do you know why he’s got a seeing eye dog?” she whispered like someone was going to overhear them.

“I’m assuming because he’s blind.”

She kicked him hard under the table. Really hard. “Quit being a dick. You know what I mean!”

He shook his head. “God, I have no idea. I’m assuming it was an accident or something, maybe genetic, but I don’t know. I hope it’s not genetic, you know? There are children to worry about.”

“You and I both know that Ashley Norton has one child, and that’s Madison. So there are not children to worry about. There is child .”

“Are you sure? You don’t know how many kids he’s had. He might have fifty. One in every port. I don’t know.”

“No, there’s only one.” That wasn’t Crystal’s voice.

That was Rowdy’s, and it was sharp as a scalpel.

“I’m a cowboy, not a sailor. And it was an accident.

Got kicked in the head by a bronc, riding in Cheyenne, snapped my optic nerves.

I went from fully sighted to blind in one hundredth of a second. Any more questions?”

“Yeah. Would you like to have a seat with us? It’s pretty busy in here, and we’ve got a nice table.”

He was going to kill Crystal. Just murder her where she sat.

“Sure. It’s pretty busy with people who are pretending to be at the reunion, huh?” That was fucking Ashley. Because of course it was.

Which he hated himself for being mean about her, because he’d liked her a lot before the whole thing with Rowdy.

“Come on and sit,” Brett said, scooting in farther so Rowdy and the dog could both sit.

“Under, Barney. Lay down.”

The dog slid right under the table and laid down, just as smooth as you please. Brett was impressed. His last dog had been impossible to control, the little terrorist. But then, Trouble had been a dachshund from his childhood, and he’d loved that wee bastard with everything in him.

He jumped when the dog snuffled his leg, then laughed.

“Barney checking you out?” Rowdy asked.

“Yeah. Either that or I got food on my pants when I sat down.”

“Not at the reunion?” Ashley asked.

Crystal snorted. “Why do you think we’re here? I’m sure the kids worked super hard on that food, and a lot of folks will love it, but I was thinking we’d get kitschy Southern food.”

“Ditto,” Ashley said, nodding. “And I promised Rowdy something with protein, which was in short supply.”

Rowdy chuckled. “I gotta admit, it’s tough for me to stand and hold a plate and eat canapes all at the same time. No matter how well-behaved Barney is, it’s easier to eat sitting down.”

“I reckon so.” God, this was weird. He studied Rowdy, noting the new lines on his face, the little dark glasses he wore. He looked amazing.

Brett wondered what Rowdy would think of him now. He was bigger. Metalwork put on a bunch of muscle. But he was in good shape and he knew it. So he had nothing to be ashamed of.

“So, did you guys order?”

“Yeah. I got?—”

“A Western omelet,” Rowdy finished for him.

“I… Yeah. And a waffle chaser.”

“Yum.” Rowdy ran his fingers around the menu. “They still got a smokehouse platter?”

“Yep.” He chuckled. “With grits and a waffle?”

“Yessir.” Rowdy set the menu aside, and Ashley stacked it under hers. They both ordered, and then settled in, which was when it got quiet for a minute.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “So did your girl get all graduated?”

“She did.” Rowdy’s little smile said a whole book’s worth of proud and happy. “With honors. She’s spending her last free weekend packing up and hanging with her friends, and then we’re leaving for the ranch.”

“Wow.” Brett felt that same twist of nausea in his gut that he had the first time he’d heard Rowdy say something like that.

“No wasting time for my girl,” Ashley murmured. “She did ag so she could go make that ranch stand up and sing.”

“Does it not sing now?” he popped out.

“Maybe yodel,” Rowdy said, grinning his way.

“Huh.” He needed to keep his mouth shut, damn it. Which worked, because their Huddle-Up sampler thing arrived, and there was fried stuff to munch on.

“Y’all feel free to share,” Crystal said.

“Cool.” Ashley glanced at Rowdy. “There’s fried pickles, cheese, poppers, and fries. The marinara and ranch are at three and six respectively.”

“Cool. Does anyone mind if I have Ashley just put a few things on a plate for me?”

“Go for it.” He wasn’t gonna tell the blind ex he couldn’t eat however it was easiest.

“Thanks.”

“What do you want, hon?”

“One of everything but a popper.”

“You come from the land of spice. No poppers?” Did he have an ulcer?

“Well, I find they’re just not the same. Kinda bland.”

He watched Rowdy’s mouth twitch as if he was waiting for an argument, so he just hooted. “More for me then.”

“You always say that.”

And boom. It was like traveling back in time. They were sitting at the Huddle House, teasing each other over the food, and he was breathless just like he always had been in high school.

This damn man did it for him.

Now, look at that. There were more surreal things in the world besides walking into your twentieth-class reunion with the mother of your child, who you’d never actually had sex with.

Go figure.

Rowdy could tell just from sitting next to Brett that the man had gotten bigger.

He remembered them as being of a size. He could admit he was not a tall man—if he stretched real high and had his boots on, he might be five foot seven, maybe—and the simple fact was, he weighed a buck and a quarter soaking wet.

Sitting next to Brett, he felt little.

Interesting.

“So are you going to go to the ’80s prom?” That was Crystal, who he wasn’t sure he remembered. So he just kind of pretended like… well, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was pretending. He was just trying to be nice.

Ashley chuckled softly. “No, no. One, I don’t remember the ’80s, and two, Rowdy’s not a big dancer, apparently. Now I know tomorrow’s the big picture moment, then there’s the tour and a basketball game.”