Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2(51)

Chuckling, I assure her, “You will definitely know when I’m proposing. And it sure as hell won’t be somewhere between”—I glance around—“the shooting gallery and the Tilt-A-Whirl.” In a very bad Rhett Butler impression, I add, “Because, frankly, my dear, I do give a damn.”

Kay laughs and shakes her head. “Oh my God, Chase. That was so terrible. Are you sure you’ve seen Gone with the Wind?”

“Sadly, Kay, thanks to ‘movie nights’ at Gram’s, the answer is yes, I’ve seen that movie more times than I care to admit.”

It’s true, too. On the rare occasions Gram decided to watch a movie with me and my dad—or my mom, dad, and me—we let her choose. And she always chose the same movie: Gone with the Wind. Rare or not, Gram’s participation in “movie night” resulted in multiple viewings of that film.

The rest of the night at the fair is great. We play games, ride a few rides, and eat greasy fair food. We even come across a demonstration on how to milk a cow. Will and I just look at each other and bust out laughing. Kay and Jared want to know what’s up, but my brother and I reply in unison, “Nothing.”

Things are good—really f*cking good—that Sunday. And they remain so right into the work week.But somewhere around midweek, things start to go awry.

Trouble begins Wednesday morning. Kay leaves extra early for work, since the big rummage sale is starting. That’s how I find myself in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast for Will.

I am trying to get the food right. I mean, shit, I want Will to eat a decent breakfast before I shove off for work. Problem is, I suck at cooking.

“What the f*ck?” I grind out as I scrape away stuck-on egg from the sides of a frying pan. “So much for scrambled eggs. I thought this was supposed to be, like, a nonstick skillet or some shit?”

No one is around to hear me or respond; I’m just griping to myself.

Eventually. I conclude the skillet is most definitely not nonstick. Resigned that it is what it is, I dump half the eggs onto a plate. The other half remains stuck in the pan.

I needn’t worry, though, about the salvageable amount, or the quality, of my eggs.

Will rambles in, sits down without saying a word, and mindlessly begins to shovel my sad excuse for scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Good morning to you, too,” I grumble as I cross my arms and watch my brother stuff his face.

He barely glances up, so I adopt a more serious tone. “Hey, is everything all right?”

Will finally makes eye contact. “Not really,” he says listlessly.

Something is going on. It’s not drugs—his eyes are clear. But I know my brother, and this is how he acts when he’s upset.

I sit down at the table. “What’s going on, Will?”

He sets down his fork. “Cassie called a little while ago.”

“She’s up early,” I remark. It’s eight o’clock in Harmony Creek, which means it’s only five a.m. in Vegas.

“She never went to sleep last night,” Will offers as explanation.

I know immediately that something has happened. Worse yet, I have a strong suspicion that whatever has gone down, it has to do with that perverted stepdad of hers.

Sure enough, Will says, “Paul followed Cassie to her friend’s house last night.”

“I thought he was leaving her alone, abiding by the restraining order?”

“Nope.” Will takes a deep breath. “He must have just been laying low or something. Dickhead re-emerged last night, like the f*cking vermin he is. And this time he ran Cassie off the road out in the f*cking desert. No one was around, dude.” Will shakes his head.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right. The prick yanked her right out of the f*cking car. He grabbed her ass, Chase, grinded up against her.” Will sucks in a breath. “And then he made her kiss him.”

“Fuck…Will.”

Will pushes away his eggs, puts his head in his hands. “He let her go,” he says quietly. “But only after he groped her some more. Fucking dick. And he would have gone further, he had his hand halfway down Cassie’s shorts, but, thank f*ck, someone drove by.”

I don’t even know what to say to make Will feel better. I conclude there are no words, so I just listen as he continues.

“Chase, that prick had the balls to tell Cassie that, next time, he’s finishing what he started.”

Will pushes his plate farther away and eggs spill over the side. “Cassie’s beyond upset,” he says, his voice catching on emotion. “This prick is serious. Paul’s not going to give up. I swear I’m going to kill that motherf*cker before he makes another move.”

“Will—”

He puts his hand up. “I don’t want to hear it, bro. I have to go back to Vegas. I can’t hang around here for another week and a half. Cassie has no one watching her back. Her mom’s back to work and gone all the time. Cassie needs me to take care of this shit.”

I don’t even want to know what “take care of this shit” entails according to Will.

Dragging my hand down my face, I say, “Listen, Will, you have to remember there’s a restraining order out on that dick. The police can pick him up now that he’s violated the order. They can take him in now.”