32. Colt #3
I keep shoving him until we’re off the porch and in the front yard.
Everyone piles onto the porch, watching the chaos unfold.
I don’t care. I don’t care about anything other than getting Warren off this lawn and out of my life.
“Yes!” I yell. “Yeah, I’m on their side.
They took care of me when you,” I shove him again, “took off.”
“Oh, they took care of you,” Warren mocks. He flicks his hand toward where Alice’s parents stand. “Go on then. Ask them. Ask if they’re okay with you dating their daughter. Since they’re your family and all, I’m sure they’ll approve.”
I hesitate, a cold blast rattling through me.
Warren staggers, catches himself. “Go on.”
Alice rushes down the stairs. “Of course they’d approve. Daddy?” she says, turning back to them. “Mama?” When they don’t immediately respond, Alice’s eyes widen, her voice rising. “Look at everything he’s done for me!”
Mr. Sinclair grips the railing, his face like stone. He looks at me like he sees exactly who I am. A boy with an absent father and an alcoholic mother. A man without a college degree, educated on how to hold a rifle but not on how to hold down a job.
This is what I imagine he thinks as he looks at me, but what comes out of his mouth is even worse. “Did something happen when you were living here?”
My mouth falls open in surprise.
“For fuck’s sake,” Warren mutters.
“She was eleven when you lived here,” Mr. Sinclair states flatly, knuckles whitening. “And you were sixteen. She was…thirteen when you were eighteen.”
Warren charges toward Mr. Sinclair as his wife screams. Mr. Sinclair stumbles backward inside and I rush after Warren, grabbing him around the middle before he can reach Alice’s dad.
Warren twists, shoving me away from him.
We crash into each other, thirteen years of abandonment erupting out of me as we trade blows, smashing into bookshelves, wrestling across the floor.
Grant grabs me and Dalton grabs Warren, and they tear us apart. We’re still kicking at each other, cussing, both of us more enraged about our pasts than each other. But we make for far easier targets.
Warren jerks out of Grant’s hold and barrels toward the front door. Dalton releases me and runs after him, stepping in front of June as Warren stumbles down the porch stairs once more.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I yell, pointing after him. “I don’t ever want to see you again!”
Warren stops, chest heaving, and turns toward me. Alice is grabbing my hand, trying to pull me toward the house, but my eyes are locked on Warren. His face is bleeding, a deep cut above his eyebrow that I take satisfaction in.
“Our house,” Warren says, seeming tired now. “That’s who we are, Colt. And this…” He gestures toward the soaring Greek Revival, referencing the pristine paint job and thick white pillars. “This is theirs. They’re never gonna accept you. Not if you don’t have use to ‘em.”
“That’s not true,” Alice insists. Her eyes, nearly manic now, dart between Warren and me. “Colt, that’s not true.”
Warren points at her, but the hardness has left his voice. “My brother’s got real shit he needs to recover from. And you’re robbing him of the chance to heal by…” He nods toward the window. “Painting…fucking flowers.”
“Shut up, Warren,” I force out, but it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
“This happy little fucking town ain’t for us, Alice,” Warren continues. “It’s ain’t for me. And it ain’t for him.” He turns abruptly and starts walking toward the street, nearly falling off the curb when he steps off it.
I stare at the ground, the world spinning beneath my feet. “Warren,” I yell after him, glancing up. “You need to go to the hospital. Your head.”
He waves an arm without slowing, brushing off the concern.
“I think it’s best you both leave,” Mr. Sinclair says from the porch.
“No!” Alice cries, reaching for me again.
I turn and pull her into a hug, because I can hear how her voice shakes, can see the tears streaming down her face, and my god, the last thing I want to do is hurt her.
But her parents just watched two grown men fight in their old home, and they aren’t going to leave their daughter alone after that.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” I whisper urgently in her ear.
“No!” she insists, panicked. “No, I’m going with you. We’ll go the inn and—”
“Alice, baby.” Her mom walks toward us.
“Let her go if she wants to,” June calls after Mrs. Sinclair. “She’s a grown woman.”
Alice’s mom holds a hand out to June, gesturing for her to stay out of it.
“No, Mama,” Alice says when her mom approaches.
“First thing in the morning,” I repeat, kissing Alice’s temple. And then I release her, walking after where I last saw Warren.
Alice calls out after me, begging me to come back. It rips the heart straight out of my chest, because I can hear the pain in her voice. Pain that matches my own. And fear…that what happened tonight just shattered what we had. Or rather, widened fractures that already existed.
“Colt!” Alice cries one last time.
I glance back once and see Alice’s parents standing on either side of her, heads lowered, speaking quickly, urgently. They’re talking her out of me. And as I walk away, chasing my past through the dark, I wonder if they’re right to do so.