Chapter 20
Jacob entered the back door of the Talley Inn, trying to ignore the smells of baking. It always smelled so damned good at the inn—it was why it was his last stop before the diner. He always ended up grabbing lunch at the diner after.
He knew the way. Jacob had been picking up the trash oil at the Talley Inn for six years now, since he’d branched out from his Get Trash’d dumpster business. He’d had to—if he hadn’t added something to his job to bring in extra money lately, he’d have gone bust.
A more commercial trash service had come in a few years back; tried to put him out of business. But he was local, and the local businesses liked that. Had each other’s backs, supposedly. He didn’t buy that, but they kept his business going.
He was building his own company, too. Just like Kameron—but did his dad see that? Not likely.
He was still pissed over the argument he’d had with the old man last night.
His dad had a rule, no trash in the yard.
Said the house was a rental, and the landlord would throw a fit at the mess.
He didn’t think it had anything to do with the trash in the yard at all—he thought his dad was pissed at what Kameron had told him had happened at the dance.
His dad always believed Kameron—because Kameron was the oldest, the favored child.
And he always whined to their father first.
His dad had yelled that Jacob needed to stop making himself look so damned dirty all the time.
He picked up trash for a living, didn’t his dad come home covered in engine oil all the damned time?
It was the same damned thing. So he’d had a few bags of trash in his yard—hell, he dealt with trash all week.
Didn’t he deserve a break from his own dad?
Maybe his dad needed to build his own business like his sons were. See what it was like when a man had to shoulder all of it. Yeah, Kameron helped Jacob with the taxes. The man was a financial planner, for fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t he help his brother?
What was all that shit his father was always saying: they were each other’s brothers’ keepers or something like that.
His dad was always preaching shit at him, especially.
His dad would scrub up every Sunday and head to church, like a good little altar boy.
Jacob would just relax, have the house to himself and everything.
Hell, between the dumpster jobs and the cooking oil pickups six days a week, Jacob barely had a moment to himself.
Not like he was like these pricks in the inn. In there, having a business meeting and everything. He’d been told by the Talley who had let him in the back door that he needed to be quiet, that there was a big meeting in the dining room now.
All the special people were in there, he thought. Big fucking deal.
Jacob hefted the boxes of old oil under each arm. The inn had a standing contract, separate from the diner’s. He picked up at the diner three times a week, and two at the inn. Always entering the back doors when working. He ate there sometimes, both places.
Just to see all the pretty people of Masterson and how they liked to pretend they were better than the working people in town. His money was green enough, though. Everyone knew the Talley Inn was where the rich assholes of Masterson County hung out.
Jacob preferred the fast-food joints over by the interstate. He had contracts over there, too. And the people were more his kind of people.
Girls, too.
Tish, the girl from the chain motel was waiting for him today.
He should get over there. He hadn’t meant to pick a fight with her at the dance.
He’d just been mad at his brother. She always had something nice to say to him when he was there.
She was pretty enough, and seemed like she took direction well.
That girl would do what her man told her to.
Jacob wanted a woman like that. Someone simple and biddable who understood her place was to make her man feel like a king.
Maybe it was time he got serious, got a place of his own. Got a girl of his own. Show his dad how to make a marriage work or something.
Unless he was going to live with the old man forever or something. He would do it better than his dear old dad had. Two divorces—you’d think he’d have figured it out the first time.
Women were just after what they could get, from the first, stupidest man to give it to them. He was the man; his word would be the law when he got with a girl. Or she could take her shit and leave.
He looked into the dining room as he headed toward the rear door. His brother was there.
What the hell, the great and perfect Kameron again. Right there, with that Clary bitch he slobbered over everywhere.
There were people at the table with Kameron.
Of course it was that fucker Calloway Grady. Calloway Grady owned what should have been Jacob’s. Should have been Kameron’s, too. Didn’t his brother care at all?
Kameron didn’t give a shit about their lost heritage at all.
Jacob set the jugs of oil down. Made a show of tightening the caps, as he looked through the door that had been propped open as the waitresses were filling the buffet. Jacob ignored the smell of the food and watched. Just long enough to see—Kameron.
Acting like he fucking belonged with the people who thought they were so much better than everyone else.
Kameron was a traitor to his roots.
But his brother wouldn’t fucking care about that.
No. Kameron looked like he was the shit right there, that assistant of his sitting next to him.
Jacob recognized all of them there now—his brother, that girl, Calloway Grady, that Tyler bitch, Gil Tyler—and they were probably all laughing at men like Jacob. Men who worked with their hands, that kind of thing. What had they ever done besides be given everything, handed right to them?
Didn’t his brother get it? Kameron didn’t belong over there with them. He just didn’t.
His brother was going to get burned bad by those assholes someday.
His brother always had been a fucking idiot.
Jacob had fooled around long enough. Time to get out of there. Back to where he really belonged.
Kameron would get what was coming to him soon enough.
That was just the way the world worked.
Kameron should have learned that by now.