Page 74 of The County Fair Queen

"I love you too, Mr. President."

When we reached Preston's pickup, Jordan rushed past me, hoisting himself up and crawling into the middle seat. Once we were inside, I stared up at my bedroom window. Rivers was up there. All it would take is a flick of a wrist. The tug of Dad's door handle. The truck door would open. I'd be on my feet. In the house. Up the stairs. Back in bed where I belonged. Then I could tell him. I could return to him what was his.

I love you too, Firecracker.

My eyes were misty, but thankfully, neither of the men in the truck called me on it. Instead, Jordan threw his hand over my shoulder and pulled me against him. His lips grazed against my forehead, warm and wet.

"I've got you, Phillip."

I squeezed his knee. "I've got you too, Jordy."

After a few minutes, his arm uncoiled from around me, and then the seat shifted. I didn't need to look at them to know they were clinging to each other, but I did anyway. My dad had my best friend pulled against his chest, showing more affection than I'd ever witnessed or gotten from him.

I didn't call them out, either. I figured I wasn't the only one leaving Tallulah with a broken heart. The least I could do was allow them this. Jordy didn't need catty remarks or snide observations. He just needed that physical connection. When we got home, we could mend our wounds together.

Preston's phone chimed a few minutes later as we drove past the paper mill. He peeked at it, muttering a curse under his breath before shoving it back in his pocket. "Gotta stop for gas."

Jordan stared at the gas gauge on the dash. "You've got three quarters of a tank."

"I like to keep it on four quarters. Bad for the engine if you don't."

"Oh," Jordan said, accepting his word as gospel. Not me, though.

"You keep it on full?" I said.

"Four quarters," he said, clearing his throat.

"Which means full. There are only four quarters."

He reached for the truck's ashtray and tugged it down, revealing a hoard of coins. "Got at least twenty in there."

"For fuck's sake," I muttered, slamming the repurposed ashtray shut.

"Just shut up and stop trying to ruin the moment, Phillip," Jordan said, snuggling into my father's chest and closing his eyes. His smile was cemented in place, and he was beginning to resemble the Cheshire cat. My cat, however, was having none of it. He stared up at us and hissed, like he was ready to slaughter us for interrupting his precious sleep.

Preston stopped at the nearest gas station to fill up, and for some reason he stood there for what felt like hours, even after the lever popped, indicating his tank was full. Granted, I wasn't ready for a lengthy flight with Danvers the diabolical dick tease, but I didn't particularly feel like spending the rest of the morning staring at a gas station either. I leaned across Jordan's lap and slammed my palm against the horn.

"Would you come the fuck on already?"

Jordan scowled at me. "Can you please calm down?"

"Listen," I said, sneering. "When we get home, we're going to have a lengthy discussion about your rampant insubordination. I don't know what's gotten into you—"

"Your father," he said, staring longingly out the window.

I choked on my own spit. "Jordan Maxwell Miller! What the fuck?"

"Huh?" It took him a second for the words to register, and then his cheeks turned the shade of a fire hydrant. "Oh, my God, that issonot what I meant. Forget I said it."

"Kind of hard to forget you admitting to riding my father like a horse."

"We didn't!" He insisted. "I just meant—I mean, I wasn't saying—" He covered his face with his hands. "Any chance we can forget this conversation ever happened?"

"I'm going to need therapy after this. I'm sending you the bill."

"Dammit, Phillip. Just pretend I never said anything."

"Pretend you never said anything about what?" Preston asked as he opened the truck door and climbed in. Jordan stared at me with eyes wide as saucers. A silent plea for mercy.

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