Page 81 of Plum

Eric laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder. “We quit, right? Allyn-Wade is in the rearview. Wade Brothers is in the house. Yeah?”

I think a minute. My stepfather’s voice echoes in my ear.Make a decision, Adam.

“You need to stop the partying. Clean up.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Eric wobbles drunkenly.

“And stop being such an asshole.”

Eric grunts, his eyelids drooping so he doesn’t see the elbow I drive into his belly. “Fuck!”

“Day-um!” Harper whistles.

Eric folds over, wildly throwing out his arm to fend me off. I dodge it easily.

“What was that for?”

“You hit my future wife in the face.”

“It was an accident! And, like, months ago.”

I shake out my arm.

“That all?” Eric eyes me warily.

“I think we need a new name.”

“Whatever you say, brother. You’re the brains.”

No, I’m not. I’m a fool. I let Jo-Beth Connolly walk away. I smile, remembering her stomping off, finger in the air.

She’s at peace with herself in a way I envy, truth be told. The world had its way with her, but it didn’t warp her. It made her hard. She’s never going to give me another chance.

I don’t deserve one.

I am a Wade, though, in this, if nothing else. I’m not going to stop until I get her back. All of her. Her forgiveness. Her real smiles. Her respect. Whatever it takes. I know what I want.

I want my soul back. I want my pride.

I want Jo-Beth.

CHAPTER 12

PLUM

Islept at the clubhouse for the first time in years last night. I couldn’t bear being alone in the house. I dropped by to change and grab a bag, and then I headed over. Creech let me crash in his room. He never sleeps, and when he does, he passes out where he falls.

I’ve missed the clubhouse in the morning. It reeks of stale beer with a hint of motor oil and tires, and the sunlight’s hazy, filtered through the cigarette smoke still lingering in the hair. There are always a few people passed out around the place, and some diehards playing cards or shooting the shit.

Gus and Boots are still at the bar, regaling a half-passed-out prospect with old war stories. Forty’s playing pool by himself, a line of empties edging the table.

I pop into the kitchen for a trash bag. There’s comfort in old habits. Eases the ache in my chest a little.

I start with the tables, leaving the really gross shit for the younger sweetbutts still sleeping it off somewhere. I try so hard not to think about Adam, but I do.What did you come here to say?I hear it over and over again, and I have to force down the panic. It’s like a nightmare where you want to scream but no sound comes out. Why didn’t I say anything?

“Rough night?” There’s a crack of balls. I blink, drawn from my thoughts. Forty compresses his lips, the closes he comes to a smile, as he lines up another shot.

I meander over and start dropping his empties in the trash bag. “Maybe as bad as yours.”

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