Page 40 of The County Line
The weeds my dad had always left for Maverick and me to pull as punishment for leaving on the lights before going to school have now taken over entirely, snaking up the walls and curling around the windows, choking out the sunlight. The sight of it fills my chest with a tight, hollow ache—a haunting reminder of the place I swore I’d never come back to but always seem to find my way toward.
But today, I’m only here for one reason: To see my big brother.
Maverick’s car is noticeably absent again, but my dad’s is in the driveway. And despite my complete lack of interest in facing my father, a man I haven’t seen in over a decade and who hasn’t reached out to me once since I moved to Louisiana, I suck up my pride and close the door to my car, walking up the cracked, cement walkway to the screen door. I knock on the plastic part of it since there’s no doorbell, listening as it rattles loudly like it’s been warped by the elements.
“Hello? Eddie? Are you home?” I call out, annoyed.
Some might call it disrespectful to address my father by his first name, but he’d never earned the title ofdadin my eyes. He’s always been Edgar Patrick, and that’s all he’ll ever be to me. I have no intention of calling him anything else unless it’s absolutely necessary.
After a loud crash, some cussing, and the sound of someone fumbling around inside, the door finally creaks open. My dad stumbles into view, his bloodshot eyes glazed over, still reeking of last night’s liquor. Despite his obvious inebriation, he’s still an incredibly handsome older man. In his early fifties, dark hair with salt and pepper at the edges, a matching beard, and bright blue eyes just like mine. Mav looks just like him and it guts me to think that he might become him someday unless he gets his life straightened out.
He squints at me as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.
“Molly?” he rasps, blinking hard if that’ll help him focus.
I force a polite, practiced smile and nod. “Hello, Eddie.”
He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. “I don’t have any money.”
The words hit like a slap, and I can’t help but scoff. Of course, that’s his first assumption. Not a hello, not awhat are you doing here?or evenhow have you been?—just straight to the idea that his only daughter, who he hasn’t seen in a decade, must be here looking for a handout.
The irony of it nearly makes me laugh. As if he’d ever had a dime to spare in his life, let alone one to offer me when I needed money for school, food, new clothing or shoes.
“I’m not here for money,” I say flatly, cutting straight to the point. There’s no sense in dragging this very unhappy reunion out. “I’m looking for Maverick.”
“What business you got with Maverick?”
Um… perhaps the fact that he’s my brother?
“No business,dad.” It pains me to say the word but maybe that’ll bring him back to the reality of who he’s speaking to. “I haven’t seen him since I moved back, and we were supposed to meet up for dinner at my house last week, but he ghosted me.”
He folds his arms over his chest, leveling me with a cool stare. “Dinner at your house? What, you got a new place now? The trailer ain’t good enough for you?”
I roll my eyes because now it feels like the roles have reversed. A few seconds ago, he thought I was asking for money, now he’s going to try to shake me down instead of answering my damn questions. “I’m renting it, and it’s a duplex. Hardly high living.”
“Think you can spare your dear old dad some money then?”
“No. I don’t have any,” I repeat his words back to him, growing more annoyed.
He scoffs. “I know that’s not true. Heard you got a job with the police department here. You must be getting paid well by that new chief. For all the shit I did for you as a kid, fed you, clothedyou, gave you a safe place to sleep, the least you can do is kick your old man a couple dollars to get a bite to eat.”
The bitter taste of bile creeps up my throat. So, he knew I was back in town—he just didn’t bother to reach out. Figures. Classic Eddie. He never showed up for me when I was a kid, and he sure as hell isn’t about to start now. Meanwhile, the Marshalls were the ones who stepped in and did all the things a real family should’ve done for Mav and me. They fed us, looked out for us, gave us a place to feel safe.
Eddie? He could barely keep food in the fridge. We survived on school lunches and spent more nights than I can count sleeping on Colt’s floor because it was safer than our own house—safer than risking who our dad might bring home that night.
He didn’t raise me. He gave me trust issues the size of Texas and a deep-rooted fear of charming men who know exactly what to say and none of it they mean.
“I don’t owe you anything,” I snap, glaring at him. “If you see Maverick, tell him to call me.” I spin on my heel, stepping off the rickety porch, but before I can escape his hand shoots out, catching my arm and yanking me back so hard I nearly fall onto the single concrete step below.
His grip is vice-like, fingers digging into my bicep as his bloodshot eyes narrow. There’s a flicker of something darker in them now. He looks much more sober and less confused. “You ungrateful little brat,” he snarls, his voice low and venomous.
“Let me go,” I hiss, keeping my tone steady even as my pulse races. My closest weapon is in the glove compartment of my car—twenty feet away. I don’t think he’d try anything, but it’s been a decade since I saw him, and I have no idea how much further down the spiral he’s fallen since I left.
After a tense moment, he jerks my arm free, but not before twisting it painfully. The pressure where his fingers squeezed lingers, and I already know it’ll bruise. I flex my hand subtly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me wince. I won’t let him think he’s hurt me—not physically, and certainly not emotionally.
“Take care now, Molly!” he shouts over my shoulder with a dark laugh.
I walk slowly and confidently to my car but inside all I want to do is run and cry. As soon as I’m through the door, I lock it behind me and blow out a shaky breath. I’ve faced plenty of high-stress situations in my career. I’ve been shot at. I survived domestic violence at the hands of my ex-husband—a man who cheated on me relentlessly and hit me for sport near the end. But none of that compares to the cold, hateful look in my father’s eyes today.
