Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

Just as he suspected, empty beer bottles littered the living room and kitchen. At first he didn’t even think it was possible he drank that much, but the evidence didn’t lie. Walking felt a bit uncomfortable; taking the condom off before putting his pants on would’ve been a good idea. Now the damn thing was tugging precariously on his privates and threatening to disengage all together. He dragged himself onwards in slow motion as he battled the effects of a tenacious hangover. If this was the only price he paid for last night’s stupidity, he’d be heading to Vegas next week to try his luck there on the slots.

Outside and heading to his truck, he gave the wide street a glance up and down. With the way these things usually turned out, some nosy asshole was probably watching him leave his brother’s home looking disheveled and guilty as sin.

He was screwed.

Chapter 20

As the squad of hammer-wielding dwarves sought to smash their way out from inside his skull, Brendan wondered if it was the booze or the head injuries that caused the unrelenting pain. Probably a combination of the two. The stress surely didn’t help either.

From his place on the couch, he reached over and gathered up a few framed photos sitting on a shelf built into the wall. Mostly the images depicted the good times, like family vacations when he was in elementary school. Those days seemed so far away that he could barely believe he’d lived them. Brendan was so engrossed in the nostalgia that he didn’t even notice his dad appear next to him on the sofa.

“How’s it going, son?”

His father couldn’t have constructed a less expected sentence if he tried. Since when was the old man one for small talk?

“Been better,” Brendan replied as he zeroed in one on picture in particular. He showed it to his dad. “You remember this?”

His dad took it from him and smiled ever so slightly. “The old cabin.”

The family had owned a cabin out in the woods way south of town. The long journey out there had always infuriated the impatient young Brendan, but now he’d go just about anywhere to find that kind of solitude.

“You still own it?” Brendan asked.

“You see that new truck outside?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Well, I had to sell the cabin to get the truck.” His dad passed the picture back. “After you kids were all grown and gone, your mom and I never even talked about going out there. It’s a family place.”

“Sure.” Brendan would’ve bought the place off his dad, but he kept that to himself.

“Would’ve sold it to your brother, but he didn’t want it. Said he’s already got a timeshare with some buddies out in the same neck of the woods.”

“There still good hunting out there?” Brendan asked. That had been one of the best bonding memories he had with his dad, and even with his brother.

“I reckon.”

“What happened to all the guns?” Brendan asked. “I saw the old gun safe is gone.”

“Your brother took all the rifles and just left me my shotgun.” His dad smiled. “Good thing your mom didn’t take your head off with it the other night.”

The inside of his head felt like he’d been shot. The throbbing was extremely disorienting.

“I guess Grant took your pistol, too,” his dad said, stroking his chin as he searched deep in the old memory banks.

“The one with my name on the grip? The one you gave me?”

“That’s the one. Haven’t seen that thing in years.”

Brendan made a mental note to get his gun back from his brother while pretending that he hadn’t slept with his wife.

“Brendan, where’d you say you stayed last night?”

And here it was: Brendan’s first opportunity to lie. He knew that every second he didn’t answer the simple question incriminated him more and more, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything good to say. Why he hadn’t prepared for this moment was beyond him.

“You said you were going to check on Michelle when you left,” his dad prompted.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, did you stay there?” His voice was even and neutral, which worried Brendan.

“I—“

His dad looked at him expectantly.

“I’ve got to go do some stuff,” Brendan said as he set all the pictures back on the shelf. As he walked away from his dad, the fog in his mind cleared just enough to kick him in the ass for acting so damn guilty. At the front door, he turned and found his dad had quietly followed him.

“You gonna do better than that, son?”

Brendan opened the door and rested his forehead against the edge of it for a second.

“It’s not what it looks like, Dad.”

“And what does it look like?”

Brendan looked his father straight in the eye when he lied to him.

“Nothing happened.”

They appraised each other for a few excruciating seconds before his dad nodded.

“Good,” the old man said.

Brendan’s dad then walked off without another word, and Brendan closed the door gently behind himself as he left.

Chapter 21

Schmidt’s was still where he’d left it. Brendan stepped into the diner and nodded to the lady behind the counter when she told him to pick any table he liked. The lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet, so he pretty much had his pick of the place. He took a seat against the big windows and glanced over the menu noncommittally. Things more important than a sandwich choice rattled inside his head.

Brendan absently fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers as the waitress swung by for his order. Not really caring about the decision, he asked for a chicken sandwich and some dark coffee. The lady, whose nametag read Betty, flashed him a smile and trotted off to make some magic happen in the kitchen. Brendan couldn’t see from his vantage point, but he was sure a guy from south of the border did all the real work back there. That was the way of things these days.

Such an inane thought didn’t distract him for very long. His pounding headache hadn’t relented and his guilt refused to ebb. How could they keep something like this a secret? And in this town? There was no way. One of them would get drunk and insinuate something to the wrong person, and then all hell would break loose in the Rhodes family again. The laugh of it was that Brendan used to think the wedge driven between he and his brother couldn’t get any bigger.

Don’t tempt fate. That was the lesson here.

Betty returned with his coffee and promised she’d have his sandwich out in no time, but while she was here, did he want some fries with that? He acquiesced without a second thought. Sure, fries sounded just great. Not really, but he was past caring about the fuel going into his body. He stared out the window at his truck.

Would Michelle cave and tell Grant everything? That was a serious possibility. Would he hurt her? If he did, she’d be the last person he ever touched, that was for damn sure. No matter what happened, a man shouldn’t be hitting a woman. Unless she was pointing a gun at him. That was probably acceptable, but this was an affair of the heart, not the gun. If he so much as left a bruise on her, Brendan would bury the son of a bitch.

He leaned back in the booth and ran a hand slowly across his head. Little bumps and bruises reacted to his touch, especially on the back, near his neck. How those bastards hadn’t done more permanent damage was shocking, but after the brawl behind Trish’s, Brendan was sure those idiots had received the worse end of the bargain. That Mohawk guy was still feeling that run-in with the dumpster, that much was certain.

True to her word, dear old Betty promptly and gracefully slid a plate in front of him. He thanked her and didn’t even bother examining his food before diving right in.