Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,94

My. God.

“I was just saying that I knew how this thing between you two ends,” Everett says, his voice low and threatening. He folds his arms and juts his chin high. I’m speechless.

“It seems the only thing between us two is you,” Hudson says, walking over to where I am. He slides his arm around my waist and tilts his head just so.

“Damn right,” Everett says.

Everett flicks his gaze from Hudson to me and turns and walks outside.

“He seems cool,” Hudson says, walking into the kitchen and pulling a couple of beers from the cooler.

“Yeah, he’s super sweet.” He cracks them both open and hands me one. I take a long drink. Once again, I’m in that limbo. These are facts. What I’m supposed to do with all this new information, how I’m supposed to live, is the part I keep getting hung up on. Shit, if I had known Everett would react like this, I’d have trotted out a boyfriend way before now.

“So, are these your friends? Here? This is what your friends are like?” Hudson asks, taking another drink of his beer.

“He’s an ex. It didn’t work out. This is a very small town and I come from a long line of screwups,” I say.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Apparently, everyone but us.”

“I think you’re looking at this all wrong.”

“That wouldn’t be a first,” I say. Hudson laughs. I watch Everett fall into conversation with Reed and some of the assistant coaches just outside.

“It’s a simple equation really: the amount of money you have corresponds directly to the recognition of your family’s . . . shall we say, eccentricities. Now, let’s take my family, for instance. My father thinks we don’t know he sexually harasses every single secretary he goes through and I, unfortunately, mean that literally. My mother who, I’m pretty sure, merely sidelined her true sexuality and a lovely woman named Jackie to marry my father in her early twenties for the trust fund that accompanied him on his wedding day. Aunt Jackie, as she’s now known, is actually the best role model I’ve got, which is just perfect. Which brings us back to the original equation. My father comes from money, has even more power than that, and therefore his degree of eccentricity is swept under the rug, tolerated by the Santa Barbara elite and never questioned. I imagine that same equation is in play here in North Star. You scratch the surface of any family and you’re going to find dirt. Unfortunately, my darling Queenie, you were dealt a disreputable mother with no money or power to balance it out,” Hudson says, taking a long, long swig of his beer. He continues, “Am I close?”

“And I thought my family was crazy,” I say.

“Ha!” Hudson says.

“Hey, y’all—can I have your attention?” Reed is standing next to the smoker, his coach voice in full force. Hudson and I exit the house and crowd into the backyard. I wedge in between a couple wearing matching T-shirts with their son’s number on it and Merry Carole.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“It’s fine. You?” Merry Carole answers, her jaw still clenched.

“Yep. Fine,” I say.

“I’m sure we can talk about it later,” Merry Carole says, focusing back in on Reed. I take Hudson’s hand and pull him close. He gives me a smile and I squeeze his hand. I don’t know what to say or how to react to what he’s told me.

“I want to thank y’all for coming out to the barbecue. The team sure appreciates everything y’all do for us. Thank you to the Stallion Batallion for being the best booster club a team could ever want. I would like to particularly thank the Paragon Ranch for donating all of the food and drink you see here today. Everett Coburn, come on down, sir,” Reed says, scanning the crowd. Everett makes his way to Reed through the congratulatory, back-patting crowd.

“Ah. Now everything makes sense,” Hudson says.

“Yep,” I say, not able to look at him.

“A whole opposite-sides-of-the-track thing. How adorable,” Hudson says. I don’t answer him. Once again, that switch in him. It’s as if he sees people as these little plastic army guys he can bat around on his bedroom floor.

“Everett, every year we choose someone from the community to do the coin toss at our opening game; we’d love it if you would do us the honor this year,” Reed announces, presenting a large golden coin and hoisting it in the air. The crowd goes wild. I keep my eyes on Everett. He