Regardless of the reason, I was getting sick of his shit. Problem was, I had no idea how to stop it. Because even if we cleaned up the yard, and that was definitely on the list, he’d just find something new to bitch about. He was that kind of guy. Whenever he mowed his lawn, he spent the entire time glaring at our house, like he was trying to burn it down with the power of his mind.
“Is Cash okay?” I asked.
“He’s fine,” Chase said. “He was just pissed he got woken up.”
I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “Well, hopefully Harlan’s got it out of his system for now and he’ll crawl back under his rock.”
Chase shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Hey, did you know we have a raccoon in the storeroom?”
“What?”
“Well, something has chewed through the side of a box of Cool Ranch Doritos and eaten half the bags. And since that’s where I go to nap, I’m gonna pretend it’s a raccoon and not a whole bunch of rats. Raccoons are cute.”
“Maybe it’s a cat,” I suggested. “Cats are cute too.”
“Cats don’t eat Doritos, dumbass.”
“Emma-Lee’s cat loves Doritos,” I said. “I’ve seen it on her Instagram.”
My older sister Emma-Lee was a nurse in Richmond, and we mostly kept in touch over social media. I missed her, but she worked long hours the same as me and had even less time to visit than I did. She tried to get down to see Grandma every couple of months, though.
“It’s not a cat, Danny,” Chase said.
He was probably right. I’d have to let Bobby know, and maybe he’d get some pest guys in or at least put some traps down. Because I was pretty sure it wasn’t a raccoon either.
The rest of my shift passed slowly, which gave me the chance to read all the magazines we carried. Wade came back at six to take over for the night shift, and I waved goodbye to Chase and headed home, praying my truck would make it.
It was only a short drive, and I spent it listening for any new rattles or whines coming from my truck that would drain my tiny savings account yet again. I counted it as a win when I pulled into the driveway with the engine still runningandmade it into the house without getting waylaid by Harlan.
Cash and Wilder were sitting at the tiny kitchen table when I walked in. Cash was dressed in his scrubs and eating a stack of toast and peanut butter. His meal schedule was all fucked to hell from working shifts, so breakfast for dinner wasn’t unusual. Plus, he couldn’t cook for shit.
“That bread was still okay?” I asked him. “I thought it might have gone moldy.”
Cash’s eyes widened, and he took a piece of toast out of his mouth and inspected it. Then he shrugged and shoved it back in his face.
It was weird how the twins looked exactly the same but were so different. Chase was loud and snarky and told you exactly what he thought, even if you hadn’t asked, but Cash? The guy hardly ever said a word. Didn’t mean he didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him, though. It was probably a survival skill or something from when they were growing up. Chase always said they left home because it was methed up.
You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out it had been fucked up, not when they’d been dumpster diving out back of Goose Run Gas when I first met them.
Wilder looked up from his phone. “I found chicken wings in the freezer.”
“When did we buy chicken wings?”
“I can’t even remember. But they’re probably still good, right?” He nodded toward the sink where a soggy paper-wrapped package was sitting. “I think they’re defrosted. I’m gonna put them on the grill. You in?”
“Yeah. Want me to make a salad?”
Wilder blinked, then grinned. “Fuck off. You can’t even spell salad. Besides, protein is good for building muscles.” He patted his abs.
“You know eating vegetables doesn’t negate that, right?”
“Okay, Mom,” he said and rolled his eyes.
Wilder and I had been friends since elementary school. In high school, we’d become best friends. When his parents had kicked him out, Grandma had offered him Emma-Lee’s old room. He’d moved in and never left. Since he worked in construction, it meant that he took care of any minor repairs around the place, which was a bonus. Plus, he was a half-decent cook.
“What did that asshole next door want?” I said, sliding into the chair next to Cash.
He rolled his eyes and shrugged and then shoved another piece of toast in his mouth.
