Page 46 of The Score We Never Settled

But she lives in a small two-bedroom within the throngs of town, and I’m surprised her Uncle Ben allowed her to move out at all. Especially since he still obviously has a chokehold on her life when it comes to me.

And maybe it’s for the best.

Living in Magnolia Ridge has its not-so-good memories, and maybe I wasn’t supposed to come back here at all.

Maybe I’ve held on too long.

Or maybe you should quit being a whiny-ass bitch and stop complaining.

Inhaling, I stride for the front door when several hard and short knocks rap along it, and I pause.

I definitely wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m on my way to the Summer Festival to meet Adeline and Everly while they man the gaming tent today, and I promised I’d help.

For a second.

So, bullshitting with a neighbor—not that I have any because I’m on the outskirts of Magnolia Ridge with ten acres, so no one could hear Layla scream while I’m fucking her—isn’t on my to-do list for today.

Fucking Layla Melrose, that’s always on the agenda.

Ripping my door open with a bit of irritation and subtle I’m-not-in-the-fucking-mood-for-small-talk, I find a man standing on my wooden porch about to knock on the damn door again.

The impatience is lost on me until it isn’t.

Because when I pull the guy fully into view, I’m sorry that I had.

Tan cowboy hat, dark brown eyes, and a full beard and mustache of gray and brown, I stare at my father standing on the other side of my threshold, and my fingers instantly itch to slam the damn door in his fucking face.

“Briggs,” he greets in his authoritative tone that only speaks that my presence is being a damn fucking nuisance to him. “I was half-expectin’ you to be?—”

“Did you get fuckin’ lost?” I upbraid because he’s either strung out or his balls dropped in the last decade, where he thought this would be a really good idea for him to show up on my doorstep.

“Did you?” he shoots back, brows pinned for the fuck knows what? “You haven’t stopped by the house.”

“What house?”

The lines on his face deepen. “Myhouse. My son comes home and doesn’t say hello to his father. I taught you better than that, son.”

Taught me better than that.

Was that a statement?

Did I just imagine the last two decades of my life where he wasn’t around me, he ignored me, then didn’t give two shits or a thank you that I saved his home?

Nah.

I’m recalling everything just right.

“I didn’t have a father,” I volley back to him because he can kiss my entire ass if he believes, for a minute, I’m going to forget everything he’s done to me. “I do remember, however, that I wasn’t welcome in that damn house, and you were worthless as shit to me.”

This fucker has the damn nerve to roll his eyes at me.

So, our balls did drop, eh?

“Son, we need to talk.”

An unimpressed scoff escapes my lips because this is rich.

And not in the millions of dollars chillin’ in my bank account right now but the audacity that’s hangin’ out on my front porch right now.