Unfinished Business

16

Eight years earlier...

The stench of dried-up beer and cigarette smoke swarms us at the table Wyatt and I are sitting at with Dylan, Timmy, and Parker. The Starlighter is always the busiest around dinner time when all of the locals are done for the day. Donna—the woman who runs the hair salon—always wipes the floor in poker with two men from the nearby manufacturing plant a couple of miles south of here.

I'm currently focused on the elderly woman showing her full house when Loretta approaches our table with a brow raised. "Macey and Wyatt. Why am I not surprised? And you brought friends this time. Y'all want yer' usual?" Sweat is dripping down her forehead, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand.

Wyatt knocks his knee against mine under the table, causing me to blush. "Yes, ma'am. Curly fries with onion rings please."

"Add a lil' basket of them pretzel bites if ya' got any please," Dylan adds, sliding his gaze to me. "You look awful fancy for The Starlighter tonight. Any reason why?"

"Hm..." Timmy chuckles teasingly, tapping his chin with a finger. "I can't think of any. Could it be to impress the cowboy sittin' pretty beside us?"

Wyatt rolls his eyes and tosses a middle finger in their direction.

"What?" Dylan asks. "Can I not be excited that my boy is finally gettin' a lil' tail?"

I lean over to give a swift punch to his shoulder. He winces but continues to laugh as Wyatt's entire face turns the color of a tomato. I'm not sure if he confided about our night last week at his house with his friends, but I'm assuming he did based on their neanderthal-like reactions.

"Couldn't it be because she's from the city and enjoys fashion?" Parker leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his coke. His jaw ticks. "Not everything Macey does revolves around Wyatt."

I gulp as Wyatt bristles beside me and am thankful when a performer begins to start playing on stage, the sound of their guitar tuning out the awkwardness. Parker is always like this around Timmy and Dylan, though. They aren't cut from the same cloth, and he's not into any of the things they're into. Wyatt seems to be the glue that holds their friend group together, and without him, they wouldn't give each other the time of day.

In fact, I don't really know much about Parker at all. He doesn't dress like southern boys, and he sure as hell doesn't act like them, either. Is he from here? Was he born here?

I move my eyes across his black t-shirt, down to his ripped skinny jeans and white converse.

Definitely not from here.

"We're just teasin'," Timmy mutters.

"How about you all say you like my outfit and drop it?" I raise my hands above my head to let them admire my pink bodycon that I ordered online last week. Wyatt almost lost his mind when he came to my house to pick me up. Thankfully, my Dad wasn't home. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to leave the house.

Parker leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. Nothing about his expression seems happy. "But you're not just teasing, Timmy. It's never just teasing. You both talk about Macey like she's a piece of meat. There's more to her than fancy clothes and good looks."

My cheeks are on fire when he's done, and Wyatt is as stiff as a board. I can't bring myself to glance up at him, because I'm worried it'll be a threat of death that stares back.

"We know that," Dylan replies. "We know she loves dressin' like a rich girl. It's not a big deal. Teasin' is our way of lettin' her know we like her—that she's a good match for Wyatt."