Page 17 of With Spite

Maybe moving here wasn’t the right thing after all.

Six

Forgive and forget? I’m not Jesus, nor do I have Alzheimer’s.

—Hux’s secret thoughts

Hux

I watched her come home in her fancy new truck.

She pulled into her driveway, which was across the street and down a few from my own, then got out and dragged herself inside.

She looked run-ragged.

I felt another twinge of guilt.

I knew what kind of taskmaster my mother could be.

Creed called the moment that she closed herself inside her place.

I could see everything that she did because she had no curtains in her house. Which also meant the assholes across the street from her could also see.

“Hey,” I answered. “Your sister needs some damn curtains. Hubers are salivating.”

Creed cursed. “I was supposed to come over and do that today, but we had some poachers, and I didn’t get around to it.”

“Well, get around to it tomorrow,” I ordered. “Patrick is currently on his front porch watching your sister through her living room window heating up a pizza.”

“Goddammit,” Creed growled. “The sick fucks.”

The Hubers were the freakin’ worst.

I’d been dealing with them my entire life, and each subsequent generation got worse.

Which was impressive because I’d thought Lanny, the father of the two “men,” was awful enough.

“They’re something,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Wanted to call to see if you could tell me if Bernice was there, but you answered that already,” he said. “She called me multiple times today. I got worried, but I was hung up with the poachers and never got a chance to call her back. When I finally did, she didn’t answer.”

“Well,” I said as I watched her eat her pizza as she walked into her bedroom and flicked her light on. “She’s home and eating. Looks like she’s getting ready for bed.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “If you can see that well a few houses down, the Hubers probably have a front-row view.”

“That they do,” I agreed.

“I’ll get there tomorrow.” He groaned. “I’m still in Wyoming.”

“Wyoming?” I asked.

“Long story,” he said. “Go put cardboard on her window.”

Before I could say anything more, there were raised voices, and Creed cursed. “Gotta go.”

I hung up and went in search of a cardboard box I could cut up.

By the time I found something to use and walked over, Bernice was passed out fully clothed on her bed, the plate of pizza half finished.