13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

SHUT UP ABOUT SARAH MCLACHLAN

Team Firecracker assembled at Fletcher Family Vineyard shortly before sunset the next evening. As Aunt Lurlene busied herself preparing teas and coffees, Jordan was clacking away at his tablet's keyboard, trying to find intel on this whole piglet-peddling operation. At first, he'd told me information on Mr. Monte was shrouded in so much secrecy, smoke, and mirrors, that finding their names had proved to be impossible. When I'd jerked his tablet out of his hand and saw he'd simply been perving over a shirtless picture of my father he'd stolen from Facebook, he quickly changed his tune. The list of issues that would need to be addressed once we returned to London was already a mile long, so I chose to let this one slide.

Earlier in the day, I'd convinced Rivers to allow Brenda/Carole to pick up Beau under the guise of filming a one-on-one confessional for the docuseries. Luckily, Rivers had been busy with Muscadine Madness festivities, so we had Beau all to ourselves.

The public plea/public service announcement had been Brenda/Carole's idea. She'd framed it as my opportunity to become a bit of a philanthropist. She even said I might win a Presidential Medal of Freedom when this was all said and done. How could I turn that down?

Quite easily, actually.

At first, I'd balked at the idea, telling her that getting on Rivers' bad side would never be a part of my Tallulah, Texas bucket list. Once she'd shown me a video of little piglets being abused by factory farmers, I quickly changed my mind. The actions depicted in the clip may not have transpired at Mr. Monte's farm, but the idea of any pig—even psychopathic Fudge Rivera—being punched, kicked, hung, or shot in the face at point blank range, did not sit well with me. I just hoped Rivers would be able to see it that way once the proverbial pig shit hit the fan.

We'd spent an hour putting together fliers and making signs for demonstrators. I didn't like the thought of lying to Rivers or working with Beau behind his back, but I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. I could see so much of myself in the boy. He was a sassy little lionheart, still untarnished by the bitterness of this world. I could see it in the gentleness of his touch when he was around Fudge or Mr. Papadopoulos. The spark in his heart was bright enough to illuminate the darkness with ease. I knew what it was like to have that. And I knew what it was like to have it taken from you.

Preston was kicked back in the recliner reading an old Danielle Steel novel, not helping in the slightest. I marched toward him, ripping the book out of his hand and throwing it into the unlit fireplace.

"I was reading that!"

"Not anymore, you're not," I said, my eyes narrowed into the thinnest of slits. "What did I tell you?" He huffed, crossing his arms against his chest while making no effort to move. "Answer me."

"I ain't saying a damn thing until you give me back my damn book. I was about to find out if Zoya—"

"Do you really think I give a damn that you're trying to get your rocks off to cishet love scenes? Christ on the cross, we're in there saving lives, and you're out here reading a romance novel. Would it kill you to tear yourself away from your over-inflated sense of ego long enough to pitch in? Seriously, I'll settle for the bare minimum at this point."

Jordan slowly shuffled into the room, arching an eyebrow at us. "What the hell is going on?"

"You're not saving lives," Preston said, ignoring Jordan completely, much to his annoyance. "You're planning a riot behind Rivers' back. If you think I'm getting roped into this foolishness, you're high."

"My edible hasn't fully kicked in yet," I countered. "And we're not staging a riot, we're filming a public service announcement. There's a difference."

"They both end with your ass getting thrown in jail, and me having to bail you out. Well, I'll tell you something for nothing. I ain't coming to get you. As for you," he said, frowning at Jordan. "You ain't taking part in this. So help me, if I have to pay your bond, I'll have you scrubbing these floors with a toothbrush from sunup to sundown. You hear me?"

"What I'm hearing," Jordan said, quite dreamily, might I add. "Is that you want me on my hands and knees… ' scrubbing floors.' "

Preston scoffed as a trail of heat spread across his cheeks.

"So you'll pay his bail, but not mine? In what world does that make sense?" I asked. Unfortunately, he was too busy side- eyeing Jordan and running his tongue across his lips to respond. This wasn't the time or place for inappropriate flirtation. I snapped my fingers, trying to get their attention. "Answer the question. What world?"

"In the world where my son's set out to turn this town into a laughingstock. You're trying to manufacture drama for this damn show of yours. A show some of us didn't want to take part in in the first place. And what happens when Rivers spots you tomorrow morning? You think he's going to give you a pat on the back?" He reached for me, gently grabbing my wrist. "You said you wanted to fix this thing between us, remember?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"If we're gonna fix this, we're gonna have to put in the effort. To start, a little fatherly advice: you care about the man. If you go behind his back like this, it could ruin you two. You're going against his wishes, and he's going to see it as an attack. What's worse, you're dragging his son into the mix. Please, Phillip. Don't do this."

All my life I'd waited for a talk like this. For him to show the slightest interest in me. To hear more than a handful of words meant to temporarily placate me. And, being Preston Fletcher, of course, he'd chosen the worst possible moment to show a bit of parental care. Of fucking course.

"I'm doing this for Beau. You didn't see how torn up he was about it. You didn't have to sit there and hold him while he was crying. He cares about these stupid little piglets. If Riv doesn't want to have anything to do with me when this is all over, then that's on him." I peered over my shoulder at Beau. He was holding a pig portrait he'd drawn up for Aunt Lurlene to see. As she hemmed and hawed over it, a painful twinge pinched at my heartstrings. I'd been living in the dark for so long, I'd almost forgotten how nice it felt to stand in the light. To see hope blossom right before my very eyes. Beau Rivera was a gem flickering against the sun, reflecting out joy in colorful rays. I didn't want anyone to snuff out that light.

"You love him," Preston mused, bringing a smile to my face.

I nodded. "Who wouldn't? Just look at him."

"No," Preston said, standing up from his chair and resting a hand on my shoulder. "Rivers."

I jerked my head in his direction, my mouth hanging open like someone had just slapped me. "Don't be ridiculous. I've known him for less than two weeks."

"You've known him since you were kids," he argued. "And I didn't say I thought it made sense. It's just a fact. You're smitten with him. The way you act around him, you'd think he hung the damn moon in your honor. You're willing to risk all that?"

"There's no risk," I said, though the words didn't feel even remotely truthful. "I'm leaving in a few days, anyway. I'll probably never even see him again. He'll find himself a nice man or woman, and these last two weeks will barely even be a blip on his radar. But Beau will know I cared. God knows why, but he seems to think I'm a bit of an icon. This is my chance to do something iconic for him." I risked a glance in my father's direction. "I'd like for you to be there for me. Please, Preston?"

He paused, considering my request. After a moment of reflective silence, he gave me a nod. "I still think it's just about the most asinine plan I've ever heard, but if it means this much to you, I'll be there for you. I don't like it, but I'll be there."

***

The next morning, Brenda/Carole and her crew picked us up from Fletcher Family Vineyard in the sprinter van. After that, we dropped by Tallulah Primary to jailbreak Beau. Aunt Lurlene had advised me that after a particularly gruesome flu outbreak, she'd been placed on the pre-approved list of contacts who could sign Beau out for the day. Apparently, Rivers and his mother had been infected, and Lurlene was the only person who returned Rivers' call.

We left Mr. Papadopoulos at home, but Fudge rested in Beau's lap on the ride over. He stared up at me, occasionally oinking out what I could only assume were terroristic threats meant solely for me.

We pulled up to the square shortly after noon. When the van's side door slid open, an endless plume of custard-scented water vapor poured out, giving us a cinematic entrance. Being the leading man, I was the first to emerge from the sweet-scented fog. Spotting the crowd standing in front of the courthouse, I gasped, inhaling Brenda/Carole's exhaled vapor.

On the lawn, just past the Tilt-a-Whirl, a group of forty-some-odd citizens stood in front of a small barricade. I wasn't sure who'd invited them, but with that many people standing just outside of his office, there was a one-hundred percent chance Rivers already knew something was amiss.

"Alright, Phillip," Brenda/Carole said, pointing at two small wooden stools resting on the courthouse lawn. "That's where we want you and the kid. We're going to have him hold the pig while you give your speech." She grinned at me, wide and wild, with the slightest hint of a sparkle in her eyes. "This is going to be great. We can upload the video tonight. I'll make a few calls. Try to get it spread around on social media. I have some friends on Bookstagram that might help, because they live for a queer man acting like an outlandish queen. I've also got a connection at a local news station in Winawana."

"Winawana-what now?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's a small town in Washington. I'm sure one of them knows someone in Seattle. Hopefully, we can make the footage go viral. Jesus, they're going to eat this shit up back at the office." She led Beau and I toward the stools, pulling a small, orange pill bottle out of her pocket. She grabbed one of the pills and held it out for me. "Your eyes are looking a little puffy, and I heard you sniffling the whole way here. I'm not having you getting sick when we're on the homestretch. Swallow."

"What is it?"

"Just a prescription-strength antihistamine. I keep a steady supply of them coming in. They work wonders," she said. After I'd swallowed the pill, I turned my attention back to Brenda/Carole. She was staring at the label on the bottle, her eyes growing wider by the second. "Listen, kid, you're probably going to feel a little woozy after a while. That may have been a Xanax. I'm not entirely sure. We should probably get the show on the road before it kicks in."

My eyes bulged. "You just drugged me?"

She swiveled around without addressing her error, pointing at the courthouse. "There are already people staring out of the windows behind us. It's only a matter of time before someone clues Mayor Lake in. Chop-chop, Philly."

As I tried to ready myself for a vicious, drug-induced downward spiral, I spotted Jordan. He was standing directly beside the cameraman, pulling out his phone, just as we'd rehearsed. After a moment of pause, "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan filled the silent street around us.

"Hello," I said, staring into the camera. "I'm Friendzone's Phillip Firecracker, and I'm speaking to you today on behalf—"

"Cut!" Brenda/Carole shouted.

"I was just getting going," I said.

"And we'll be finished before we even begin if Joshua doesn't turn off that damn song."

"You know my name is Jordan."

"You can't just play a song on a PSA without getting approval. And Sarah McLachlan, of all people? Sarah-fucking-McLachlan?"

"What's wrong with Sarah?" Jordan asked. "She loves animal charities. She's a philanthropist."

"What isn't wrong with Sarah McLachlan? Tell me something, cupcake; have you ever worked with Satan herself? Because I have, and let me tell you, that woman would sooner drag you through decades of endless litigation than shake your hand. I'm not getting caught up in her web. Not again. Not after last time."

"The fuck's she talking about now?" Preston said.

"Jordan," I called out, "press play."

"The second you press play, she presses charges. I swear to God, Sarah McLachlan—"

"If you don't shut up about Sarah McLachlan, I'm going to press your face through that stained-glass window." I flicked my thumb behind me, motioning toward the courthouse. On the first floor, displayed proudly—ridiculously—was a piece of window art I'd never truly understood. Not as a child, nor as an adult. On it, there was a hideously designed doodle of George Washington (Carver) standing in a boat, holding a jar of Jiff crunchy peanut butter. To his side, a slew of men rowed him proudly across the Delaware. "We need to get this done before—"

"What the heck is going on here?" a familiar voice called out from behind us.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit-shit-shit.

"Hello," I blurted into the camera. "My name is Phillip Firecracker, and I'm here to ask for your peanut butter—" I scowled. "Shit." I'd rehearsed this speech at least a dozen times the night before, and each time, Sarah had been crooning out that damn song of hers. "Jordan, sing the song." I faced the camera. "Hello, I'm Phillip Firework—fuck. Firecracker. I'm Phillip Firecracker." Peering over my shoulder, I watched in horror as Rivers slowly walked toward the small crowd gathered around me. His hand was above his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. "The song! Jordan, sing it."

"You're in the arms—"

Brenda/Carole covered his mouth with her hand, eyes bulging. "I'm not kidding. The woman will verbally, physically, and financially ruin you. Don't do this, Phillip."

"Fine!" I said, my blood thumping in my ears. "Mouth it then, Jordy. Stand by the camera so I can watch you."

Jordan shoved Brenda/Carole's hand away and glared at me. "How the hell is that going to help?"

"Just do it!"

Rolling his eyes, he mouthed, 'in the arms of the angel.'

"Hello," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm music and television's Phillip Firecracker, and I'm here today with a plea. Every year, the factory farming industry tortures millions of lovely little creatures. Creatures with hearts that beat just like yours and mine. Animals that wouldn't dare put you in the"—I winked at the camera—" Friendzone. Tallulah, Texas, is home to this nation's largest muscadine vineyard. It's also home to a slaughterhouse that would put The Texas Chainsaw Massacre to shame."

Rivers came to a halt when he reached the camera crew and saw us sitting on our wooden stools. His jaw went slack, and then his face turned a shade so red, he could have passed for a fire hydrant.

'Oh, my God,' he mouthed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I recently stumbled upon a video that shattered my heart. Our sources can neither confirm nor deny that it happened at this particular slaughterhouse, but it's troubling, nonetheless. I've always been partial to a nice slice of bacon. After witnessing the atrocities in that clip, I'm afraid I can no longer remain silent about these deliverers of death and devastation." I lifted my hand in a fist of solidarity. "Down with factory farming." I wiped a nonexistent tear from my eye before turning and smiling at the kid at my side, tussling his hair. "This is Beau Rivera. And this"—I brushed a thumb against the pig's forehead, my heart swelling as he oinked out his approval—"is Fudge."

Beau leaned down and kissed his snout. "I've had Fudge since he was a baby. I mean, he's still a baby, but not as much of a baby as when I got him. He's a gentle little guy. Never did nothing to no one, just like his brothers and sisters. The man that owned him don't seem to care about Fudge's family, though. He's gonna cut them up and cook them, but they ain't food, they're my friends. They're my family."

"Please, won't you be an angel …" I stopped myself, because that line no longer made sense. "I'm asking you to take a stand. To say 'no more!' No more broken-hearted children mourning their best friend as they stare down at the Thanksgiving dinner. Enough is enough. What we're asking for is space from an angel. An angel like you."

"Fuck the patriarchy," Eulah Smith, owner and proprietor of Yoga By Eulah, said from the sidelines.

I blinked slowly at the camera, taking in a deep breath. "I'm not sure how that's relevant, Eulah, but thank you for your passion."

"We want meat that can't be beat!" Albert-slash-Leopold said.

"That's actually counter-productive to our entire message, but thanks, Leopold."

"It's Albert."

" It's about to die a slow death if it doesn't shut its mouth," I hissed through a gritted smile. "Please," I said again, into the camera. "Won't you be an angel—"

"It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," Danvers the diabolical dick tease shouted.

"You literally offered me a hand job at the airport. Shut up."

"We're still rolling," Brenda/Carole said, glaring at me like she was two seconds away from punching me directly in the eye.

"Would someone mind telling me what the heck is going on here?" Rivers finally asked, stepping into the shot.

"Please," I shouted frantically. "Won't you be an angel? These beautiful babes need a home."

"Why aren't you in school?" Rivers asked.

"I'm taking a stand, Daddy," Beau said, beaming with pride. "Like you taught me."

"Even a simple backyard would suffice," I shouted into the camera. "Or maybe a garage. For God's sake, it's only thirty pigs. It's not like I'm asking for a goddamn kidney."

Rivers knelt in front of his son, resting his hand on the kid's knee. "Buddy, you can't just skip school to protest. I've been working on this all morning. I told you I'd try to work something out."

"And I told you I'm not letting them kill Fudge's family. They didn't do nothing wrong. And stop looking at Phillip like you're mad at him. He didn't do nothing wrong, neither. He's only trying to help."

"I'm not mad at him, buddy," he said, though the look he shot me gave no credence to that claim. "But this isn't the way to handle things. We've got the fair opening in an hour. We can't have this going on while people are trying—"

"No!" he shouted. "This is a protest. Protests aren't supposed to be convenience stores."

"Huh?"

"Ah, for fuck's sake," Brenda/Carole grumbled. "Cut!"

"I think he means 'convenient,'" I attempted, thinking I might be of some help. The look Rivers gave me told me I hadn't. He reached for me, grabbing my hand and jerking me up from the stool.

"We need to talk. Now."

As he pulled away from the cameras, I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Brenda/Carole following behind to rescue me. But she was still with the crowd, unmoving. Her assistant approached, holding a handful of pills and a stack of handwritten signs. Brenda/Carole took the signs and began handing them out to the crowd.

What the hell? That wasn't part of the plan.

"What do we want?" someone in the crowd cried out.

"Justice for pigs!" the crowd answered back.

"When do we want it?"

"Before they've been killed!"

"Son of a gun," Rivers hissed, his nails digging into my wrist. "What the hell, Phillip? Are you trying to incite a riot? Do you know how bad this is going to look for me?"

I jerked my hand away and took a step back. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

"This isn't about you. This is about Beau. He's terrified that all the little pigs he's been trying to raise are going to wind up on your dining room table. You're worried about your career?"

Then I saw it. The anger. The bitterness. The look of complete betrayal swimming in his eyes. I knew prison-breaking his son out of school was a gamble, but this seemed excessive. Without saying a word, he pointed behind me, toward the crowd. I turned around, instantly realizing the source of his anger. The protestors were practically foaming at the mouth, screaming at some nonexistent foe in front of them as Brenda/Carole hyped them up.

"What the hell is she doing?" I mused.

"What do you think? She's trying to manufacture drama that doesn't exist. That's what she does. I've put up with it this long because I know you need this for your career, but I can't condone this. Next thing you know, she'll have them holding signs demanding I resign." His eyes widened in horror as he stared off into the distance. To my horror, Brenda/Carole had handed Albert-slash-Leopold a sign written in black sharpie that said, RECALL RIVERA. She moved to her next target, Danvers, and scrawled the same message on a sheet of yellow legal paper before handing it over.

I was moving before I even realized, clearing the distance separating me from the crowd in seconds. "This isn't a Rivers Rivera hate session," I said, snatching the sign out of Albert-slash-Leopold's hand. Danvers was standing beside him, and when I grabbed the sign out of his hand, he hissed, sucking in a sharp breath before crying out in pain.

"Son of a bitch. He just papercut the shit out of my hand," he shouted to the rest of the crowd. The crowd grew louder, chaotically shouting out their displeasure. I watched in horror as a Danvers' hand appeared in front of me. In the time it took to for me to blink, his fist swung forward, slamming into my nose. I heard a crunch, and then my vision went spotty as an unbearable wave of pain spread across my face.

"Fuck," I shouted, covering my nose with my hands. When I pulled them away, blood coated my skin. As muscadine madness spread through the crowd like a plague, someone scooped me up, throwing over their shoulder. As I was rushed away from the crowd, I watched Rivers unleashing holy hell on the protestors. He was splitting his time screaming and ranting at them, and shouting for Beau to follow after me. Jordan rushed into the crowd and scooped up Beau with one arm, and Fudge into the other.

Danvers was screaming something at Rivers I couldn't make out, then Rivers balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into his face. The person carrying me stopped when we were across the red brick road and lowered me to the ground.

"You okay?" Preston cupped my face in his hands, tilting it side to side as he assessed the damage. "Dammit, Phillip. I told you this was a bad idea." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He lifted it to my face and dabbed away the blood draining from my wound.

"He hit me," I said, still in shock. "I've been assaulted."

Preston rolled his eyes. "What the hell did you expect? I warned you about this." As he continued lecturing me, he held the cloth to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We need to get you looked at."

I turned around, trying to spot Rivers, but he wasn't in the crowd anymore. Wasn't by the camera crew. Wasn't heading back to town hall. Where the hell was he? I tried to head back toward the crew, thinking they might know where he'd gone, but Preston's grip was strong, anchoring me in place.

"I need to—"

"You need to get your damn nose looked at. That's what you need."

"But, Rivers—"

"Will be fine," he finished for me. "He's a grown man. He can handle himself. You on the other hand…" He sighed, squeezing the back of my neck. "We need to make sure you're okay. I'll go look for Mayor Rivera once we get you to the medic."

I nodded, unable to do much more.

Ten minutes later, I was—yet again—sitting in the back of the ambulance. My legs dangled over the bumper as a surly little man with a pinched expression nursed my wounds. After the bleeding stopped, he bandaged my nose and gave me something for the pain. With my broken parts patched and mended, I stood up and scanned my surroundings. Ahead of me, muscadine revelers had scattered across the city square. I was feeling a little woozy, but I wasn't sure if it was from blood loss, or the little white pill Brenda- will be getting an earful when I find her -Carole had given me.

I needed to find Rivers. To apologize for dragging him into this. I was hoping the whole Recall Rivers ordeal was well and truly over, and we might be able to laugh about it once he'd forgiven me.

Preston gave me an acknowledging nod. "Let's go find your boyfriend."

Resisting the urge to remind him that Rivers wasn't my boyfriend, I grabbed my father's hand and tugged him forward. We walked across from Minnie's, down the red brick road. We'd only made it a few steps beyond Foote's Feet when a man called out my name.

Riv.

I whirled around, excited to see his familiar face. His perfectly sculpted beard. His big brown eyes and unexplainably long lashes. The dimples in his cheek when he smiled at me and said…

"Phillip Fletcher?"

It was a man, just not the one I was hoping for. He was wearing black slacks with a matching button-down shirt. On the shirt, he had a fabulous little broach in the shape of a star.

"Oh, Christ," Preston grumbled, flinging his hands into the air.

"That's a pretty broach," I said to the man. The painkiller had finally kicked in, and I was feeling light and loose. "And what a cute little hat," I added, thumping the bill. The man reached up and slapped my hand away.

"Phillip Fletcher?" he asked again.

I shook my head. "Firecracker. Phillip Firecracker. At your service." Holding the tail of my imaginary skirt to the side, I offered the man a curtsy, twirling my hand grandly in front of me. "Would you like an autograph or something? I don't have a pen on me, but if you can help me pull off this bandage, I can probably sign it in blood.

The man stared at Preston, who's face had turned the darkest shade of red imaginable. "Is he okay?"

"Well…" Preston said, offering him a shrug.

The man reached to his waist and pulled two metal bangles from his belt clip. They jingled and jangled against each other as he unfastened them and placed one around my wrist.

"Listen, dude," I said, yawning loudly in the man's face. "Those are super pretty, but they don't really go with my ensemble. Brenda… or Carole… or maybe it's Tasha? Honestly, I'm not sure. Everyone else keeps calling her Bernadette, but that's a hideous name. Anyway, she's gonna be really mad if my accessories clash with my outfit."

"I'm sure," the man deadpanned, snapping it shut around my left wrist.

"I'm gonna be on TV again," I said, beaming with pride. "I'm gonna be a star, and then Brian O'Hare will rue the day he snubbed me." I eyed the man up and down. "You're kind of hot in a hillbilly sort of way. You wanna be on TV with me? We can go find Brenda- Tasha-not-Blanche-but maybe -Carole, and she'd be happy to let you do a cameo." He arched an eyebrow at me before turning me around and bringing my hand behind my back. The man's skin was rough, hardened, and callused. "You should look into getting some exfoliant. Your hands are super scratchy. Anyway, what do you think? You wanna be on my show?"

"Is he trying to bribe me?" the man asked my father.

"He's just a little out of it because of the pain meds they gave him. You ain't gotta arrest him for public intoxication."

"I'm not drunk," I argued, because I wasn't. "I'm just a little high."

"Ah, hell," Preston said, closing his eyes and sighing heavily.

"They gave me something super strong in the ambulance. I'm pretty sure my director roofied me, too. It's a good high, though. You know? Subtle. I can function." I scoffed at him. "I'm not an invalid, you don't have to hold on to my wrist like I don't know how to walk on my own." The man's eyebrows knitted together, making it appear like he had a unibrow. It wasn't an attractive sight, but his eyes were pretty. Big and brown, just like my mayor's. "Hey, guy with the pretty broach and dreamy eyes? Have you seen Mayor Rivera around? I've been looking for him all my life, but I can never seem to find him."

"Oh, you'll see him soon enough, son," he said with a chuckle.

"Dammit, Bobby," Preston said.

"I don't have a say in the matter. He hit the man."

"He ripped a sign out of his hand and gave him a papercut. Phillip's the one with the broken nose. Look at him."

"We've got witnesses saying he started it," the man said. "I'm sorry. I don't have any say in the matter, buddy. Just give us an hour or so to book him. Then you can come on into the station, and we'll work on getting him bonded out."

"I'm already bonded," I said, unsure if he was talking about me, but not wanting to take any chances. Rivers may have been angry with me, but if this man was going to try to bond me with someone else, that might make Rivers sad. I didn't want that. Sadness didn't suit him. He was sunshine and warmth and every bit of happiness in the world. "Preston?" I wasn't sure if my voice was laced with insistence or fear, but the name cracked in my throat as it came out, like shattering glass. " Dad ?"

Preston's breath hitched in his throat; a quiet, creaking, clicking sound.

"Dad?" I asked again. He had to know where Rivers was. I needed him to tell me so I could find him. So I could jump into Riv's arms and hug him and run my fingers through all that hair of his. So I could tell him I was sorry for upsetting him. Tell him he had to forgive me, because I hadn't done any of it to hurt him. I just wanted to keep Beau's heart safe from harm.

"Phillip," my dad said as a new hand found its way to me, resting on my shoulder.

"Where's Riv?"

My father and the man with the pretty broach mumbled some words to each other that I couldn't make out. "Just give me a damn second," Preston said, but I didn't think he was talking to me. He circled around until he was standing in front of me. "Hey, kid."

"Hey." I tried to wave, but I couldn't move my arms.

"I don't know what the hell they gave you in that ambulance, but you look like you're having the time of your life right now."

"Well, yeah. What's there to be sad about? I saved a bunch of pigs. Maybe. I don't know if it worked or not yet, but I've got a good feeling. And I got to hang out with you. Even got a little high somewhere along the way. Today was a good day."

"Glad you think so," he said with a chuckle. The sound seemed foreign coming from him, but I kind of wanted to hear more of it. He needed to smile more often instead of marinating in all of that silent rage of his. I didn't like the way he hid himself behind his hurt. Bricked himself in with upset and anger. But he was smiling now. A real smile.

"You ought to smile more often. It suits you."

"Think so?"

I nodded. "Bet Jordan would think so, too. If you see him, tell him I said 'hey.' And can you ask him if he's seen Rivers? I have to talk to him. Hug him and snuggle up next to him again like we did the other day." I sighed, probably dreamily. "He's a good snuggler. Have you seen him?"

"Phillip," he said, clapping his hand against the man with the broach's back. "This here is Bobby."

"Hey," I said, attempting to lift my hand and wave, but it wouldn't budge. It was like something was holding it behind my back. I didn't really care for the feeling.

"He's going to take you to see Rivers," Preston explained. "He'll make sure you get to him, okay? You're safe, and I'll be right behind to come and get you."

"You used to come and get me," I said. "Back when I was still a kid, and you didn't hate me so much. You remember when you used to come sign me out from school and take me to the movies?"

"I don't hate you," he said, his nostrils flaring. "I've never hated you."

"You'd take me to the movies, and we'd share one of those jumbo buckets of popcorn. Those were good times." I paused, contemplating. "I think those were the best times." And, because he was looking sad again, I leaned forward and pressed the side of my face against his chest. I wanted to hug him and tell him there wasn't any reason to be sad, because it was a beautiful day, and we'd gotten to share it together. With my hands still stuck behind my back, I had to make do with what I had. "Don't be sad, okay?"

"Not sad," he said, hardly even a whisper.

"Good." I nuzzled next to him for a few more seconds. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Quicker than you can say 'Phillip Firecracker,'" he whispered.

"That's me," I said to the other man. "I'm Phillip Firecracker. You're going to take me to find Rivers?"

"I'll take you there now, Mr. Firecracker."

"Good. Yeah. That's good." As we walked toward the courthouse, I glanced back over my shoulder. My dad's eyes were looking a little wet, but it was okay. He just wiped the wetness away and he was good as new.