Free Rough (RRR #2) by Kimball Lee Page B

his glass. I notice that Campbell’s gracious decorum where curse words are concerned has worn off, he’s plenty comfortable using them now that the scotch is coursing through his veins. I really want to know what’s going on with Gigi so I look at Holt, but he shakes his head emphatically so I don’t press for a more coherent answer.
    We spend most of the afternoon touring the rest of the house and then we sit by the pool in the hundred-degree heat and watch the boys swim. They shout and splash and have a blast before the counselors coax them out of the water and they reluctantly climb back on the bus. We’re quiet for a while after they leave, who can say what the future holds for those kids— Joys or sorrows, foster homes where they might find a measure of stability, and the hope beyond hope—families to adopt and cherish them.
    “I hate to hear about kids being mistreated, it’s inexcusable.” Campbell says and he and Holt exchange a knowing glance. From what I’ve heard, Wes McCauley and Tom Corrigan raised their sons by the laws of bitterness and cruelty.
    “I don’t know about you,” Holt says, glancing at Campbell before he takes a glass from a server who brings a tray loaded with scotch, iced tea and pretty, puffy cookies she calls tea-cakes. “But my old man’s inexcusable brand of parenting ends with him, no kids for me.”
    “You don’t want children?” I ask and my throat is suddenly dry and tight. “Never, not with anyone? What if you fall in love?”
    “Probably a wise decision. Wes and Tom did a real number on us, didn’t they? Even my dear fierce mother couldn’t save us from their fists and knife blades,” Campbell says, he skips the iced tea and has been hitting the scotch-on-the-rocks hard since lunch. “What about Miss Scarlet? Sounds like she’s interested in propagating the species. But let’s hope her friend Gigi isn’t the motherly type, a DNA test would definitely be in order.”
    “How dare you say a word against Gigi? Who gives a shit if you inherited a butt-load of cows and money, you are so far beneath her,” I say, and feel like slapping the arrogant smirk off his face when Holt speaks up.
    “You need to shut the fuck up Campbell, you’re drunk and getting stupider by the minute. You do realize that Gigi is Scarlet’s close friend? We don’t want to hear how you’re fucking that up for Jon-Wylder. You need to get to your shit together and stop letting your past mistakes lead you around by the dick.”
    “Yeah, maybe you’re right, Holt. But why don’t you ask Scarlet, maybe she and Gigi are more alike than you think. How about it, Scarlet, you up for a threesome with me and Holt? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, growing up out here in fucking no-man’s-land we had to make our own brand of fun with the local girls. Me and Holt and my brothers in the hayloft with the cheerleading squad after our high school football games, trashy, but like it or not, we are our father’s sons. Who knows, Scarlet, with me you might get a baby out of the deal.” Campbell says just before he’s thrown backward when Holt’s fist crashes into his face. “Fuck! Settle down, hoss,” Campbell says when Holt reaches down, grabs the front of his shirt, and hauls him to his feet. Holt’s face is pure unadulterated fury, as he draws his fist back ready to beat the living daylights out of Campbell.
    “Don’t, Holt,” I say. “He drank too much, who cares what you did in high school, it’s not worth fighting over.”
    Campbell is as tall as Holt but not as wide, his body isn’t as bulky and iron-muscled from constant manual labor, but he could definitely hold his own in a fight. He and Holt stare at each other and then Campbell steps around him and reaches for a napkin to staunch the blood flowing from his broken nose. “I’m gonna let that slide cuz I’m a drunken asshole and I deserved it,” Campbell says. “I’m sorry for what I said, and that this fine