Free All-American Girl by Justine Dell

the side, his brown eyes narrowing into slits. “No warm welcome for me? No ‘how’s it been,’ or ‘glad to see ya’?” Cole jerked his arms up and stumbled, catching himself on the side of the truck.
    Lance dusted off his pants and crammed the rag in his pocket. “When’d you get back in town?”
    “Oh…about a week ago. I’m renting the old Harry place.” Cole jerked his thumb behind him.
    Lance nodded. He hadn’t seen Cole in months, and he’d been wondering how he was doing, considering Cole was a heavy drinker. Cole looked okay, but by no means was he sober. What a shame. As a drunk, Cole was rude, overbearing, loud, and obnoxious. Cruel things no one should have to hear—ever—often came out of his mouth.
    “Good to see you’re alive,” Lance replied. “I’ve been worried about you since you skipped out from the treatment center.”
    Cole leaned against the hood. “Didn’t care much for it. Like the world better through my beer goggles.” He laughed, but Lance didn’t see anything funny about it.
    “What?” Cole asked when Lance didn’t reply. “You too good to share a laugh with me?” He took a step forward and tripped over his own left foot. Lance caught him and helped him upright. “Get your hands off of me, damn it!” Cole squealed.
    “Go home, Cole. You’re drunk.”
    Cole shook it off and straightened his shirt. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’ve been doing that long enough.”
    Lance shrugged. “I’ve only been trying to help. My stepfather was an alcoholic. I’ve seen what it does to people, to families. I don’t want to that to happen to you.”
    “Bullshit. You think you know what’s best for me?”
    “I didn’t say that. But—” Lance held his tongue. It wouldn’t do any good to fight with him. Lance had learned that lesson long ago. “If you don’t want my help anymore, fine. But I will ask you to do this: Your grandmother has been sick, and you should go see her at the recovery center on Grant Street.”
    “Maybe.” Cole leaned against the truck again and cocked his eyebrow. “I stopped by Gram’s house late last night. There weren’t any lights on. A car in the drive with New York plates, though. Samantha back in town?”
    Lance opened the passenger side door and grabbed a clean shirt off the seat. “Yup, she’s here to look after Dorothy.”
    “’Bout time she came around to do something.”
    “She’s not the only one who needs to do something.”
    Cole slammed the truck door, barely giving Lance enough time to step out. He raked a hand through hair the exact auburn shade as Samantha’s. “What’s that supposed to mean? She’s been worthless for the past twelve years, hiding away in that penthouse or whatever she’s got, not caring about anyone but herself.” He poked a finger in his own chest. “Not caring about me. She left us because of you, you know.”
    That opened the lid to Lance’s barely-restrained temper. “What did you say?”
    “It’s your fault she left.”
    “Yeah, you already told me that—remember? About how she thought I wasn’t good enough for her.” Lance yanked off his shirt and slipped on the clean one. “I remember it like it was yesterday, damn it.”
    A dirty smile crossed Cole’s face. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how Samantha felt about you.”
    “I know,” he ground out through clenched teeth. But it didn’t explain why she was so damn mean to him. He stepped toward Cole until only a few inches separated them. “But understand this: How Sam feels about me is none of your concern anymore. She’s a grown woman. I don’t want to hear you say things like that about your sister—your flesh and blood—ever again, or you’ll have me to answer to.”
    Cole shrugged carelessly. “Fair enough. Maybe I’ll go by and see her later.”
    “Make sure you’re cleaned up first,” Lance bit out.
    Cole patted Lance’s shoulder as he limped back onto the sidewalk. “See you ’round,