“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say. The fucking irony. Small towns are not for me, Aubree. I’m destined for so much more. He treated this town like a disease, wanting to sprint away from here as fast as he could when, in reality, he knows this is the best place to be. “Hey . . . language.” Ryland nods toward Mac, who is drinking her milk with two hands on the cup. “Sorry. But . . . are you fucking serious?” “Aubree,” Ryland warns again. Mac sets her drink down and wipes the back of her hand over her mouth before saying, “Uncle Ry Ry, you say fuck all the time.”
