Chapter 43
Tad
Abigail’s shirt rests in my lap, the smell of her mingling with the scent of Breezy as it clings to the fabric. I fiddle with the glass of water in front of me, watching as condensation beads up and runs down on the wood surface of Clay’s bar, puddling in a ring.
Clay and Marty rush around behind the bar, serving customers, but I don’t pay much mind to anyone other than the people in my thoughts.
Breezy. Abigail. Lucy.
Two lost forever, and the other probably well and gone and on her way to somewhere, anywhere but here with me.
Fuck.
I can still hear their laughter, still see their smiles—still feel the guilt of letting them down like it’s fucking yesterday.
And now, I’m failing again. Breezy and the baby.
Myself. Randy. Everyone who’s ever fought for me—I’m disrespecting every fucking one.
All because I can’t find a way to cope out loud.
Can’t find a way to get the stupid words out of my throat. Can’t find a way to—
I shake my head. Fuck, I need a drink.
Whistling down the bar to get Clay’s attention, I set Abby’s shirt on the stool to my left and sink my head into my hands.
A million memories of all the fights we had, from big to small, run through my head like a fucking torture chamber.
All the stupid reasons, all the stubborn moments I kept my head in my ass instead of apologizing, all the chances to say I’m sorry I didn’t take nearly fucking fast enough…
“Hey, kid,” a deep voice says, startling me from the right. I’m expecting it to be Clay, but instead, it’s the sheriff, sliding onto the stool next to me uninvited. “Little early in the day to be looking so much like shit, isn’t it?”
“Little early in the day to be at the bar while you’re on duty, isn’t it?” I toss back, but it only makes him laugh.
“Just came in for a glass of water, that’s all.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “Sure.”
I know Sheriff Pete’s dirty little secret—that he sneaks in here from time to time for a drink or two just to get through the day.
Nobody else thinks much of it, I guess, but I know why he does it, unfortunately.
I know just as well as him—sometimes it’s the only thing that’ll numb the pain.
His wife passed away not too long ago, and he’s never been the same since.
Sure, he plays at flirting with Eileen from time to time, but he’s never moved on to anyone else for real.
“What’s got you so churned up?” the sheriff asks, and I shake my head.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I can see that. I ain’t blind. Still. Maybe you should talk about it anyway.”
“Listen, old man, if I was gonna talk about it, I wouldn’t talk about it with you. I’d talk about it with—”
Blunt realization hits me between the eyes like the sharp end of a pry bar. If I were going to talk about it with anyone, it’d be the very woman I’ve been boxing out. Breezy isn’t just a houseguest or a fling or a casual fucking lay like I thought she’d be—she’s my future.
She’s the spark I’ve been missing, the reason I’m willing to live again.
I fucking love her.
And holding back now isn’t protecting me or her—it’s destroying us in a bout of self-sabotage that could be studied by the world’s foremost psychologists and still not be understood.
“Pete, I gotta go.”
“Yeah.” He grins at me like he can actually see inside my fucking head. “That’s what I thought. Glad I could be of service getting your head outta your ass.”
I still have a chance to make this right. To tell her my story and beg her to forgive me for holding her at arm’s length for so long.
A chance to have her and our baby and grow old together. A chance at happiness I never thought I’d have again.
I dig in my pocket for some cash, tossing a few bills on the bar and waving at Clay and Marty with a two-finger flick.
They both jerk their chins in reply, and I grab the flannel from the stool next to me and head out the front door, my eyes adjusting to the soft light of the fading sun with a jolt.
I look up to the sky, stopping there and taking a deep breath.
As I let the air out, I feel cleansed by clarity. What I want, what I need to do to have it—it all seems so simple now.
Sheriff Pete bumps into my back as he comes running out the door behind me, apologizing blindly until he sees it’s me, and then freezes dead in his tracks, his eyes troubled.
“What’s up, Pete?” I ask as he rubs the top of his head frantically. Sirens in the distance catch my attention before he can answer, growing closer by the second until the fire trucks are in sight and flying by in a hurry.
I turn back to Pete, his upset making sense—too much sense—in one, soul-crushing moment.
Sheriff Peeler is contrite, doing his best to be comforting, but I’m already a mile deep on a spiral no other human on this earth could possibly imagine. “I’m sorry, Tad. It’s your place. Nor and Ben just called it in, but said your truck had come and gone, so you wouldn’t be home.”
“Fuck!”
“Tad!” Pete yells as I take off for my truck at a run.
“Breezy’s inside!” I yell back without stopping, jumping in and starting it so fast, I swear my tires are spitting gravel before my ass even hits the seat.
Time slows down into a chasm, and my nightmares take shape in the light of day.
I can’t fucking do this again.
I won’t survive it.