Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I wasn’t. I wasn’t even close.
“So—so when will you be back?” she asked, clearly confused by the change in my demeanor.
“I’m not sure.” I got in the truck, hesitating before closing the door. “I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” She attempted a smile. “I missed you on my run.”
I steeled myself. “I have to go.”
“Oh.” She took a step back, the hurt obvious in her expression. “Okay.”
I shut the door and started the engine, keeping my eyes off her as I backed out of the drive and took off down the road. Fat drops of rain began to pelt the windshield.
I’d committed some unspeakable acts in my past, but leaving her there on the side of the driveway, alone and sad and clearly worried, felt as wrong as anything I’d ever done.
The weight of it was nearly unbearable.
It got worse as the day went on. I unloaded the trucks and helped move all the ceremony furniture inside, which meant tearing down some of the reception tables and chairs. Those would have to be put back into place once the ceremony had concluded, during cocktail hour.
I could’ve used a cocktail. Or at least a bottle of tequila.
The bride arrived, upset about the weather. I listened as April reassured her that rain on your wedding day was good luck, and felt like spitting.
It’s a lie. Don’t believe it, I wanted to say to her. It rained on my wedding day too, and the marriage was a fucking disaster.
But what could anyone expect? Nothing got stronger over time—not people, not houses, not relationships. Things started to weaken. The joints. The bones. The foundation. You wound up in the dust no matter what you did. So why bother?
Stella texted in the middle of the afternoon, and seeing her name on my screen was painful. I wanted nothing more than to go home after this shitty day, get out of my damp clothing, and curl up in bed with her. Tell her everything. Let her hold me and tell me I was okay, even if I didn’t feel it.
But I had to stay strong.
I didn’t answer her.
Later, Mack messaged me that he’d gotten a sitter and would meet me at Bayside Grill at seven, after he fed the kids dinner.
What’s for dinner? I texted back, remembering how the squad had looked for levity even in the darkest hours.
Go fuck yourself, he replied.
I wanted to smile but couldn’t.
I stayed at work, hiding in the stables doing meaningless, unnecessary tasks until it was nearly time to meet Mack. I arrived an hour early, sat at the bar, and polished off two beers and a burger. Mack arrived, drenched from the rain, and took the seat next to me.
“Hey,” he said. Then he sniffed. “Were you in the stables today?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I tipped up my third beer. “I haven’t been home yet to clean up.”
He kept looking at me, but I stared straight ahead.
“They needed you all day?” he asked.
I still didn’t answer.
Mack shrugged out of his wet jacket and ordered a beer and some tacos. “How’s it going with Stella?”
“It’s not.”
He stopped with his arm halfway out of his sleeve. “Did she leave town?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged.
“I thought you liked her.”
“I do.”
“What’s the problem?” Mack’s beer arrived, and he thanked the bartender before taking a sip.
“The problem is that I’m not capable of maintaining the kind of relationship she wants.”
“How the hell do you know that? You met her on what—Monday?”
“Because I know, all right?” I snapped. “Things got too serious too fast, and I realized I was making a huge mistake.”
He stared at me a moment. “Okay.”
I continued to drink without looking at him, scared that he’d read the truth in my face.
“You just seemed … I don’t know, really into her.”
“Well, I wasn’t. It was a stupid mistake to sleep with her.” At least that much was true. Because even though I was acting as if I was indifferent, I wasn’t feeling indifferent at all. I’d been trying all day to switch off my feelings for her, and it wasn’t working.
I was starting to panic a little.
“I mean, look at Bones. Look what happens when you let yourself go around feeling things.”
“You’re not Bones, Ryan.”
“You’re goddamn right I’m not. Because I know better.”
“And you’re not responsible for his death. He put a bullet in his own head. It was his choice.”
“He never would have chosen it if Kopecki hadn’t died.”
“You don’t know that. Look, I’m not saying that Bones was okay. He wasn’t. And he knew it—his mom told me this afternoon that he’d contacted the VA about needing help.”
I finally looked at Mack. “What happened?”
“They sent him a letter telling him he’d hear back in eight to ten weeks.”
Glaring straight ahead again, I finished off my beer and ordered another.
“You know what Stella said the other night?” I heard myself asking.