Whispered Prayers of a Girl

I pull two beers from the fridge and hand one to James. I don’t drink often, but I always keep a few in the fridge just in case I feel the need for one. I pop the top, flick the cap in the trash, and take a couple pulls.

James does the same, then sets his bottle down on the bar. Tapping his thigh, he calls, “Up, Gigi.” She jumps and places her front paws on his lower stomach. “How’re the babies doing, girl?” She gives her answer by licking his hand.

“How’s Bandit?” he asks once Gigi drops back to four legs.

“Still a stubborn bastard,” I rumble.

He chuckles. “So, he’s still kicking your ass, you mean?”

I grit my teeth, beyond frustrated with the animal. “He damn near bit my hand off yesterday when I tried to feed him an apple. Then almost busted through the wood on the side wall of his stall. I had to move Bella to another stall because she was becoming agitated.”

He takes another pull from his beer, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know, man. It might be a lost cause with that one.”

I grunt at the suggestion. “No horse is untrainable. He just

needs to learn that I’m the bigger male. Mutual respect for each other is paramount when training horses. He hasn’t learned to respect me yet, but he will.”

I turn and open the fridge, grabbing out lunch meat, lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Dropping it on the counter, I ask, “You want?”

“I’m good.” He finishes off his beer and tosses the bottle in the trash. “I just wanted to stop by and catch up. I gotta get back to town before poor Miss Mable has a fit because I haven’t come by to see her.”

Miss Mable is his seventy-year-old neighbor and has appointed herself his honorary second mother. His father left when he was eight years old, so his mom had to take on the role of mother and father. She worked two full-time jobs to support her five kids, meaning she wasn’t around much. When we were kids, Miss Mable would have us both over for homemade cookies several times a week. Being kids, we loved cookies, so we never complained. Over the years, she still insisted James come over at least twice a week to sit with her and enjoy her delicious snack. He complains now, but I know he secretly loves the old woman. She was there for him when his mom couldn’t be, and has earned a permanent place in his life.

I chuckle. “Next time you come out, bring me some of her snickerdoodles.”

“Will do.” He laughs.

Any other friend would have insisted I go get them myself, trying to force me back into society. One of the many reason James and I have stayed in contact since Clara and Rayne died is because he doesn’t tiptoe around me and doesn’t try to force me to get over losing them. He respects that I’m a grown-ass man and can make my own damn decisions.

He also doesn’t look at me any different than before the accident. My scars mean absolutely nothing to him.

“Since when do you wear earrings?” James asks, tipping his chin toward the bar.

I don’t need to look to see the small hoop earrings lying on the counter. I found them on my bedside table the day Gwen left and they’ve been sitting on the bar ever since.

I give him a look that has his eyebrows raising.

“Who is she?” he asks, taking my look for something it’s not.

“No one,” I mutter, slapping some ham down on top of a slice of mayonnaise-covered bread.

“Bullshit. The only women you’ve had in this house have been your mother and sister, and I know they haven’t been for a visit in a while now.”

“Leave it.” I peel off a layer of lettuce and slap that down on top of the ham. “She’s no one important.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Gwen is definitely more than no one. I just haven’t figured out what she is, and I’m scared as shit about it.

“It’s okay to move on, Alexander,” James says, his deep voice turning softer. “Clara would want you to.”

I look up and shoot him a glare. Slamming the jar of mayonnaise down on the counter, I growl, “What if I don’t want to move on? I don’t fucking deserve to move on.”

His expression turns hard. “That’s bullshit and a cop-out if I ever heard one. Stop fucking blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”

My chest heaves as both anger and grief grip me. I know in my head what he’s saying is true, but my fucking heart just won’t get on board. It insists that there was some way I could have saved them.

Placing my hands on the counter, I hang my head, trying to rein in the lashing I want to give James.

“Look, I get it.” When I lift my head to tell him he gets nothing, he continues, as if knowing what I’m about to say. “I may not know from experience what you’re going through, but I still get it. I know it has to be hard, but fuck, Alexander, you can’t live with that regret for the rest of your life and never move on. I’ve left you be, and I’ll continue to do so because I’ve got no right to try to push you into something you aren’t ready for yet, but don’t give up. Don’t close down the option of building something with someone else. You’ll die miserable and with a lot more regret than you carry now.”

I drop my head again, wanting so damn badly to take his words and run with them. To leave the past in the past and look forward to a future. An image of Gwen pops in my head, and it causes a rush of adrenaline through my veins. If offered the chance, I’d give almost anything to have that future with her.