The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Shame. She was having a blast when I swung by the other day with the girls,” he says, stroking his beard. “I was thinking she might move in with Thelma for good. I’d rather see her do that than move into senior housing in Dickinson or Miles City. I think she’ll get too bored and go stir-crazy.”

I’d never thought of that, but I nod in agreement.

“They get along so well. Plus, I bet she’d be an asset in Thelma’s shopping wars with Granny Coffey. Maybe I’ll drop a subtle hint or two.”

“Or three or four,” Grady says with a laugh.

Smiling, I stand up. “I’ll let you know how it goes, Unc.”

“Thanks, West, and don’t forget my advice.”

Stopping, I dig around in my pocket and toss a nickel. It lands next to him with a clatter.

“What’s this? I don’t take tips from you.”

I just give him a wink and walk away.

* * *

My mind is glued to Shelly for the entire drive to my aunt’s.

If her heart wasn’t perma-broken years ago when I never sent those letters, I’m sure it is now with that summer fling bullshit I coughed up. I lied to us both.

If she was just a damn fling, I wouldn’t have shot her between the eyes purely so I could save face.

That’s all it was.

Saving. Fucking. Face.

And for who? Marty? God? My own ego?

Yeah, I’ve got to talk to her. Sooner would be better than later, but nothing has changed with me. All the instincts in the world howling at me to find her and fall to my knees with a gut-wrenching apology can’t change what I am.

It can’t change the stabbing fact that she deserves so much more than I can ever give.

If I was as confident as everybody else that I’m stronger—that I’m fixed—maybe it’d be different.

But the ugly truth remains. I never thought I’d become dependent on the bottle the way I had.

Who knows what other bad habits I might fall into when I’m still haunted by the metallic stink of human blood, the crack of bullets, the metal confetti that tore bigger heroes than I’ll ever be apart—

No, fuck. There’s no guarantee at all the pain won’t chew me to the bone and lead me into another trap.

Shel needs to go home before I make her suffer.

She needs to forget Dallas, lose herself in old-timey things, and find some city slicker with a gold-plated dick to build a life with.

Marty was right about one thing—her being happy is what always mattered the most.

Hell, I’ll be better off knowing she’ll never be around to witness my self-destruction.

Some shit in life you can’t plan for.

Just like I never planned on a dark night of hell pinned under rubble—or that a few crushing headaches would turn me into a drunken wrecking ball.

I turn the corner to Aunt Faye’s street and notice her van isn’t in the driveway. Must be in the garage.

A smile pulls at my lips, thinking it’s the first time in ages she’s been able to park inside it.