The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Get in here already,” I hiss, shoving the door wide open so he can make it over the threshold with his crutches. “Come sit before you hurt yourself. Discharged or not, you should still be resting.”

“You’re repeating yourself,” he says.

“Um, yeah, because you shouldn’t be here!”

He chuckles and swaggers inside like it’s no more difficult than walking over to the B&B from his place next door.

I almost forget to lock the door before I whirl around to face him.

“Now, what are you doing here?” I ask, blinking in disbelief.

He sets the crutches on the floor, along with an overstuffed bag hanging off one shoulder. He keeps a black book of some sort tucked under one arm.

“What does it look like?” Shaking his head, he says, “I’m sorry, Shel. All I ever wanted to do was protect you. Keep you safe. I thought that meant keeping you away from me, once upon a time.”

He goes quiet.

I raise an eyebrow, breathlessly waiting for more.

“I’m here, so clearly I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore. So...screw it. You know how I am with words.” He shrugs, then pulls that folder out from under his arm. “First, I owe you an explanation for the elephant in the room. Read.”

He pushes the folder toward me.

Blinking, I take it warily, studying him as I whisper, “What’s this?”

“Read, Shelly,” he repeats, his eyes hardening.

“At least sit first,” I say, leading him over to the sofa, just a few steps away. “Do you need something? Coffee? Water?”

“I need your eyes, woman,” he says softly. “Just give me ten minutes. Read.”

O-kay.

I’m trying not to tremble as I get us both settled next to each other. Why does it feel like this thing weighs a hundred pounds?

I’m so taken aback by the weirdness that the air locks in my lungs, and when it comes out, I start coughing. I tug at the sweater I put on to hide the bruises on my neck.

He lays a big hand on my back.

“Is your throat still sore? Do you need water? Marty said you couldn’t talk, but—dammit, hold on. I’ll get you some water.”

“No,” I whisper, grasping his hand as I clear my throat. “Not until I’ve had a look at...whatever this is.”

He settles back in his seat as I open the folder. It’s holding what looks like a fat bundle of handwritten pages, many of them smudged, worn, yellowed.

We glance at each other as I pull the first one out. He nods slowly, never taking those midnight-blue eyes off me.

It’s a letter, I realize, his unmistakable writing slashed across the page in even lines.

Shel,

Why did the envelope take so long to get ready? It had to get addressed.

I’m sorry I haven’t written since basic. After two weeks over here, Fort Benning feels like a palace and Dallas might be heaven.

Just saying hi to make sure you don’t miss me. Give Marty hell for me.

Tears sting my eyes. I rifle through a few more pages, noticing each letter is dated a few months apart. The early ones are short and full of jokes so dumb they’d make anyone else cringe.