I stared at his back as he walked away, fully expecting me to follow him. Instead, I strode to my truck and climbed in. As I pulled away, I saw him in my rearview mirror shouting for me to come back.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled off the highway and parked in front of The Roadhouse.
The scent of stale beer and cigarettes greeted me as I walked through the door, my vision adjusting to the dim interior. Multi-colored Christmas lights flashed behind the bar and a country singer wailed from tinny speakers that crackled on each note. I pulled up a stool at the bar, my arrival raising the total number of customers to four, and stared at my reflection in the Budweiser mirror behind the bar.
“Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in. You’re not looking so good, baby.” Colleen Madigan flipped the cap off a bottle of Bud and set it in front of me on a cardboard coaster. Reaching for the top shelf, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses that she set on the bar and filled to the brim. She raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to my boy. May he rest in peace. And here’s to you. Reese loved you something fierce. He couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”
We downed the shots and set our glasses on the bar. The whiskey burned a trail down my throat. Like battery acid. That’s what lies tasted like. She refilled my shot glass and I knew she would keep them coming until I was too drunk to walk out of here.
Reese looked so much like his mother. He’d inherited her auburn hair, blue eyes, and pale freckled skin. Whenever Lila used to send me care packages, she sent one to Reese too, and she always made sure to include sunscreen. Ever since that day at the swimming hole, it had become their little inside joke.
I wanted to tell Reese’s mom what really happened that day. I wanted to tell her it was my fault Reese was dead. I wasn’t the hero she thought I was. The official report was that I’d gotten shot in the head trying to save a fellow Marine. A fallen brother.
Reese once told me he’d follow me anywhere. We were just kids when he said that. And then, years later, he followed me to boot camp and he followed me to Infantry School and all the way to Afghanistan.
But I’d failed him.
Now Reese was dead, and I was alive.
I was a failure.
I didn’t think I deserved to be alive.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jude
“Jude. Wake up.”
I pulled the pillow over my head to block out the noise and the light. Fuck, my head was going to explode. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me. I swatted her hands away then tightened my grip on the pillow she was trying to rip away from me.
“Would you just fucking stop?” I snarled. I hadn’t slept in three days. Maybe a week. At this point, who was counting?
“Jude. Something’s wrong. You need to get out of bed.”
“What’s wrong? Your little flower arrangements aren’t perfect?” I mumbled.
“You asshole.” She shoved my shoulder and I heard her footsteps retreating then the door slammed shut and I closed my eyes again.
How many sleeping pills had I taken? Didn’t matter. They were doing their job. They kept the nightmares at bay.
When I woke up, it was dark outside and I had no idea what time it was or even what day it was. My stomach growled and I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten.
I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and jammed my feet in my Nikes then walked down the hallway to the bathroom. The Christmas lights from our tree glowed blue in the living room. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
As I washed my hands at the sink, I stared at myself in the mirror. Who the fuck was this? It didn’t even look like me. I shook the water off my hands and ran them through my hair. It was still short. Lila hated it but every time it started growing out, I gave myself a buzz cut. I didn’t even know what compelled me to do it. On the flip side, I hadn’t shaved in at least a week and this was more like a beard than stubble.
Shit, man, pull yourself together.
A sniff test told me I smelled bad. Just rolled out of a dumpster after sleeping in it for a week bad.
I needed a shower. I needed food. But first I needed to apologize to Lila and find out what she’d wanted.
I called her name but got no answer. The apartment was small, so it took less than two minutes to confirm that she wasn’t here. I picked up my cell phone from the kitchen counter and scrolled through the texts I’d missed.
The words blurred on the screen. For a few seconds I just stood there in silence, staring at my phone with my heart hammering in my ears, before a scream ripped from my throat.
“Fuuuck!”
I punched the wall next to the refrigerator. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. Blood dripped down my arm and I barely felt the sting from my busted knuckles.
Gripping the counter, I hung my head and tried to breathe.
No. No, no, no, fucking no.
Pushing off the counter, I spun around and kicked the recycling bin, sending empty bottles and cans flying across the kitchen floor, the glass shattering on the tiles. “You worthless piece of shit.”
Grabbing my keys from the counter, I locked the door behind me and jogged down the stairs.
It wasn’t too late, I told myself. I could still be there for her. I could hold her hand. Help her through this. Be the man she needed.
I jumped into my truck, threw it into reverse and hit the gas. A horn blared and I slammed on the brakes, my tires screeching as I came to a full stop and
