“All right. I’ll take you after my shift. Chill here.” It’s nice of her to offer. They don’t seem like people who had a fling, so her behavior must be a small-town thing.
“Nah, I’ll drive.” He waves her off dismissively. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Seat and wait here.” She points a red-tipped finger in front of him.
“I’ll take him.” I was already going to drive him home, but this conversation was too hilarious not to watch. This pint-sized woman ordering this big dude around was entertaining. “Give me his address.”
“You sure?” Rory chews on her lips, carefully watching my face. “Do I know you enough to give you his address?”
I quirk a brow. “You knew me well enough to practically offer meyouraddress.” It should have thrown her off, but she just laughs it off.
“Fair.” She walks to the left of the bar, takes a pen, and scribbles something on a napkin. Then she comes back and passes it to me. “He has a mean dog, be careful. Hope to see you soon again.” She winks and walks away.
“Di’ Rory hit on you?” Mark slurs from his chair.
“I guess she did,” I answer as I type his address in my phone and see it’s only seven minutes away. Cool, we’ll take his car, and I can walk back. I could use some air to clear my head.
“She ’oes it to everyone. Sush a free ’pirit.” He tries to stand but fails, so I help him.
“Let’s go.” We walk outside where I open my palm in front of his face. “Keys?”
“What? Don’ wanna check ma pocke’?” He laughs at his own joke.
I roll my eyes.
He places the keys into my open palm, and I hit the panic button. A sound comes from two cars down the parking lot. We walk toward his truck, where he climbs in the passenger seat without a fight. Thank fuck. My mood for nice conversations is gone.
“I didn’ know I can love someone like dat, ya know,” he says a few minutes into the drive. “And I didn’ know someone can love me.Me. The poor schmuck from da trailer side.”
Here lies another problem, and I can’t do anything to help him unless he will accept himself, so I glance at him and offer generic advice. “Understand your worth, and then you can bring something to the table. It doesn’t matter how much money you make or what car you drive. How you feel yourself is what matters. And it’s exactly how others will see you.”
He stares ahead of himself, not indicating if he’s heard me or not. But my work here is done anyway.
I park next to a well-maintained house, well loved and lived in. It obviously costs ten times less than mine, but I’d pick this one any day over my cold, soulless monstrosity. This house feels like home—another reason why it’s too late for me.
He gets out of the car, and I walk with him toward the door. He takes the keys from me and unlocks it. A huge German shepherd jumps on the man, covering his face with sloppy kisses. See, I can’t even get a fucking dog because I’m so fucking unreliable.
Mark turns toward me and asks. “Wanna come in?”
I snort. “I’m done with your sob story. Get your ass inside.”
“Fucker.” He laughs and walks into the house. His happy dog is at his feet. He sits in the chair next to the door and tries to take his shoes off. “What’s your name?”
“Archie.”
“Alex Crowley’s friend?” His brow rises.
“Yeah. You know him?”
“Everyone knows him. He’s a hero.” A note of admiration in his voice makes me want to bite my tongue.
We certainly don’t see ourselves as heroes, even though some people call us that, but I hear myself saying, “Yeah, he is.” And he is. I think he really is. It was not his fault.
It was mine.
My mood changes drastically, and I start walking backward from his porch.
“Thanks for the advice.” He sounds soberer now. “I’ll work on myself before going to her.”
