I browsed the beer section, burning time until the woman left. When the bells signaled her departure, I hauled my poison up to the counter, keeping my chin down and letting my gaze study the worn, beige countertop between Bill and me.
I’d come to know Bill over the years, but he kept conversation surface level most of the time—not much of a chatterbox or a gossip. Most likely, he wouldn’t spill my business to other people. Hopefully, because I didn’t have many choices. I either took my chance with Bill, made the drive to Kerrville, or went home without something to numb the pain.
And my heart was being ripped to shreds. Going without wasn’t an option. Sobriety be damned.
I thunked my basket down without looking up. “Evening, Bill.”
He regarded me. “Jesse. How are you tonight?”
“Just fine, sir. You?”
“Better than I deserve.” Bill reached into the basket, his hand faltering a moment when it met the stout glass neck of a bourbon. Slowly, he lifted it, and a beep filled the silence.
He drew a stiff inhale. “They gettin’ that ranch all spiffed up?”
“Yep. The big day’s Saturday.”
I shifted in discomfort as he lifted my rye whiskey next. He seemed to move in slow motion—why was he taking so long? I wished he’d hurry so I could hightail it.
But there was a long pause.
And no beep.
Bill cleared his throat.
I chanced a glance, tipping my gaze to his face to see what the hold up was. He stood there, his old blue eyes staring straight into mine. He clutched the bottle in his wrinkled fist, a sad look clouding his expression. I immediately looked away, heat rising up my neck.
Bill wasn’t one to make conversation, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching. He was plenty in tune with the people in our tiny community. Every soul in Comfort came for his groceries. Every truck stopped for his gas. Every drunk filtered in and out of his shop just before closing time.
I thought I could shop without scrutiny, but clearly, I was wrong.
Shame coiled in my gut. What would Laurel think of me?
I’d takeanythought over that one right now.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. So I shut it and let my gaze fall back to the counter top. My swallow hurt my throat as feelings pulled against every muscle in my neck.
His tone grew as soft as his smoker rasp would allow. “Jesse.” I looked up in time to see him shake his head. “Another drunk around here would do wonders for business, but…” He looked to my basket. “You sure you wanna do this?”
I stared at him, incapable of responding.
He continued. “How long you been sober?”
Heat lifted into my cheeks, and dammit I knew they were turning red—a trait I hated. My voice scraped. “Four years.”
“That’s a lot of time to throw away.”
I shook my head. “I just…need something to get me to Monday.”
“Is this ‘cause of the wedding?”
My inhale hurt as I shrugged. “I guess so.” But it was so much more. Yeah, Tag’s wedding, but also the season—spring took her away from me and Cade’s smile looked a little more like hers every day. “I can hardly breathe.”
“This right here won’t help that. You’ll just wake up tomorrow with another problem.” Bill set the rye back in my basket. “Listen, I’vegot too much respect for you and everyone else out at Meadowbrook to not say something. You’re good people. And this stuff hurts good people.”
I nodded, feeling childish and wishing I could come up with something to say. “Yeah” was the only thing that came out.
I didn’t always feel tortured like this. In many ways, I’d been doing great. Hell, I’d been an exemplary widower, moving through life just fine. But if I’d learned anything about grief in the last six years, it was this:it doesn’t always make sense.
