Page 10 of Firefly Embers

“There,” I said definitively, releasing his hand. He looked up at me, a confused expression on his face.

“That’s it?” he questioned.

“Yep. Three squeezes. One for each word in ‘best friends forever,’” I said with an air of confidence. The handshake wasn’t elaborate, but it felt natural, and it was subtle enough to be hidden from anyone else. It felt right.

“Okay. Best friends forever,” he said, grabbing hold of my hand again and squeezing three times in quick succession just like I had done. He let go as quickly as he’d grabbed it, and I suddenly wished he didn’t have to leave. But I could see Mama sitting on the porch waiting for me, a grumpy look on her face.

“I’ll see you later,” I said as I walked toward the back of my house, waving animatedly over my shoulder.

“See you later, Sunshine,” he called after me, and I smiled. I liked it when he called me Sunshine. Those butterflies started flying all around my belly when he did.

When I got about halfway back, I turned around. I saw Wade walking back into the thick brush, and I shouted after him before he disappeared.

“Hey, Wade!” He turned back around, one eyebrow cocked up in question. “Since we’re using nicknames now, I’m gonna call you Waddle.”

“Waddle?” he asked, his eyes growing wide at the obnoxiously stupid nickname I’d come up with on a whim.

“Your initials are W-A-D, so it seemed better than just calling you Wad.”

He shook his head and laughed, clearly amused by my answer. I added a tally in the “win” column of my best friend’s playbook.

Without responding, he turned back to the woods to head to his house. I didn’t miss the smile that split across his face or the gentle shake of his shoulders in laughter as he turned away from me.

As I reached the top of the stairs, Mama was sitting in her rocking chair with a knowing grin plastered on her face, replacing her earlier scowl.

“¿Quién era esa Princesa?” Who was that, Princess? she asked, sipping ‌the lemonade that rested beside her.

“Mi mejor amigo.” My best friend, I responded, the impish grin never leaving my face.

Mama just shook her head and sighed. She stood and used her gentle fingers to brush a hand across the crown of my head. Leaning over, she placed a tender kiss on my forehead.

“¿Ah, es así?” Ah, is that so? She smirked, still shaking her head as she walked back through the sliding glass door into the kitchen.

I sat in the rocking chair on the back porch for another ten minutes, replaying the conversation Wade and I had shared. I don’t think the devil himself could wipe the smile from my face if he tried. I was too smitten with my new best friend, the cowboy next door.

WADE

Feeling like a semitruck had run me over, I hauled another bale of hay from the loft above the barn down into the open area below, listening for the heavy thud as it hit the ground.

After leaving Max and Stella’s wedding, I’d gone home and continued drinking, attempting to drown out the nightmares that would come when I inevitably closed my eyes. That left me fighting through a massive hangover this morning, and I didn’t even get much sleep.

Getting fucked up when you were cresting thirty wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

I couldn’t escape the nightmares. No matter what I drank, how much I drank, who I fucked, or what I did, the images of that night haunted me. They lay in wait until I was on the precipice of sleep, dragging me under as my body finally relaxed. I’d woken up every single night with searing pain scorching its way through my back, the scar beside my spine a physical reminder of all I had sacrificed.

But was it really a valiant sacrifice if I harbored so much animosity toward the person I had done it for?

I hauled the next bale of hay just a little harder, willing my body to wear down enough so that there was no consciousness left for my brain to conjure thoughts of the incident. I channeled my rage, pushing through the pain and exhaustion to get the day’s chores done.

“I thought your ma named you Wade, not Hulk,” a gruff voice called from down below.

Stripping the hat off my head, I ran the back of my arm across my sweat-slicked forehead before placing it back on. I tugged off my work gloves, tucking them in the back pocket of my jeans before climbing down the ladder from the hayloft to greet Pops.

“Just trying to get this hay moved since Max rode off on his white steed into the sunset with his bride.”

I didn’t mask my bitterness as the words exited my mouth, but nothing ever phased Pops. He stood firm, much like the enduring branches of the old willow that shaded the earth above my mother’s resting place.

He took every ounce of fury I’d given him over the last couple of months and weathered it with unflappable flexibility.