Page 7

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m good for now.”

I cracked open a fresh beer and settled back into my chair, the cold aluminum biting through my jeans where it rested on my leg. The night had turned properly cold now, the kind of Texas cold that cuts through you when the sun goes down. I could see goosebumps on Rhett’s forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves.

“You’re gonna freeze,” I said, nodding toward his exposed skin. “There’s a blanket in the truck if you need it.”

“I’m alright,” he replied, but he pulled his arms in closer to his body anyway, wrapping them around himself.

We sat like that for a while, not talking, just listening to the creek and the pop of the fire. My mind kept circling back to what he’d said, that there was a lot I didn’t know about him. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Rhett and I had been best friends since we were kids, running around the ranch getting into every kind of trouble we could find. I thought I knew him inside and out, knew what made him tick, what scared him, what made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe.

But lately, there’d been these moments. Little silences where I’d catch him looking at me with something in his eyes I didn’t understand. And the way he’d been withdrawn the last few weeks was odd. I’d chalked it up to the usual ranch stress, the hard work and the early mornings, but now I was starting to wonder if it was something else.

“Rhett,” I said, using his real name for once.

He turned his head toward me, waiting.

“Is everything okay with you?” The question felt inadequate the moment it left my mouth. “Like, really okay? Because you’ve been kind of... I don’t know. Different lately.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on the words before they came out. The firelight lit him from the side, drawing a harsh silhouette that followed every line of his jaw and neck.

“Everything’s fine,” he said finally, but his voice had that careful quality to it again. “Just thinking about some stuff. Life stuff, you know?”

“Life stuff,” I repeated, not quite believing him but willing to let it go. For now.

He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, his hand warm against my shirt despite the cold. “Thanks for bringing me out here, West. I needed this.”

“Anytime buddy,” I said, and I meant it. Whatever Rhett was dealing with, whatever was weighing on him, I’d be here. That was what best friends did. That was what we did for each other. Always had.

The fire burned down to coals as the night deepened, and eventually we retreated to our sleeping bags, laid out side by side near the dying embers. I could hear Rhett shifting around, trying to get comfortable in the cold, and I found myself hyper-aware of how close he was.

I told myself it was just the beer making me sentimental, making me notice things I normally wouldn’t. But as I lay there staring up at those same stars Rhett had been admiring earlier, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to shift between us. I just didn’t know what it was yet, or if I was ready for it.

But I knew we’d get through it together, just like always.

Chapter 4

Westley

Iwoke up shivering sometime in the middle of the night, my breath coming out in white clouds that disappeared into the darkness above me. The fire had burned down to nothing but embers, and the cold had settled in deep, the kind that made your bones ache. I pulled my sleeping bag tighter around myself and tried to drift back off, but sleep wouldn’t come.

That’s when I noticed Rhett wasn’t in his own sleeping bag anymore.

I sat up, scanning the clearing. The truck was still there, the cooler where we’d left it, our camp chairs overturned so the dew wouldn’t collect on the seats in the night. But Rhett was gone.

“Rhett?” I called out, my voice rough from sleep and beer. “You out here?”

No answer. I climbed out of my sleeping bag, cursing under my breath as the cold bit at my skin. My jeans were stiff and uncomfortable, and I was still half-drunk, stumbling a little as I made my way toward the creek. The stars overhead were still bright, still beautiful, and they cast just enough light that I could make out the shape of him standing at the water’s edge about fifty yards from our camp.

He was standing there in his jeans and his shirt, arms wrapped around himself, staring out at the water like it held all the answers to the universe. His shoulders were shaking. He must’ve been freezing to death.

I didn’t call out again. Instead, I just walked over to him, my boots crunching on the gravel and dirt. When I got close enough, I could see that his eyes were glossy.

“Rhett?” I said softly, coming to stand beside him. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

He didn’t turn to look at me right away. He just kept staring at the water, at the way it reflected the starlight. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “Mind was racin’.”

I wanted to ask him what about, but something told me to just stand there with him instead, that that’s what he needed instead of questions. So I did. I stood there in the freezing cold, half-drunk and sleepy, and I waited for him to tell me what was going on in that head of his.

“You ever feel like you’re livin’ someone else’s life?” he asked, and his voice cracked a little on the last word.