“You ran,” she says. “You looked at Billy, realized he wasn’t going to save you, and you ran away. You didn’t ask if I was okay. You didn’t help me up. You just left me there.”
The guilt is a physical weight, crushing my chest.
“I was scared,” I whisper. “I was embarrassed.”
“You were selfish,” Clara corrects. She takes a breath, her chest heaving. “I have been here for you every step of the way. I put my whole life on hold to come to this town with you.”
“Clara, I know you did?—”
“Do you?” She steps closer. “I left my job. I left my apartment. I packed up my life in New York to come to the middle of nowhere, Texas, because you were going through something hard. You lost your father so tragically, and you needed me.”
She pauses. Her eyes fill with water.
“It wasn’t an inconvenience,” she says, her voice cracking. “I wanted to be here. You’re my best friend. But I’ve been sleeping on a cot in a quarantine zone, watching you fall apart over a guy who treats you like a yo-yo. I have been watching you get sick, watching you cry, watching you throw yourself at a man who can’t even be bothered to defend your honor in front of his brother. I spent the night sleeping on a sofa just so he could spend the night with you. I was worried sick, do you know that? Tex had to stay up with me because I couldn’t stop pacing. That’s fucked up.”
She wipes her face with the back of her hand.
“I just punched a guy for you,” she repeats. “And you didn’t even check if I was okay.”
I stand there, stunned.
I see it now. The exhaustion in her bones. The frustration. The feeling of being in second place.
She’s right. I have been selfish. I’ve been so consumed by my own drama, by my own heartbreak, that I forgot she is a personwith feelings. I forgot that she’s grieving too. I forgot that she’s the one holding me up while I crumble.
“I’m sorry,” I say. The words feel inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Clara.”
Clara looks away. She sniffles. “Whatever. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I say. “You’re right. I was a shitty friend.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “Let’s just go. The doctors are waiting.”
She starts walking again.
I stand there for a second. I can’t let it end like this. I can’t let her walk away thinking she doesn’t matter.
“Wait,” I call out. “Please.”
Clara stops. She doesn’t turn around.
I walk up to her. I reach out and touch her elbow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“I know I’ve been a shitty friend,” I say. My voice is steady now. “I’ve been so wrapped up in Billy, and the heat, and the parasite, and my own mess, that I stopped seeing you. I took you for granted.”
I step around her so I can see her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t check on you,” I say. “I was a coward. I saw Joey shove you, and I froze. I should have been the one to shove him back. I should have been the one helping you up. That’s on me.”
Clara’s lip trembles.
“You’re my best friend,” I say. “You’re my family. You matter more to me than Billy Carson ever will. And I’m going to do better. I promise. But right now, I need you to tell me how I can fix this.”
Clara stares at me. A tear spills over, tracing a clean line through the dirt on her cheek. She lets out a long, shuddering breath.
“You can start by telling me if you’re actually okay,” she says. “Because you look like death.”
I let out a wet laugh. “I feel like death. But the meds are working. The heat is… muted. For now.”
