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And it was fuckingawful.
The beer (and maybe also the bittersweet knowledge I held in my heart that I wasn’t what he wanted).
I’d still choked it down anyway, had smiled and told my dad that I loved it, loved spending that time with him. Just like I still choked them down when we met up weekly for a cold draft, listening silently as he rattled off all the things I needed to do.
Because—like I said—I knew I was loved, and I loved them just as much.
I just wasn’t…
Enough.
“No,” I whispered. “Billie.Enough.”
Of the thoughts, of the memories, of the fact that I was staring at a place that had been a hefty chunk of the backbone of River’s Bend, and it was just…gone.
Turned to ash by a fire that had torn through my town.
Same as Haggarty’s, the other bar on the opposite end of downtown. Another chunk of that backbone. And Sip and Purl—the wine bar-slash-yarn-and-fabric-store where I’d taken knitting classes. Just a mayor supporting her town’s small business even though I’d hated every moment of those lessons.
Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for knitting.
Not unless it was to use the needles to stab someone.
Say a certain annoying hockey player who lived to annoy me.
That thought—stabby, stabby—brought a smile to my face even though smoke was still in the air, and heat seemed to resonate off the wood and charred buildings. But it faded just as quickly as the thought did.
Because even the roads had been scorched.
Theroads.
Which meant that—fuck—rebuilding would be…
The biggest project I’d ever undertaken.
Theworstproject I’d ever undertaken.
So, yeah, there wasn’t much to smile about.
I just kept moving, seeing—but not really allowing myself to fully process—that Wag’s Pet Store was gone.
I’d just bought my niece’s puppy, Spock, a pretty collar from there. Taking way too long to make my selection from the racks and racks of collars. Bailey, my niece—but more like best friend since she was only two years younger than me—had loved it.
Niece. Best friend. Only two years younger.
How all of that went together was a long story—reallylong—but the important thing was that we were close.
Close enough that Wag’s had been added onto my regular rotation—and not just because of the pretty collars, but also because they’d baked and decorated beautiful cookies for dogs.
And now, all that remained of Wag’s was concrete and spikes of rebar.
A sharp bolt of pain ricocheted through my insides.
Right.
Enough.
I needed to go.
