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I will spend the rest of my life making it up to her for the fifteen years we wasted because we were both too stupid to say how we felt, making sure Birdie knows every second of every day how much she means to me.
And my dad? Last I heard, he was in talks to manage Brock Webster’s pro golfing career. Good for them. Those two pompous assholes deserve each other. I thought I would feel differently not having any kind of relationship with the only family member I have left. A little empty, a little alone.
“Don’t forget, dinner with Laura, Wren, and Owen at my place tomorrow night,” Murphy leans forward to remind me. “I swear to all that is holy, Putz, if you forget dessert again, none of Murphy’s mouth-watering meat for you!”
“Gross. Now I’m definitely not bringing dessert,” I joke with a shudder, which makes Murphy flick the back of my head.
Yeah, I don’t feel empty or alone at all.
Because Birdie makes sure her friends are my friends, and her family is my family, and that I don’t feel one second of loneliness.
“I love you, sweet cheeks.”
“Kiss my putt.” She laughs, looking up at me with a smile before pushing up on her toes and pressing her lips to mine.
Yep, that’s my Birdie.
My best friend.
My everything.
The End
