Page 27 of Where We Call Home

I hadn’t told anyone I was coming here tonight, so our unplanned reunion was pure coincidence.

I’d come because I needed to think. Mac wasn’t the type to push for conversation, which made this bar the perfect place to work through my thoughts.

Boone, though, he was different. I loved him like a brother. He was a born lover, through and through, and our bond was strong and unspoken. He’d seen me at my lowest and hadn’t turned away.

There was a night, a year ago, when things had gone south for me, bad enough that I didn’t think I’d climb out. I’d been a real asshole to Boone back then, but instead of letting it ruin our friendship, he stayed. He sat with me through the storm and promised we’d never speak of it again.

Even now, his cheeky grin and khaki hat brought me back to that night, a memory that was both painful and defining.

Everything was blurry. Was I spinning? The space around me moved on its own, but my thoughts remained steady, consumed by one thing: failure.

I sat in my truck, parked outside my house. Why I chose to be here was beyond me—I didn’t even have my keys. The house was empty; my mom was working an overnight shift, leaving me vulnerable. Nights like these were the worst, when the silence crept in and the thoughts hit hardest.

Loneliness felt heavier in the dark, suffocating in the absence of sound. My dad was nonexistent, Jess was gone, and my fragile ego had been shattered into pieces.

People said Jess leaving wasn’t my fault, but how could I believe that? I’d given up everything for her. I threw my dreams in the trash and stayed in Faircloud because she begged me not to leave her behind. I’d done my best to love her, but it wasn’t enough.

"You can’t leave me here alone, Rhodes. Everyone will talk. What about the girls who’ll throw themselves at you? I can’t take being here without you."

It was funny now, she didn’t care about me. She left without a proper goodbye, dropping the news on her front porch just moments before crossing the county line.

Where did all her pleading get me? A one-way ticket to Pity City.

Reclining slightly in my seat, I tipped the bottle of Jack to my lips. One gulp. Two. Three. The burn didn’t make it better. The thoughts of inadequacy kept looping, and the liquor wasn’t dulling the ache anymore.

It was a physical pain now. My chest felt heavy, my mind a chaotic swirl. Exhaustion loomed, but relief stayed just out of reach. I drank because being drunk was better than feeling broken.

Her leaving cracked something inside me, exposing the festering darkness I’d kept hidden. I was unraveling, bit by bit, like a yoyo spinning out of control.

Why wasn’t I enough? Jess left. My dad left. What was so unlovable about me that people walked away? My mom had to step into roles he abandoned, teaching me to shave, talking me through puberty, throwing a football with me in the yard. It wasn’t fair to her.

Would I ever be good enough for anyone?

I leaned back in my seat, staring at the gray liner of my truck. Tears rolled down my face, splashing onto the leather. One after another, steady and silent.

I was a grown-ass man, spiraling because my girlfriend left me and my father didn’t love me. How fucking pathetic.

If I were sober, I probably would’ve flinched when the truck door flew open. I wasn’t, and the fresh Texas air filling the cab did nothing to shake me. I didn’t care who it was.

“Rhodes, what the hell is going on?” Boone’s voice was cautious but firm.

The seat snapped upright and despite it, I kept my eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge him. Boone reached into the cab, his hand closing around the bottle. The warmth of the glass disappeared from my grasp, leaving me feeling emptier than before.

The bottle had become my safety net. The burn of the whiskey was a hug, comforting in its own cruel way.

Boone helped me out of the truck in silence, his arm steadying me as he led me inside. He didn’t say a word as he laid me down on my bed. His concern was heavy in the room. It was suffocating.

“Talk to me,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight.

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. Where would I even start?

“I was worried,” Boone said, his voice gentler now. “You weren’t answering our calls or texts. I know you’ve needed space, but this isn’t you. Whatever you’re going through?—”

“You don’t fucking know what I’m going through,” I snapped, venom lacing every word. “You don’t know me.”

Boone flinched, not backing down. “Stop. I’m worried about you. Logan and Mac are worried about you. You’ve been distant. Showing up to work, sure, but you’re not hanging out with us anymore. I’ve sat back and let you deal with your shit your way, seeing you like this? That was a mistake.”

I clenched my jaw, swallowing against the lump in my throat. Let him lecture me. I probably wouldn’t remember it by morning anyway.

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