Page 76 of Every Promise Broken

But because this is Shooter and he doesn’t know how to take a hint, he doesn’t relent. Another pound sounds at the door, followed by, “Let me in, old man! I know you’re in there, and I’m not against breaking a window and climbing in that way.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble as I walk across the living room, flinging the door open.

“That’s more like it,” he mutters, way too fucking cheerfully.

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Shooter.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “I’m great at that.”

Looking at him with a deep scowl on my face, I leave him standing in the entryway as I make my way back to the kitchen. There’s nothing in here for me, but I can’t fathom standing another second in the living room while Shooter tries to goad me into talking to him. Unlucky for me, the little shit follows me.

“So, what’s your plan?” he asks, opening my pantry and scanning the shelves like he fucking owns the place. Grabbing a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips, he digs in, shoving a chip into his mouth.

“My plan?”

“To get your man back,” he clarifies as he grabs a Coke out of the fridge. “What do you have in mind?”

“Why on earth would I discuss this with you?”

“Because I’m his friend,” he replies, like it’s obvious. “And I could be of assistance to you in winning him back. Obviously.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Of course, I’ve talked to him. I’m here to get his stuff, aren’t I?”

“Did he say he wanted me to win him back?” My heart practically leaps out of my chest at the little sliver of hope that gives me.

Shooter shakes his head, shattering that little bit of hope just as quickly as it bloomed. “Nah, he didn’t say that.” He shoves another chip in his mouth. “But I know him, and he does.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Graham,” I growl.

He chuckles. “I’m not fucking with you. If I truly believed my friend wanted nothing to do with you, I’d stay out of it. But that’s not the case.”

“What if you’re wrong?” There’s a vulnerability to my words that makes me wince. “The first time he left, I should’ve fought for him. But I was hurt, and too stuck in my own grief to do what I should’ve done. What if this time he doesn’t want me to fight for him? What if this was his final straw?”

He thinks about what I said for a moment. I can’t read his face. “Do you regret not chasing after him back then?” he finally asks.

“Of course, I do. It’s my biggest regret.”

“And if you could go back to that time, would you do things differently?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Okay, well, now you have that chance,” he drawls. “Don’t let it pass you by this time.”

I’m quiet for a moment, taking in what he’s saying. The idea of fighting for him and having him turn me down makes me want to puke, but the idea of making the same mistake twice and losing him because of my own shit is a knife to my chest.

Shooter’s grin spreads. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to fight for your man?” he asks, excitement painting his features.

“Yes, Shooter,” I deadpan, his giddiness making me uncomfortable. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to get my husband back like I should’ve done the first time.”

“Fuck yes!” he booms. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about! Let’s do this!”

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