Page 2 of His Best Friend's Baby

He blocked out the noise of the television and the buzzing neon lights and drained half of his coffee mug before setting it down precisely on the damp circle that stained the napkin.

“Holy shit. Jesse Filmore!”

Jesse turned his head as much as he comfortably could and saw Patrick Sanderson barreling down on him. In high school, Patrick had tried, briefly, to keep up with Jesse and his best friend, Mitch Adams. But the kind of trouble Jesse and Mitch had gotten into wasn’t for the faint of heart and Patrick had definitely been faint of heart.

It was probably for the best. Jesse recalled the night that Patrick had gone out with them. We got arrested for stealing that car.

“How have you been, man?” Patrick slapped a clammy hand on Jesse’s back. Jesse fought the urge to shake it off. It wasn’t Patrick so much—though he had never liked the guy—as it was anyone and everyone getting too close. Even alone in a room he felt crowded. Too many ghosts.

Jesse shrugged and the gesture apparently satisfied Patrick. “We haven’t seen you in town since…?”

“My mother’s funeral,” Jesse said carefully, his throat a solid throb of pain.

“God, right, three years ago. I thought you were still over in Iraq.” Patrick slid onto the stool next to Jesse. “I heard about Mitch. Terrible news. Just terrible.” Patrick’s belly strained against his yellow golf shirt. He ran his hand over his thinning hair. “Agnes and Ron are all messed up over it.”

Jesse didn’t smile, didn’t in any way encourage this intrusion, but Patrick didn’t seem to need encouragement.

“I’d steer clear of that house if I was you. She’d probably skin you alive if she saw you.” He laughed, as though what he was saying wasn’t the heartbreaking reality of Jesse’s life. Luckily, Jesse had grown a thick skin, from years of letting the casually hurtful and completely stupid things people said roll off him.

Billy sauntered over and threw a cardboard coaster on the bar in front of Patrick.

“What can I get you, Pat?”

“Draft and whatever Jesse here is drinking—”

“No thanks,” Jesse declined. “I’m good.”

Billy shot Patrick a look indicating what he thought of Jesse’s manners, before walking away to get the beer.

“So are you on leave or something?” Patrick asked, turning back to Jesse.

“Something.” Jesse took a big gulp of his coffee, eager to get out of this place.

“I tell you, that war…” Patrick shook his head. “Lots of good boys dying over there. Mitch Adams, I still can’t believe it. He always seemed to have a horseshoe up his ass or something—luckiest damn guy. Did you ever see that girl he married?” Patrick whistled through his teeth and Jesse had the sudden and powerful urge to smash in those teeth.

“I heard she was gorgeous,” Patrick continued.

Time to leave.

Jesse shifted, digging into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Guess old Mitch’s luck ran out.” Patrick’s well of insight was seemingly bottomless. “The whole town thought it was nuts when he went into the military after you. He could have done anything, football scholarship, anything. His mother…” Patrick wrapped his fat fingers around the pint Billy slid over.

“Will never forgive me. I know.” Her name was at the top of a long list of such people.

I shouldn’t have come in here.

Jesse threw a few bucks on the bar, drained his mug then made an attempt to stand. But his bum knee buckled. Too many hours in the car.

“Whoa there.” Patrick laughed, putting up a hand to brace Jesse. “What’d you have in that mug?”

Jesse’s arm jerked instinctually. He stood frozen, knowing exactly how he could kill Patrick with an elbow to the windpipe or the heel of his hand to the nose.

Jesse didn’t do it, of course, but he was capable of it and that was somehow worse.

“Hey, man, sorry if talking about Mitch—” Patrick looked nervous but there was something else in his small eyes, a certain morbid curiosity. The rumors had made it home. “Terrible accident.”

If Jesse stood here long enough, maybe Patrick would just come right out and ask what he clearly wanted confirmed. But Jesse didn’t have time to pussyfoot, he had a house to get rid of and a life to get on with, so he took pity on Patrick.

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