Page 78 of Panty Dropper

I started to argue with him, but didn’t have the words. So instead, opened the door, hopped up, and rolled down the windows, hoping that the fresh air might help Reagan not to upchuck. When I started to pull out, I saw that Jimmy took off his Braves baseball hat and held it against his chest, a somber expression on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” I called out.

“Showin’ my respect with a moment of silence for the end of an era. The Panty Dropper has dropped his last panties.”

“Dumbass,” I mumbled as a smile spread on my face.

As I drove back down the service road I wondered what would’ve possessed Hank to say that about Reagan. He hadn’t said anything to me, not that he would’ve. It was Hank, after all.

Love. That was such a big word. I knew that Reagan was different, but love? Did I even believe in love?

My father’s warnings played in my head.

“Don’t ever fall in love, Billy Boy.”

“If you learn anything from your old man, please, don’t fall in love.”

“The Comfort Curse is real! Love is a death sentence.”

“Whatever you do, don’t fall in love.”

After my mom died, every time he got drunk—which basically happened on a daily basis—he’d try and drill it into my head not to fall in love. It was pretty much the only rule he ever had in our house. He didn’t give a shit if we skipped school, got arrested, did drugs…but if he thought that one of us was getting serious about a girl, he lost his shit.

I knew that part of the reason that Hank left and didn’t move back in until I turned eighteen was because of how Pop treated his high school girlfriend.

I’d never come close to feeling what I felt for the woman passed out beside me. If Pop was still alive, I knew he’d have a lot to say about it. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I’d met her at his will reading.

When I pulled up in front of the boarding house, Mrs. B was sitting on her porch in a rocking chair, folding fan in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. As much as I’d have loved to take Reagan back to my place, I had to go back to the bar and I didn’t want her waking up disoriented.

“Evenin’, Mrs. B!” I waved as I got out.

“Billy Comfort! What are you doin’ back here?”

“Just droppin’ my friend off.” I circled the truck and opened the door. After unlatching the seatbelt, I pulled Reagan out. She stirred in my arms and mumbled, “Billy.”

“Yep, it’s me darlin’.” I assured her as I carried her up the steps.

“Billy Comfort. What did you do to that girl?”

“Miss York here consumed not one, but two glasses of moonshine.”

“Oh dear!” Mrs. B’s eyes widened and she opened the front door for me. “Bless her heart, she’s gonna be in a world a hurt tomorrow.”

Once we made it to Reagan’s room, Mrs. B opened the door.

“Thanks.” I said as I entered, Reagan still in my arms. When I saw that Mrs. B was leaving I stopped her. “I have to go back to the bar. Would you be able to check on her later, make sure she’s okay?”

She patted my arm. “I’ll take care of her. Don’t you worry. She’s not the first victim of Rhonda Moore’s Satan juice I’ve had here.”

I nodded. “I’ll check back in with her when I close up. But call me if she needs anything before then.”

A small smile lifted on Mrs. B’s mouth. “Billy Comfort, your mama would be so proud of you,” she said before she left, closing the door behind her.

I wasn’t so sure about that. I didn’t feel like I’d done much to earn my mama’s pride. The fact that the bar was set so low that just me worrying about Reagan was enough for Mrs. B to tell me that she would be proud was all the proof I needed that I was right.

I’d wasted so much of my life not living it. Not feelin’ anything. After Mama died, I hadn’t wanted to feel the loss. When Pop was alive, I hadn’t wanted to feel the anger or resentment for him being the way he was.

I did everything I could to just be numb. But that was going to change. I felt something for Reagan, and for the first time I wasn’t going to ignore it or push it down.

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