“That’s something . . . I probably don’t need to tell you, that sucks all the same. She’s a good girl. And she seemed good for you.”
He nodded, feeling that faint, raw strain rising in his throat—the first warning sign that he just might cry. “Yeah, she was.” And she always would be, even going forward. For as long as she was a part of Casey’s life, she’d make him a better man. He’d always look at her and remind himself to do better, to be worthy of what they’d nearly had, to maybe stand a chance at getting her back someday.
Big maybe.
Miah gave him a hard clap on the arm. “Sorry, man. But I’d better go start the day. Maybe we can drink on it, later.”
Casey nodded, happy to be left alone. He could already feel how pink he’d gone and didn’t relish an audience. He’d spent a lot of years thinking solely of himself. Seemed only fitting that he was on his own now, stuck sitting amid the smoking rubble of his choices, neck-deep in regrets.
A man makes his own luck, he thought, filling his mug when Miah had gone.
Only took ten years for mine to finally turn as rotten as I deserve.
Chapter 23
Not ready to face Casey alone just yet, Abilene hid in her room for most of the morning, poking around on Craigslist for rentals and finding the results bleak. There was her old room in Mrs. Dennigan’s basement, but it had been cramped after Mercy had arrived, and the whole idea stank of regression, of going backward.
Apart from that, there was a six-month sublet in a rough section of town—which was saying something in Fortuity—plus some houses for rent, but those were all beyond her budget. She couldn’t help but picture Casey’s roomy space above Wasco’s, with its tall windows, spare bedroom, sunny kitchen, huge living room. She’d fantasized a lot in only the past few days about what she’d do to it if he ever invited her to stay with him. Where she’d put the crib, what color she’d paint the rooms, if his landlady would allow it . . .
Stupid girl. Since when had her luck changed enough to manifest that kind of happy little dream life?
My luck has changed, though. Or her choices, to go by Casey’s philosophy. In either case, little by little, since she’d found herself in this town, things had begun looking up. She’d landed a decent job at the diner, and then an even better one at the bar. Made good friends who looked out for her and Mercy. She’d had a taste of romance—only a taste, but sweeter than she’d ever expected. It hurt to lose it, and to realize it wasn’t as perfect as it had felt, but in time it would give her hope, she imagined. There were men out there who’d treat her right, her and Mercy both.
The one you loved just turned out to be more crooked than you’d let yourself guess, is all. He’d still been good to her, for all his now-glaring faults. He’d seen something in her worth treating well, so maybe another guy would see the same, one day.
Would Casey have forgiven all the ugly things I’ve done? She might never know. But maybe some other man, some other time in her life, would be able to.
Just now, it was impossible to imagine anyone lighting her up the way Casey had.
Outside her room, the old stairs creaked. Her heart was thumping in an instant—as hard as it ever had back when she’d feared James’s intrusion—this time imagining it might be Casey. Come back to—what? Beg for a second chance, and a prescription for penance? For forgiveness? For—
“Knock-knock,” came Christine’s voice, and Abilene deflated like a pricked balloon.
“Come in.”
She poked her head and shoulders in and spoke quietly. “Is she asleep?”
Mercy had gone down for a nap more than an hour ago. “Not for long. She’ll be hungry soon. You don’t need to whisper.”
“It’s nearly one. I was going to see if you wanted to come out and watch the eclipse with me.”
“Oh yes. I would. Let me just get her bundled up and a bottle ready. Ten minutes?”