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Luke came into the shop about twenty minutes later, a backward cap on his head, and told me he had good and bad news.

“The good news is, I have the same truck and actually have a tire to replace yours on hand,” he said, scrubbing his hands on an already-filthy rag.

“Well, that’s a crazy coincidence,” I said, an odd emotion settling in. One I couldn’t quite put my finger on or find a name for.

He chuckled. “Right? That’s what I thought. Kinda wild. But …” He grimaced with an apology. “I can’t have the job finished until at least tomorrow evening at the earliest. Probably looking at closer to two days, but I can try to hurry.”

I had expected about as much, and I told him so without disappointment. It wasn’t his fault, and I could appreciate him prioritizing the job over what he already had on his plate .

So, I asked him if he had any recommendations for a place to stay in the area, and he gave me the directions to a “sort of okay, but honestly kinda shitty” motel.

With a strangled laugh, I thanked him and the woman behind the desk, making sure my eyes didn’t linger on hers for long, and headed for the door.

“Do you want a ride?” Luke asked.

I shook my head. “No, but thanks. I think I could use some fresh air. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Then I bid them both a good night and made sure to grab my bag from my truck before I left.

The walk to the motel was a short one, and by the time I got there and rented a room, my stomach was reminding me that all I’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours was some airplane peanuts and a jelly doughnut.

As the balding man behind the desk passed over my key, I asked, “Hey, what’s good around here for food?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Well, what are you looking for?”

“I’m not picky.”

He laced his fingers over his round belly and pursed his lips in thought.

Then he said, “Well, if you’re looking for Italian, Marino’s isn’t bad.

And for some decent fried chicken, there’s Chester’s.

” Then he paused, narrowing his eyes as he held up a finger.

“But if you want a really great burger, Tony’s is your place.

It’s this little hole-in-the-wall dive bar, but their burgers are …

” He held up the okay gesture and nodded with approval.

I considered the options with a tip of my head. If the choice was between not bad Italian, decent fried chicken, or a really great burger …

“I guess Tony’s it is.”

***

Tony’s Bar really was, as the guy at the motel had put it, a hole-in-the-wall.

It was dark, almost too dark to see clearly, and the place gave me an overall sensation of being dirty the second I walked through the door.

But I approached the bar, where a few very loud, very rowdy drunk guys stood.

They didn’t bother to lower their volume when I came to stand beside them and leaned against the bar’s surface, shining beneath the dim lights.

The bartender approached, threw a rag over his shoulder, and asked what I’d like, and I told him I’d heard he served some really great burgers.

He nodded with a proud smile, handed over a menu I could hardly read in the lack of light, then put in my order, shouting above the raucous laughter coming from beside me.

“You got it, boss,” the bartender said. “And don’t worry about paying. It’s on the house.”

I narrowed my eyes, startled. “What?”

The guys beside me quieted then as the bartender said, “Thank you for your service, soldier.” He tipped his chin and tapped the bar top with his knuckles before turning and heading toward what I assumed was the kitchen.

One of the drunk guys turned to face me. He had a mean look in his red-rimmed eyes—wild and unhinged—and he said with a sneer, “I guess being a murderer and mooching off the government gets you free food ‘round here. Huh. Who knew?”

One of the other guys growled, grabbed him by his shoulder, and yanked him back. “Shut the hell up, Ritchie,” he groaned. Then he looked around Ritchie and muttered, “Sorry.”

The apology didn’t quite touch his eyes, and I assumed he wasn’t that sorry at all. Still, I nodded and went to find a seat—somewhere far away from Ritchie and his little group of loud, inebriated friends.

The booth I settled on was in the farthest corner from the bar, which also made it the darkest. But it was the most secluded in the whole establishment, so I sat and immediately took my phone from my pocket to call Laura.

“Hello?”

I smiled at the sound of her voice. God, it was good to hear her—when was the last time I had? I could hardly remember now—time had passed in strange succession overseas—and I felt my shoulders sag with something I could only describe as relief.

“Hey, it’s your knight in shining armor. Finally on American soil.”

“Oh, hi, Max,” she replied quietly, distantly , and my spine went rigid.

Something was off. Something felt weird. She was lacking the breathless flirtation I was used to hearing in her tone. She didn’t sound happy. She had been the last time I talked to her, but—fuck, why couldn’t I remember when that had been? A couple of months ago? Maybe even longer ?

I ran my finger in circles over the tabletop, gleaming in the dim bulb I sat beneath. “Yeah, so I was thinking we could—"

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she was quick to interject.

My tongue poked the inside of my cheek as a hot, raging fire, built on envy and anger, was fast to ignite beneath my skin. She was turning me down. And the only reason she’d have to turn me down was—

“So, what’s his name?” I asked, an icy bite in my tone.

“Brett,” she replied without hesitation, and I recognized it.

That was the guy she’d gone out on a date with years ago. The one who had kissed her. The one she hadn’t felt sure about. And she was … what? Dating him now? Suddenly sure ? Did she love him? Did she love him more than she loved me?

I sniffed a spiteful laugh, devoid of all comicality, and shrugged as if she could see the gesture. “Okay,” I replied, not even trying to hold back my condescension.

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

I huffed, humorless and bitter. “What else do you want me to say, Laura?”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d be more …”

“What? Upset ?” I shrugged again, ignoring the sensation of my heart being crushed beneath the weight of my despair. “Why would I be upset? I always knew this would happen. We both knew what we were. ”

Her end of the phone line was silent for a moment, and the bartender brought my burger and fries out to me, along with a frosty glass full of beer.

“Enjoy, man,” he said quietly, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop.

I smiled gratefully and nodded in lieu of a verbal response as I waited for Laura to say something, anything , even when all I wanted was to hang up and pretend this conversation never happened.

Fuck! I could barely talk to another woman without feeling guilty. How the hell could she kiss someone else? God, was she fucking him too?!

I held my forehead in the palm of my hand, suddenly stricken with a nauseating pain piercing through my gut.

“What we were ?” Laura finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. “And what exactly was that, Max? Please, enlighten me because I don’t think I ever quite understood the arrangement. What the hell were we?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Laura. Friends? Friends who fucked on occasion?”

“Ah, okay, I see. Whenever you felt like stopping by, right? Whenever you needed something other than your hand to get you off?”

The forced nonchalance I’d been putting forth was fraying rapidly, like an unraveling sweater, and underneath all that yarn was anger and hurt I didn’t want to feel.

“That … that’s not what I—"

“You knew I wasn’t going to wait forever,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I told you I wouldn’t. But you took advantage of me anyway.

You played with me. You broke my heart over and over and over again every single time you left, and did you ever once ask if I was okay with any of it?

No! You just took and took and gave me nothing ! ”

I opened my mouth, only to close it again. The scent of the burger wafted up from its plate to my nostrils, and I shoved it away, unable to stomach the thought of eating anything when all I wanted was to throw up and scream until my throat bled.

The worst part of it was, she was right.

I knew she was. I’d known it all along. Just as I’d known what we had to be if I was always just …

passing through . Whether because of my father or my service in the military, I would never have been able to stay.

I would never have been able to do more than take .

“You could’ve come with me. You could’ve lived with me on base,” I finally croaked, my throat tight as I tried to fight for something that was never mine to fight for. “You could’ve insisted. We could’ve been together. We could have—"

“I wasn’t going to force myself upon you.”

“Oh, but you let me use you, as you so lovingly put it. Why? So you could one day throw it in my face and make me feel like a piece of fucking shit for it?”

“No,” she said, her voice now cold and withdrawn. “I told you I’d accept whatever you gave me. And besides, I felt sorry for you.”

“Wait a minute. You felt sorry for me?” I barked with a disingenuous laugh. “That’s funny, Laura. Didn’t feel much like pity when you were fucking me. But, sure, whatever you gotta tell yourself. ”

“Don’t ever call me again,” Laura replied, her voice strangled by emotion.

I sucked my teeth and gripped the phone tightly. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t.”

Then I hung up and tossed my cell phone onto the table, letting it slide into the plate with a noisy clatter. I held my face in my hands, scrubbing up and down and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

I was going to ask her out. I was going to tell her I loved her. I was going to—

I should’ve done it a long time ago. This is my fault.