Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(85)

I’d gotten myself in a scrap with Jackson Crowley, the local bully, and he’d been about to bust my fucking nose while all the other kids jeered. He was a mean SOB, the kind who’d scare other kids off with nothing more than a glance.

Not Winnie. She’d walked up and thrown a heap of mud right in his face, giving me the edge I needed to knock him down. It was the only day anybody ever dared get a jump on Jackson.

We took off running, laughing, instant friends who got to be the talk of the school that summer for the drama we stirred up.

I sit down next to her and order up a brew, some new Pilsner tonight. She gives me an instant side-eye and mutters, “lightweight.”

We both laugh.

“Taking it easy tonight. Gotta be back early to start looking for jobs like a normal human being. The Army stash won’t last forever. How’re the kids, Winnie?”

She smiles. “A frigging handful. It should’ve been easier with three out of the house, but Drew...you know how that’s going.”

Sadly, I do.

While I was graduating high school, Winnie’s parents were killed in a car accident. That’s how she got stuck in Kinsleyville, rather than accepting her scholarship to UCLA to study history.

I told her she’d make it out there next year at first. Then the next. But then it just made her sad, and I didn’t know what the fuck to say when life pulled her down, trapping her like she’d always feared.

She was left raising four younger siblings on a meager income from the Rez, plus whatever work she could get.

I offered up and down to help her. Said I didn’t need the money when I was busting ass for Uncle Sam with no time to spend it, but she was too proud. And later, I found out she was right when she told me to save it for my own family, for Ang and Dad.

“Don’t tell me he’s still hitting the scene? Thought you said he agreed to try rehab?”

“Yeah. Keyword, try.” She huffs out a sigh. “It lasted about a week, Drake. Then I found another pipe in his room and a fresh stash.”

“Fuck,” I growl. “Winnie, I’m sorry. If you need me to do something, let me know. I’m not talking about another counselor. You want me to find those assholes he’s hanging out with, supplying him with this shit, you just say the word and I’ll–”

“I need you to listen,” she says, taking a long pull off her drink. “Just listen. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and you’re the only one who does. And you...you kept your promise. You’re still my friend after all this bullshit.”

I smile at that, even if she’s tearing out my heart.

Same old Winnie.

She was born tough, and she’s only gotten tougher. I slap her shoulder and give it a friendly squeeze.

Goddamn.

Maybe in another life, we might’ve had a thing. One of those storybook childhood sweetheart love stories where life’s just dandy and everybody gets a happy ending.

But it’s not like that, honest. And even if she’s real pretty, I can’t think of her like that.

I always get the same feeling around her I get with Angie. I love this girl like a sister. She knows my secrets, and I know hers.

“You’ve got yourself an ear and a shoulder anytime, lady. You know it.”

I first heard about her little brother’s trouble during my last tour. He’d started acting out in school and falling down a hole. First with booze, then weed, then he moved to the harder shit.

Lately, she hasn’t said much, but it isn’t hard to read between the lines. The kid’s hitting the drug scene hard, maybe fucking dealing, something that threatens to make their hard life worse every day it’s going on under her nose.

“You’re a good friend,” she whispers, leaning in and grabbing my arm in that friendly way she has. It’s also a heart-wrenching indicator she needs me tonight. “It’s happening this weekend. That’s when I’m gonna sit his butt down and have a heart-to-heart. I said I just wanted you to listen, but look, I’ll be honest. I might need...a favor.”

“Anything.”

I’m serious. She wouldn’t ask if she weren’t near her breaking point.

“Well, I’m afraid what I’ll find when I search his room again. I wasn’t born yesterday, but you know me, I can only handle so much. If I find more,” she pauses, looks around the bar, and then cups her hand against my ear. “If there’s drugs, stolen stuff, a gun...I’d like your help getting rid of it. Confiscated, turned in, destroyed, whatever.”

“Say no more,” I tell her. “You call me the minute you plan to go through his stuff. I’ll be right there and ready for anything. You tell me to pick it up, and I’ll do the rest. Anything I can do to help, Winnie.”

She smiles. “Th-thanks. You’ll do me proud. I know you will.”

“Bullshit, Winnie. You’ll do me prouder.” That’s our catchphrase, something we’ve said to each other since high school band.

The only times she ever let her nerves show was before concerts. I’d playfully push at her back with the slide from my trombone, urging her out to the concert floor, after I told her the same thing I just said again tonight.

Do me proud.

Do me prouder.

Then something happens that rips my fucking heart out.

I see tears in her eyes. I think it’s the first damn time since that day we had the snowball fight, all those years ago.