His Best Friend's Baby. Molly O'Keefe

      “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” Mr. Mancio smacked Jesse’s hands away and the heart fell to the ground. “We heard you were crazy!”

      It’s ruined, Jesse thought, watching the heart pump blood into the dirt. No one is going to want that now.

      “Wait, wait. I brought more, just a second.” Jesse waved over the thin blond woman with the haunted blue eyes he’d never been able to forget and she, in turn, led Wain and a man in a black hostage mask. “See, you can have the dog, and the—”

      Jesse woke to the sound of a key sliding into the lock on his back door. The dream vanished and he traveled from sleep to battle ready in seconds—another little gift from the United States Army. He could kill a man in a hundred ways and he hadn’t fallen fully asleep in over six years.

      The pain meds he’d popped last night made his brain feel thick and stupid, but the well-honed instinct in him was still razor sharp.

      He crept from the couch, barefoot and in his blue jeans, toward the back door, where he had heard the distinct sound of a lock sliding open.

      Wainwright snored on his pillow.

      Some guard dog you turned out to be.

      He fully expected Rachel to be busting in, and he relished letting her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t welcome. Her days of coming and going in this house were over.

      But he yanked open the door only to find Mac Edwards, his arms filled with grocery bags. Jesse rocked back on his heels.

      “Help a guy out, would you?” Mac asked over the perforated edge of one of the bags. The look in his light blue eyes went through Jesse like a knife. It was the look his men used to give him—respect and a general gladness to see him.

      “I don’t—” Jesse started, but Mac stepped in and pushed the bags into Jesse’s chest. Instinctively, Jesse caught Mac’s burden and Mac used the opportunity to barge in.

      “Nice one,” Jesse growled, his throat rusty.

      “Old trick I learned from a nine-year-old,” Mac said over his shoulder. He walked past Jesse, through the small mudroom and into the kitchen.

      The nine-year-old Mac referred to was him. Jesse had used the trick to dog Rachel and Mac’s every step.

      Jesse shut the door with his foot and followed his old friend to dump the groceries onto the counter. He yanked opened the refrigerator door and began shoving the bags’ contents into the nearly empty fridge.

      “Just as we suspected, you’re living on road trip food.” Mac reached around Jesse to hold up a turkey sandwich Jesse had gotten from the gas station out by the highway. “Not fit for human consumption.”

      “Works fine by me,” Jesse said. He’d been avoiding the grocery store and all of the good citizens of New Springs.

      “Good to see you, man.” Mac pulled Jesse into a hug before he could say two words. “It’s really good to see you.” Mac thumped him on the back, which hurt but, for some reason, Jesse didn’t say anything. He stood motionless, like a scared animal in the hard grip of Mac’s arms. Emotion leaped in him.

      I missed you, he thought.

      “It’s good to see you, too,” he finally managed to say. He squeezed Mac tight across the shoulders and then pushed away.

      They both laughed awkwardly and Mac held Jesse out at arm’s length. It had been three years since they’d seen each other at his mother’s funeral and Jesse had kept his distance that day.

      The moment stretched and Jesse took in the changes time had made in his old friend. Mac was big, thick across the chest and through the arms. His work in the sun had turned his skin brown and given him wrinkles and creases at the corners of his mouth and eyes. But his smile was still quick and his eyes sharper than ever.