46

Outnumbered - Dermot Kennedy

I 'm on my third Jack and Coke, not giving a single fuck—seated at the bar of The Loose Lasso. It was a long fucking day at work, dealing with the aftermath of the press release this morning. The weight of upholding the hero image the town expects from me is heavy on my shoulders. Dealing with the public, with the townspeople, it's all just exhausting.

But right now, none of that matters.

"Need a refill?" the bartender says, nodding to my now-empty glass. I nod to her, feeling a buzz warming my body. Just as she starts to make my drink, a young woman sets herself on the bar stool next to me, her thigh brushing against mine.

Her touch does nothing for me.

"Why is a handsome man like you all alone tonight?" Her voice is sweet and her perfume wraps around me—but it's a sickly sweet scent; I fight the urge not to scrunch up my nose.

It's not floral, nor is it cherry.

"Just enjoying a drink," I say, my tone clipped.

"I can see, and all alone, at that. Want some company?"

"No thanks. Not in the mood."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated," I reply, hoping she'll finally drop it. I'm not in the mood for company, especially not hers . But she seems undeterred.

"Wanna talk about it?" she says, her hand lingering on my arm.

"No, I don't," I state firmly, finishing my drink, leaving a fifty on the counter, and heading for the door. As I stride out of the bar, someone calls out my name.

"Hey, it's Bradley Mitchell," they say, followed by another voice, " Fuck, that guy's a gun. A hero."

I pay them no mind, my focus solely on getting home. As I leave the bar, the buzz from the drinks makes me realise I am in no state to drive. I reach for my phone to call for an Uber instead, making a mental note to retrieve my car in the morning. Before long, the Uber pulls up outside, and I hop in, heading home.

Once inside, I beeline straight for my father's liquor cabinet, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. More alcohol isn't the best idea right now, but it might just help numb the ache I'm feeling.

Outside, I seat myself in one of the outdoor chairs, not caring if I'm being too loud. I take a sip from the bottle, the burn of the whiskey barely registering. Pulling out my phone, I open my text messages with Amelia, the last one from me unanswered .

Taking a deep breath, I press the call button next to her name. My heart lurches forward as anticipation kicks in, but it goes to voicemail .

Fuck. I type out a text instead.

After what feels like an eternity, a reply finally comes back.

I fire back, my fingers tapping on the screen with agitation.

It doesn't matter? How can she say that? I fight the urge to crush the bottle in my grasp.

I think the fuck not. I blink hard, trying to clear the blurriness from the alcohol, and manage to type out a coherent text. It takes a moment for the words to come into focus, but I finally get it right.

I wait for a response, but none comes.

With a growl of frustration, I pick up the bottle of Jack Daniels and throw it, wincing as it smashes to the ground. The light turns on from the kitchen, and surprisingly, Olivia steps out.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demands, her voice cutting through the air. It's the first time she's spoken to me in a week.

I turn to face her, my frustration boiling over. "You done fucking sooking?" I snap, my tone sharp.

Her eyes narrow, and she stands up straight. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I reply, my voice challenging, the alcohol fueling my defiance. Fuck this. I'm not in the right state of mind to deal with her right now.

Turning away without a word, I storm toward the stairs, each step fueling the rage boiling inside me. I can feel Olivia's eyes drilling into my back, but I ignore it. I reach my room and slam the door shut behind me, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

I collapse onto my bed, my body trembling as the room spins around me. The weight of everything crashes down, each thought of betrayal, each confrontation with Liv, each frustration with Amelia, overwhelming me. The silence of the room is suffocating, the weight of my thoughts crushing. I long for a moment of peace, a respite from the storm raging inside me. But for now, all I can do is lie here, lost in a sea of emotions, hoping that, somehow, we'll find our way back to each other.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to block out the chaos inside me, but it's futile.

Amelia

We're all sitting at Kat's dining table, after having a late dinner, the TV running softly in the open lounge room. I've been quiet, with Kat and John doing most of the talking. My mind is still reeling from my recent conversation with Brad. I can feel tears threatening to spill, but I fight them back. Not here, not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Millie. Kat had been there when Brad was messaging me, offering support and encouragement. I really struggled to find the right words, and it hurt more than I expected. Thank goodness for Kat—she practically told me what to say when I couldn't find the words myself. I don't know how I would've managed without her.

Trying to lighten the mood, Kat asks if she can see the new drawings I've been working on. I smile softly at her and say, "Not yet."

"Bwadey drawings. Can I see?" Millie's voice chimes in, and I force a smile at her.

"Soon, munchkin."

"Bradley drawings?" Kat questions softly.

"It's nothing," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, my sadness seeping through.

Just then, the TV changes to a news report. At the mention of fires, police officers, and a hero, I turn my head. Millie squeals, "Bwadey. Bwadey."

My heart sinks.

It's a news recap of a conference from the morning, with the local hero of Wattle Creek front and centre. Bradley in all his glory. Without thinking, I stand and walk over to the back of the lounge, listening intently. His voice fills the room as he expresses his gratitude for the community's support, and for the support of local officers, firefighters, and all services.

"It was sheer will and instinct that led me to make those reckless actions," Bradley says on the TV. "The only thing driving me was someone special to me, driving me to make those decisions. If it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't have made it. She was the light that kept me alive."

He's talking about me, on live television, to everyone . Oh, God .

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as I stare at the screen, stunned. Hearing his words on live television feels like a punch to the gut, especially when I think about how I brushed off his text messages earlier. The contrast between his words and my careless responses hits me hard, and I'm suddenly drowning in regret.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I can't bear to hear any more. I rush to the spare room, closing the door behind me, before curling into a ball on my bed as sobs wrack my body, the flood of emotions overwhelming me completely. Through my cries, I hear Kat and Millie's voices at the door.

Millie asks, "Meli, what's wrong with Meli?"

"She's just upset, baby. She'll be okay. Come."

"Bwadey will help her," Millie says innocently, and this only intensifies my sobs.