cut off his right arm for a second chance. Or quit smoking. Really quit this time. Whatever Mel wanted. Anything.
All she had to do was ask.
Assuming she ever spoke to him again.
In the meantime, he’d made his own list. After “Get Melanie Back” came “Fix up this freaking dump.” He drained the last of his beer, dropped his cigarette into the wet remnants in the bottle, then prayed he could slide into a few hours of dreamless sleep.
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