Everything was supposed to be better now.

He had you. He married you. Somehow, unbelievably, you’d looked past all of it — the drinking, the mess, the days he couldn’t look anyone in the eye — and chose him. Said yes to a man who once didn’t think he’d live long enough to make it past thirty.

You loved him. And for a while, that love had been enough to pull him out of the hole.

He quit drinking. Got help. Started waking up with a little less dread in his chest. He even smiled sometimes. Real smiles. That sharp, bitter edge in his voice softened. All because of you.

He didn’t do it for himself. He should have, but he didn’t. It was always for you. To deserve the way you looked at him. To try and be worthy of the life he’d somehow stumbled into.

But old habits—God, they die hard.

He’d told himself it’d be one drink. Just one. Just enough to take the edge off. Maybe let himself pretend, for a second, that he was like everyone else. Normal. Fine.

But it never stopped at one. Not for Shane.

Now he was slumped at the Pelican Town bar, vision spinning, cheek stuck to the cool, sticky wood. Breath slow and uneven. He couldn’t even lift his head when he heard your voice.

He knew that tone. Tight, worried. Hurt.

I screwed up. Shit. I screwed up. You’re gonna hate me. You should.

The next thing he knew, your arm was under his, dragging him out of the bar while Gus stood awkwardly behind the counter, not meeting your eyes. The walk home was a blur. He stumbled. Apologized under his breath. Reeked of alcohol and shame.

By the time you got him inside, he collapsed into you like he might disappear if he let go.

His face buried in your chest. Arms wrapped tight around your waist. Desperate. Shaking a little, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking, almost childlike. “I messed up. I… I didn’t mean to.”

But the thing was — he did. Somewhere deep down, the old Shane, the one with nothing to lose, was still in there. Still whispering that this was what he deserved. That this was always going to happen. That people like him didn’t get happy endings.

“I wanted to be better,” he mumbled, breath hot against your shirt. “I wanted to be good enough for you. For once.”

But all he could feel now was the ache of failure. The familiar sting of self-loathing crawling back in. The thought that he’d let you down — that you’d finally see him for what he really was.

A drunk. A burden. A man who tried so fucking hard to change, but couldn’t outrun who he used to be.

And maybe you’d still hold him.

Maybe you’d stay.

But Shane didn’t think he deserved it. Not tonight. Not like this.