The first time Boothill met you, he swore he wouldn’t fall into that trap again. Love? Distractions? No. He had spent years hardening his heart, convincing himself he was better off alone.

But then you smiled at him. And damn it all, he was done for.

You were different. Sharp where others were dull, kind where others were cruel. He told himself it was nothing, just passing time with a woman who didn’t look at him like he was a ghost. Maybe, in some stupid corner of his heart, he let himself think—just for a second—that this could be something.

Then he saw you with him.

Your boyfriend kissed you goodbye in the car, his fingers brushing your cheek like you were something precious, then leaving you standing there with that soft smile Boothill would never earn. He stood frozen, the cigarette between his lips forgotten, the burn of the ember the only thing keeping him grounded.

Right. Of course. He should’ve known better. A man like him didn’t get happy endings.

He crushed the cigarette under his boot, exhaled the smoke like it could purge the stupid hope from his lungs, and walked away before you could see him.

After that, he made sure to keep things friendly.

No lingering touches, no more late-night conversations where his traitorous heart got ideas. Just a tip of his hat when he saw you, a dry joke here and there.

Boothill wasn’t a fool. He knew better than to linger where he wasn’t wanted. But hell if his heart listened.

Every time you called—"Hey, Boothill, can you help me with this?"—he came running. Like a damn dog who hadn’t learned its lesson. He told himself it was just loyalty, just friendship, but the truth was uglier: he was weak for you.

And he hated himself for it.

You deserve better than a man like me, he’d think, watching you from across the room, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on your finger—the one your boyfriend gave you. Boothill wasn’t the kind of man who belonged in a life like yours. He was all rough edges and restless nights, a drifter who couldn’t even hold down roots, let alone a woman’s heart.

But when you needed him? He’d be there. Every damn time. As fast as can. Like now, only a few minutes after getting another short message from you, asking him to come over.