He didn’t know what was worse: Dolly knowing that she’d left him behind and leaving him to deal with the fallout of that, or her not taking his feelings into consideration at all. It seemed like the latter option and he couldn’t help the wave of hurt that came crashing down over him, the pain worse than any bad fall he’d had in the bull ring. He wondered if she’d even thought about him since leaving Texas, or if her shiny, brand new life in New York had been so whip-cracking dandy it had erased all memories of her past life. Of Texas, or barn dances, of summer nights spent lying on hay bales, of Travis and his rusted pick-up truck.
She seemed shocked by his admission, as if there were any other option for Travis to have entertained than losing his best friend under the rubble of what had once been their small town. Hadn’t she even been a little bit worried about what had become of him?
Travis thought back to that day, when suddenly he wasn’t the town’s local pariah, public enemy number one. For once, the townspeople of Shitty Backwater, Texas had had another adversary to contend with, which was the storm that had blown through their streets and left devastation in its wake. Travis hadn’t been their condemned arsonist in the days that followed, just a shell-shocked citizen that they asked, son, can you lift this for me? All the while, his mind had been fixed on Dolly, Dolly, Dolly, where was Dolly and what state would she be in when he found her?
That storm had brought about one of the worst days of Travis’ life, and he wasn’t being dramatic when he said there were plenty of those in the running. He realised now with a clarity so near-debilitating, like his bronco had bucked up and driven its hooves into his gut, that the storm had been Dolly’s ticket out.
Even as Dolly apologised, he didn’t know how to forgive her. The tears made him wobble a little, tugging on his heartstrings the way the sight of Dolly crying always did. But his own betrayal left him standing there, unmoving.
“You thought I’d be better off without you?” he asked, his mouth curling up into a sneer. He shook his head, fists clenched at his sides. “You are unbelievable, Dolly McCabe. That wasn't your decision to make!”
He inhaled shakily, wondering when he had ever, in the whole course of their friendship, made Dolly think he’d have been better off without her? She was his only friend in town, the only person that didn’t cross the street when they saw him coming. He’d lived through the worst of his old man’s anger just to reach the end of the day where his truck could splutter to life and he’d be able to drive he and Dolly out to a field to simply be, just them and the stars.
Now, Travis hadn’t realised what they must look like right now, his face twisted into unbridled anger as a girl a head and shoulders shorter than him cried right in front of him. He didn’t think about how bad the optics of that looked until a group of girls, drunk but giddy in their little cluster, passed by them and drew him a glare.
“Pretty girl, dump his ass!” they told Dolly, almost as one, followed by different choruses of, “No man should make you cry!” and “Does it make you feel big to leave a girl in tears?”
Travis pinched the bridge of his nose as they disappeared down the street, tipsily threatening certain appendages of Travis’ and yelling their support at Dolly. He was too damn tired for any of this and slowly lowered his hand, lifting his eyes back to Dolly.
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