Instead of the indulgent amusement I’m so used to from him, St. Clare turns away and walks over toward where Lars is. They talk quietly between themselves, and I try and fail not to feel like the odd one out.

Tommy, Arlie, and Everett have each other. St. Clare and Lars have each other. No matter how much I try, I don’t fit in with any of them.

But these guys showed up for me, so I have to be grateful about that.

“Got him,” Everett exclaims, and a heavy metallic chink comes as the bullet falls into the metal bowl. Everett leans in for a better look. “I think that’s the whole thing.”

“You think?”

“At least sixty-five percent sure.”

Those aren’t terrible odds, I guess.

“I’ll clean it up and then stitch you back together.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Close enough.” Everett wipes over the wound. “Just don’t expect it to be pretty.”

“Good thing I have my face to do the heavy lifting. Isn’t that right, St. Clare?”

His stare bores into me in return, and I get that uncomfortable gut wrench that maybe I’ve done something wrong. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to Arlie. “Isn’t that right?”

“If by heavy lifting you mean scaring people away before they can even see your shoulder, then sure. But it’s not your whole face. Only the stuff that comes out of your mouth.”

I drop my head back toward the watery blue sky, the needle piercing my skin nothing compared to the abuse my shoulder’s seen today. “I’m starting to suspect I’m unappreciated in my time.”

Tommy laughs and waves a hand my way. “What part of all this are we forgetting to appreciate?”

Ah … Okay, he’s got me there. I joke about being good-looking when in actual fact I’m probably nudging a seven on a good day. On a day like today, I’d probably give me a weak four. People say I’m a fun guy, yet none of those people have bothered to stick around, so I’m not sure they can be trusted. I think I’m a fun guy, but as Lars pointed out, apparently my judgment can’t be trusted either. I’m loyal—just have no one to be loyal to. I have a big heart—and no one to share that with. And I’m sure I could hold down a job if this bad luck would stop following me.

I swallow roughly as Ever wipes over my newly stitched-up franken-wound. “Can we take a rain check on that answer?”

Tommy laughs again, but I’m not so sure I find it funny. I like making people happy, but just once, it might be nice to be in on the joke instead of being the joke.

It’s nice to have dreams, I guess.