The Man Who Couldn't Die

He turned to alcohol and thought that Holland wouldn't notice, but she did. She watched him every night, after they tucked Samantha into bed, as he pulled the bottle of scotch down from the cabinet and pour himself glasses upon glasses before passing out on the couch.

She thought it was just to help with the pain so she let it subside. But days, months, and then an entire year passed and it wasn't just to help with the pain anymore, it was because he liked it.

"Rhett," she said, approaching at the exact time she knew he would take that bottle and drink himself into a coma. "Rhett, please. Stop."

He rolled his eyes and yanked himself from her grip.

"Don't tell me what to do, Hol."

"Don't do this again," she whispered. "Please. Please."

"Why?" he asked, looking up at her. "For Sammie? Because she's too young to know what her daddy is like. How he works at a job that he hates just so he could provide for the family. How he never recovered from the army. And let's not forget how all the people he seems to love just fucking die."

"Rhett!" Holland gasped.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's true."

And then he took a swig of his scotch.