“What do you regret the most?” Pop walked around me and behind his desk. Giving me his back, he gazed into the trophy case. “Hurting you.” He tapped on the case’s glass door. “Long as I live I’ll never understand how—even drunk—I hurt you the way I did.” His head dipped forward and his shoulders tensed. “The things I said. The things I did.” He blew out a breath. “I deserve to be shot.” Couldn’t argue with him there.
