"And the time before that?"
She stares at her hands. "Thursday before last. I was on the phone with a coworker too long."
"And before that?"
"I don't know, Tyler," she says, voice rising. "I don't keep a log. It just happens. It's just my life now."
"It's not your life anymore." I lean forward, catching her gaze and holding it. "That ended the moment you called me. But we need to make sure he understands that too."
I can see her mind working behind those blue eyes that have haunted me for years. "You've changed so much," she says finally. "The Tyler I knew would never talk about hurting someone so... calmly."
"The Tyler you knew hadn't watched his unit get blown apart by an IED," I say before I can stop myself. "Hadn't spent months learning to walk again. Hadn't come home to find the only thing that mattered to him was with someone else."
I regret the words immediately. They reveal too much, expose nerves I've spent two years trying to cauterize.
Olivia's expression shifts from wariness to something softer. "Is that why you left? Because of me and Devin?"
I look away, unwilling to lie but unable to confirm the truth. "I left because I needed to figure out who I was after the military. What I was supposed to do with the rest of my life."
"And did you? Figure it out?"
I think about the past two years. The lost months after leaving Hope Peak, drifting aimlessly until I found the Outlaw Order. The sense of purpose that came with brotherhood. The clarity that comes from knowing your place in a chain of command.
"I'm working on it." I stand, needing to move. My bad leg protests after too long sitting, and I hide the wince as I stretch it out. "Look, we need to talk about what happens next."
She sighs, clearly recognizing the deflection but letting it go. "Okay. What's your plan?"
"First, I need to make sure this place is secure. I trust my friend at the front desk, but motels have thin walls and too many access points. I'll do a perimeter check; make sure we've got clear sightlines and exit routes."
Olivia blinks at me. "You really are still in soldier mode, aren't you?"
"Old habits," I mutter, though it's more than that. The hypervigilance never really leaves you after combat. The constant assessment of threats, exits, cover positions. It becomes as natural as breathing.
"And after you make sure we're not under siege?" There's a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but it's gentle. Almost like the old Olivia, the one who used to tease me about my seriousness.
"Then I pay Devin a visit."
Her face falls. "Tyler, please—"
"Just to talk," I clarify, though we both know it might be more than that. "I need to establish boundaries. Make sure he understands the situation has changed."
"And if he doesn't listen to reason?" She hugs herself, the gesture making her look smaller. "Devin has a temper. He doesn't like being challenged."
"Then he'll learn a valuable lesson about consequences." I keep my voice even, matter-of-fact. "But I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."
It's a lie. Part of me—a dark, angry part that's grown since my days in combat—wants him to resist. Wants an excuse to make him feel a fraction of the pain he's inflicted on Olivia. But I keep that thought to myself.
"When?" she asks quietly.
"Tomorrow. Sunday. You said he'll be at Brady's Bar watching sports?"
She nods. "He always goes around noon, stays until the late games finish."
"Perfect. Public enough to discourage extreme reactions, private enough for a serious conversation." I've already started planning the approach in my head. Entry points, exit strategy, contingencies if things go sideways.
"I should come with you," Olivia says suddenly.
"Absolutely not." The words come out sharper than intended.
