I nod, unable to lie to those eyes.
"How bad?"
"Bad enough." I pick up the phone, hesitate, then hand it to him. "See for yourself."
Tyler scrolls through the messages, his expression growing stonier with each one. When he gets to the voicemails, he plays the first one on speaker.
*"You think you can just disappear? You think you're better than me? I made you, Olivia. I MADE YOU! You were nothing when I found you, just a pathetic little girl crying over mommy and daddy. You'll come crawling back. You always do. And when you do—"*
Tyler ends the message, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching in his cheek.
"There are eleven more," I say quietly. "They get worse."
"You should block his number."
"I know. I will. I just thought... maybe we should keep them. As evidence. If I need it."
Tyler nods, approval flickering in his eyes. "Smart. We can take screenshots, save the voicemails." He hands the phone back. "But then you block him. You don't need this poison in your head."
"Okay." I take the phone and start the process of documenting everything. Tyler sits beside me, careful to keep a respectful distance, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his shower-warm skin.
It's strange how safe I feel with him, despite the changes in him. Despite the gun I saw him cleaning earlier. Despite the violent promise in his eyes when he talks about Devin.
"Do you think he knows where I am?" I ask as I screenshot the last text.
"No. But he knows you're gone, and that's going to make him dangerous." Tyler's voice is matter-of-fact. "That's why I need to deal with this sooner rather than later."
I nod, finally blocking Devin's number. An unexpected wave of relief washes over me as I do, like cutting a tether that's been slowly strangling me.
"Try to get some sleep," Tyler says, standing up. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
He moves to his own bed, sitting on the edge to check his phone one last time. I slide under the covers of mine, suddenly aware of how strange this is. Sharing a room with Tyler after all these years. After everything that's changed.
"Tyler?"
He looks up. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For coming back. For helping me."
Something softens in his face. "Always, Liv. I told you that years ago."
"I know. I just didn't really believe it until now."
He smiles slightly, and for a moment, I see the old Tyler: the one who used to climb through my window when we were teenagers, who would listen to me talk for hours about nothing at all, who knew all my secrets.
Almost all of them, anyway.
"Get some sleep," he says again, reaching to turn off the lamp between our beds.
Darkness falls, but I can still make out his silhouette as he settles into his bed, the covers rustling. Despite everything—Devin's threats, the uncertainty of what comes next, the strangeness of this situation—I feel safer than I have in months.
With that thought, I close my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under.
The Next Day
Sunlight streams through a gap in the motel curtains, landing directly across my eyes. I sit up, looking toward the other bed, but it's empty, the covers neatly made. For a moment, panic flares in my chest—did Tyler leave?—but then I notice his leather cut still draped over the chair. He wouldn't leave that behind.
The door opens, and Tyler walks in carrying a cardboard tray with coffee cups and a paper bag that smells like heaven.
