He gestures for me to walk beside him. Not ahead or behind but equal.
I hesitate, then fall into step.
The night air bites as we step outside. Wind slices across the gravel lot. I shiver immediately, but Wyatt’s already shrugging off his coat, holding it out. “Here.”
I startle. “No, I?—”
“It's warm.”
“I'll be fine.”
“You're already shaking.”
I hesitate, then slip my arms in. The coat swallows me—sheepskin and warmth and the scent of cedar and something distinctlyhim.
I close my eyes for half a second, just breathing it in.
When I open them, he's watching me with an expression I can't read.
Wyatt’s truck waits under a flickering lamp. It’s big, dark, and functional like him.
He opens the passenger door and steps aside.
Choice. He keeps giving me a choice.
Behind us, two trucks rumble to life: Jessie with the giant bearded man, Jane with the cowboy-hatted one. Both women look… lit from within. Hopeful. Steadier. Like maybe they’ve found what they came for.
We didn’t talk backstage, but we shared a waiting room. We borrowed courage from each other.
Now they’re stepping into their beginnings.
Warmth flickers beneath my ribs.
As the trucks pull past us on the gravel, the bearded man leans out the driver’s side window and mutters, “Good luck, Saint.” His gaze moves to me. “You’re in safe hands, Sadie.”
The cowboy-hatted one grins and calls, “And don’t be weird!”
Wyatt’s mouth almost twitches.
Almost.
He waits beside the open truck door. Still not crowding. Still steady.
I climb in cautiously, like stepping into someone else's life is a risk I'm still weighing. The seat is warm—he thought ahead.
He shuts the door, circles around, and gets in.
“Seatbelt.”
It’s not gruff or commanding. Just a reminder.
I click it into place with trembling hands. “I—um. Thank you. For what you did. I wasn't sure anyone would…”
He cranks the engine. “Anyone decent would’ve.”
I glance at him. “Not everyone in that room was decent.”
“I noticed. That’s why I bid.”
