"Mom." My hands start shaking, and I watch them tremble like they belong to someone else. Phone vibrating against my ear. "Please tell me you didn't tell him where I am."
Silence.
Too long.
Way too fucking long.
My chest tightens, this band of pressure squeezing until air won't come right. Vision fuzzes at the edges like static creeping in. "Mom. Please."
"He deserves to know where you are. He's worried about you."
No. No she didn't she wouldn't she—
"He's not worried." My voice shatters completely, cracks wide open. "He's angry. There's a difference."
"He loves you, Scout. And you need to stop this childish behavior and come home so we can—"
I hang up. Just press end and stare at the screen, hands shaking so bad the phone almost slips. Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe this isn't happening. Maybe if I just don't believe it—
But she told him. Of course she told him. She's always chosen everyone else over me—appearances, reputation, what the neighbors will say. Why the hell would this be any different?
I call back immediately, and it rings and rings and goes to voicemail, which is somehow worse than if she'd answered.
"Don't tell him." My voice is breaking apart, barely holding together. "Please. Mom, if you ever loved me, don't tell him where I am."
I hang up and just sit there, staring at my phone like it's a live grenade.
He's coming. She already told him. Already gave him this address, probably with directions and everything. He's coming and he's going to walk through that door and drag me back and I'll go because I always go, because that's what I do, that's who I've always been, the girl who can't say no—
Can't breathe. Can't get air. Can't—
The room shrinks around me, walls pressing in from all sides. Ringing starts in my ears, high-pitched and relentless. Cold sweat breaks everywhere at once, and nausea rises fast, throat tight, that metallic taste flooding my mouth.
I need to run. Need to pack. Need to be gone before he gets here because if he finds me—
Movement in my peripheral vision snaps my attention up. Holt rolling out from under the Chevy, wiping his hands. He looks at me and stops cold, his expression shifting from curiousto sharp in half a second. Whatever he sees on my face makes him cross the garage fast, boots hitting concrete.
His hands land on my shoulders, grounding weight that anchors me to the moment. "Scout?"
I can't form words. Just shake my head, and tears are already coming because my body's collapsing before my brain can catch up.
"What happened?"
I force it out through the tightness in my throat. "My mom called. Evan—he went to their house looking for me. He knows I'm in Arizona." I can't control my voice, can't stop it from shaking. "He's going to come here."
Holt's grip tightens, not painful, just present. Solid. Anchoring. "Okay. When?"
"I don't know." The words come out with this full-body tremor I can't stop. "Maybe already. Maybe he's already on his way. I have to—I have to leave. Have to run before he gets here. He'll find me. He'll—"
"Hey." Holt's voice cuts through the spiral building in my head, calm as still water. "Look at me."
I do, vision blurred with tears, but I manage to meet his eyes.
"You're not running. Not this time."
Finn appears from the back room, takes one look at us and goes serious in a way I've never seen. No grin. No jokes. Just sharp focus. "What's going on?"
"Her ex," Holt says without looking away from me. "He's coming here."
