"You saved yourself." Finn's eyes are fierce. "That's never wrong."
I take a shaky breath, then another. My heart's still racing but slower now, not quite so frantic. His hands on mine. Finn's solid presence beside me. The shop quiet around us.
"I'm scared," I admit, and it feels like pulling the words out of my chest.
"I know," Holt says simply.
"But I don't want to run anymore."
Finn grins despite everything, despite the tension crackling through the air. "Good. Because this town would be complete shit without you."
I laugh—wet and watery but real. "You're such an idiot."
"Yeah, but I'm your idiot."
I look at Holt, needing that certainty from him one more time. "You really think we can handle this?"
"Yeah." No pause, no hesitation. "I do."
The decision crystallizes in my chest, solid and terrifying and right all at once. "Okay."
Holt reaches out and takes my hand again, and I feel the promise in his callused palm against mine. "We're going to face this together. All three of us."
I squeeze back, feeling his strength, his certainty, trying to make it mine.
When closing time finally rolls around, we lock up together. Finn leaves with this long look that says call if you need anything, anytime, I mean it. Then it's just Holt and me climbing the stairs to the loft, and the weight of everything unsaid presses down with every step.
That night I curl up on the couch with Holt next to me, his arm around my shoulders. His warmth becomes the only steady point in a world that feels like it's tilting sideways. I can't stop checking my phone—every buzz makes my heart lurch, and I'm waiting for another call, another text, for Evan's name to appear on the screen like some kind of curse.
"He might not come," Holt says quietly into the darkness.
"He will." I know it. Feel it in my bones. "He doesn't give up on things he thinks belong to him."
"Neither do we."
Chapter 19
Another car on the main road and my stomach lurches sideways. I hold my breath, wait for it to turn, wait for that rental sedan shape, wait for—it passes. Not him. Jesus Christ, I need to breathe.
I rearrange the pen caddy for what has to be the fifth time, maybe sixth, I've lost count. The desk is so clean it's ridiculous and I can't remember the last time I ate and every muscle in my body feels like it's been wrung out and left to dry in the sun. My hands won't stop shaking and I keep trying to look busy but I'm just moving things around, reading invoices without seeing the words, jumping at every sound that comes from the garage.
Footsteps. My pen clatters to the floor.
Holt appears in the doorway, grease streaked up his forearms, his eyes locked on mine. He takes one look at me and his jaw goes tight.
"Get in the truck."
I blink at him. "What? But Evan could—"
"Finn's here. We won't be long." His voice drops, goes quiet but certain in a way that doesn't leave room for argument. "Get in the truck, Scout."
The command underneath stops every protest forming on my tongue. I grab my bag and follow him out into the heat that hits like a wall, like I haven't been outside in hours, like I forgot the world existed beyond these four walls and my own spiraling thoughts.
He opens the passenger door and waits. I climb in.
The engine rumbles to life and we pull onto the road, windows down, wind rushing in hot and wild and full of dust. I don't ask where we're going because I can't seem to form words, can only watch his profile and the way his jaw's still tight, the way his hand reaches across the seat and finds mine. Rough calluses and warmth, anchoring me here.
"Holt—"
