Her phone buzzes again.
I can't do this. Can't sit here and watch her text him, watch her smile at whatever charming thing he's saying, watch her move toward something easy and uncomplicated while I—
"You're really gonna go out with him?"
The words are out before I can stop them.
Scout
I look up from my phone. Holt's staring straight ahead at the road, jaw doing that thing where I can literally see him grinding his teeth.
"Excuse me?"
"That guy. Grant. You're gonna go out with him."
Heat floods my face. Anger, embarrassment, something sharp. "That's none of your business."
"The hell it isn't—"
"Stop." It comes out harder than I meant. "You don't get to do this."
"Do what?"
"This. Whatever this is." I gesture between us, phone still in my hand. "You left, Holt. You saw a bruise and you ran. You won't talk to me, won't look at me, won't explain anything. And now you think you get a say in who I text?"
His jaw ticks.
"He doesn't know you," Holt says finally, so quiet I almost miss it.
"Good." Sharp. Mean. I don't care. "Because apparently I’m too broken for anyone to truly get to know me."
He flinches. Visible, actual flinch, and something in my chest twists.
The silence that follows is suffocating. Finn's staring at his phone like he can disappear into it, like if he just focuses hard enough he'll phase through the seat and escape this nightmare.
I look back at my screen. Grant's message is still there, asking if I'm free Saturday for coffee. My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Saturday works, I type.
Hit send before I can think better of it.
Holt's hands tighten on the wheel until I'm sure he's going to snap it in half.
Nobody speaks for the rest of the drive. Not when we hit Coyote Bend's town limits. Not when Holt pulls into the lot. Not when he kills the engine and we just sit there in the dying light, three people who used to know how to talk to each other and now can't find a single word.
I'm out of the truck before anyone can say anything. "I'm going upstairs."
The stairs feel endless. My hands are shaking and I don't know if it's anger or something else, something worse. I fumble with the door, get inside, close it behind me and just lean against it. Breathe.
My phone buzzes. Grant again.
Looking forward to it :)
I stare at the message. At the smiley face. At the simplicity of it—a guy who likes organization and thinks I'm impressive and wants to get coffee. No baggage. No prosthetic leg and military guilt and whatever the hell is happening between me and Holt that neither of us can figure out how to fix.
I should be happy. Excited, even.
Instead I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, phone in my lap, and I can hear voices outside. Holt and Finn. Can't make out the words but I know the tone—Finn arguing, Holt shutting down. Same as it's been for days.
