“Accurate,” I say.“Except I’d rather you didn’t climb into the back with your problems.Sit up front with me.”
Color rises in her cheeks.She opens her mouth, then closes it, and that right there, watching her fight herself between instinctive retreat and a reckless step forward, does something electric to every nerve I have.
I round to the passenger side and open the door.She hesitates.It’s small.A stutter-step that anyone else would miss.But I don’t.She’s not afraid of trucks.She’s afraid of accepting help.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, low so it’s just for her.“I’m not gonna drop you and I’m not gonna rush you.I’m just gonna be right here if you need me.”
She nods once, swallows like her throat is tight, and climbs up.She makes a face at the seat height, muttering under her breath about manufacturers not loving short women.I hide a smile and shut the door gently.
On my side, I start the engine and let it idle.She fiddles with the edge of the hoodie sleeve, her gaze fixed out the windshield like she’s trying to memorize the parking lot.
“Say it,” I tell her.
She blinks.“Say what?”
“Whatever you’re chewing on in your head so hard it’s going to fracture your molars.”
Her mouth twists.“You’re very perceptive.”
“I’m a youngest sibling,” I say lightly.“It’s a survival trait.”
Silence stretches for a heartbeat.Then she exhales.“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
Ah.There it is.All the bravado stripped away, all the jokes finally set aside.Just truth, naked and shaking and fierce at the same time.
“My...”She stops, swallows.“Former home is currently a bonfire remnant.I don’t exactly have spare rent money waiting in a magical savings account.I have coworkers, not really friends.No family nearby.I was trying to be brave in there, but I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to sleep tonight.”
Her voice doesn’t crack.Her eyes don’t spill.And that somehow makes me want to put my fist through something even more than if she had broken down completely.Because she’s used to this.To being alone.To figuring shit out by herself even when it breaks her.
“You’re coming with me,” I say simply.
Her head whips toward me.“Darren...”
“Not like that.”I huff a laugh.“Jesus.You think I’m dragging you to my bed the first day you can breathe without a machine?”
Her gaze flicks over me then, slow and heated before she jerks it away.“I didn’t say that.”
Interesting.“We’ve got spare rooms at my place,” I continue, like my brain isn’t now happily cataloging the fact that the idea of my bed crossed her mind.“Technically my aunt’s house.She’s raising my cousin’s kids while he’s stationed overseas.It’s a big place and it can get loud.But it’s safe and filled with too much food.You’ll hate how taken care of you feel.”
Her lips twitch.“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
She studies me, trying to find the catch.I don’t blame her.Her life trained her to expect one.“What do you want in return?”she asks, not accusatory, just wary.
“Nothing,” I say, then correct myself because honesty is my thing even when it complicates everything.“For the room?Nothing.For me personally?I want you alive.I want you safe.I want you to stop acting like you’re a burden when you’re a goddamn gift.”
Heat slides into her cheeks again, then into her eyes—wet now, finally, like the pressure found a crack to escape through.
“That’s ...a lot,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say softly.“I’m a lot.”
She laughs, watery, and shakes her head.“You’re twenty-three,” she mutters, like that should negate everything I am.
“I’m twenty-three,” I agree, “and I’ve buried a sister, pulled kids out of burning cars, held a man’s hand while he died on his front lawn because the ambulance didn’t get there in time.Numbers don’t make you grown.Life does.”
Silence again.Then she nods.“Okay,” she says quietly.“I’ll ...come with you.”
