“Sierra,” Dave says. His voice is warm and tired at the same time, like he’s carrying too much and still making room for me anyway. “Hey, kiddo.”
My throat tightens at the word.
Kiddo.
My dad used to call me that.
“I was thinking about you,” Dave continues. “Wanted to check in. Are you at the apartment? How’re you holding up?”
I stare at the road. My eyes blur.
“I’m… okay,” I say, because that’s what people want to hear. “Just… doing the day-to-day.”
There’s a pause, like he’s not buying it.
“Grief doesn’t do day-to-day,” he says. “It does whatever it wants. Are you home right now? You eating?”
My stomach growls on cue, traitorous. I was on my way to grab a hot dog when everything went to hell.
I clamp my lips together. Knox’s eyes flick to me.
“I’m trying,” I say.
Dave exhales. “I hate being away. If I wasn’t deployed, I’d be on your doorstep right now. You know that, right?” Another beat. “You’re at your place alone?”
“I’m… out right now,” I whisper. “Not home.”
My chest aches.
“Where are you?”
I swallow. “I'm...”
I want to tell him everything.
I want to say: Someone broke into my apartment. I found something in Dad’s things. I’m in a stranger’s truck heading to a town I’ve never heard of. I’m scared.
I open my mouth.
Knox’s hand shoots out.
It happens so fast I barely process it. He reaches across, takes the phone right out of my hands, and taps the screen.
The call ends.
“What the hell?” I gasp, grabbing the phone back.
Knox doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t even flinch. He just pulls the truck onto the shoulder, tires crunching over gravel.
“Hey,” I snap, voice shaking with anger and adrenaline. “That was my uncle Dave.”
His jaw tightens. “I heard you.”
He shifts into park, then turns toward me, and the calm on his face makes my anger flare hotter.
“Give me the phone,” he says.
“No,” I fire back instantly, holding it tight. “What are you doing?”
