"So basically, the whole point of this trip was to rebrand after the breakup. Show my followers that being single on Valentine's Day isn't sad, it's empowering." She pauses for breath. "Are you even listening?"
I look up from the rifle. "Algorithms. Engagement. Empowering."
She narrows her eyes. "You were listening."
"I hear everything."
It's not a boast. It's a fact. Sixteen years as a SEAL sniper trained me to process multiple information streams simultaneously. I can clean this rifle, track her monologue, and monitor the sounds outside my cabin all at once. The wind has shifted in the last hour. Storm's getting worse.
"Okay, that's actually kind of impressive and also a little creepy." She shifts on the couch, wincing when she moves her ankle wrong. "Most people tune me out after about ten minutes. My ex used to put in earbuds and pretend he was listening to a podcast."
Second time she's mentioned the ex. The first was last night, something about him getting engaged. I file the information away.
"He sounds like an asshole."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "That's the most words you've said at once since I got here."
I return my attention to the rifle. "Doesn't make it wrong."
She's quiet for almost thirty seconds. A record.
"He wasn't always." Her voice is softer now. "Derek. That's his name. He was really charming at first. Supportive. He helped me grow my platform in the early days, gave me advice on branding and sponsorships." A pause. "Then it started getting weird."
I don't prompt her. Don't need to. People always keep talking when they need to get something out.
"Little things at first. Criticizing my content ideas. Telling me I was too loud, too much, too annoying. Then bigger things. Getting mad when I talked to other guys at events, even just networking. Checking my phone when he thought I was asleep." She lets out a breath. "I kept making excuses for him. Told myself he was just stressed, just protective, just loved me so much he couldn't help it."
My hands still on the rifle. The metal is cold under my fingers.
"When did you leave?"
"Three months ago. He didn't take it well." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Showed up at my apartment at 2 AM, drunk, banging on the door. Called me forty-seven times in onenight. Left voicemails that alternated between begging me to come back and telling me I'd never find anyone better."
Forty-seven times. I memorize the number. Add it to the file building in my head.
"Then about a month ago, he posted the engagement photos. New girlfriend, big ring, caption about finding his soulmate." She shrugs, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. "Part of me was relieved. Like maybe he'd finally moved on and I could stop looking over my shoulder."
"But?"
"But something still feels off. I can't explain it. The engagement seemed so sudden, so public. Like he wanted to make sure I saw it." She pulls the quilt tighter around herself. "Anyway. That's way more than you asked for. Sorry. I told you I talk too much."
"You don't."
She blinks at me. "What?"
I set down the rifle and meet her eyes. "You don't talk too much. He made you think that because he wanted you small and quiet and easy to control. You're not any of those things."
The look on her face does something to my chest. Cracks something open that I've kept sealed for three years.
"Wolfe." She says my name like she's testing it. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time."
I grunt and pick the rifle back up. "Don't get used to it."
But she's smiling now, a real smile that reaches her eyes, and I have to look away before I do something stupid.
The radio on my counter crackles. I cross to it and key the mic.
"Hendrix."
