Before the thought finishes forming, I’m opening the door again. My boots hit the pavement as I lean against the window frame.
“Coco,” I call. “Stop.”
Her shoulders stay tight as she keeps walking, heels striking the pavement with purpose. Arms crossed. Head down. A clear, deliberate choice not to engage.
I stand there for a second longer, watching her put distance between us, wondering if this is a sign we should both let it go.
Then I swear under my breath and get back in the car.
I don’t follow closely or crowd her, but I ease the car forward at a crawl, matching her pace from the street. Every instinct I have tells me to drive away. Every other instinct tells me that letting her walk alone right now is worse.
She doesn’t look at me when I pull alongside her. She doesn’t slow down or even acknowledge the car at all.
Fine.
She clicks her fob, and the yellow parking lights on her car blink twice, followed by the click of her lock disengaging. She’s already opening her door when I cut my engine, waiting for her to get in and drive away.
For half a second, I think this is it. But then she leansback against her car, with her arms crossed tight across her chest, and looks at me with a shit-eating grin.
“You done glaring at me,” I say, “or are you going to say something?”
“I’m deciding whether to tell you to fuck off again,” she says.
“Fair.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a pen. Then my wallet. I flip it open and tear a receipt free. The movement is rougher than it needs to be.
I write the number quickly and step back just enough to keep space between us.
“This isn’t an invitation,” I say, holding it out. “And it’s not a promise.”
She eyes the scrap of paper. “Then what is it?”
“If you ever feel unsafe,” I say. “You call. You don’t hesitate. I don’t care what time it is.”
Her expression shifts. Not soft. Not angry. Something quieter.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then nothing changes,” I say. “You live your life. I stay out of it.”
She takes the paper anyway.
“So,” she says, voice low and steady. “What’s your excuse this time?”
I get out slowly, gravel crunching under my boots. I shut the door and lean against it, keeping a distance that I don’t trust myself to close responsibly.
“Excuse for what?”
“For acting like I’m helpless,” she snaps. “Again.”
“I wasn’t going to stand there and watch someone grab you.”
She exhales, looking away, fingers tapping against her arm. “Iggy wouldn’t hurt me. You didn’t know that, of course, so I understand why you reacted.” Her voicesoftens when she looks back at me. “But why were you there?”
I could lie again. I almost do. But something in her expression makes it pointless.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. The admission scrapes on the way out and leaves a lump in my throat. “I told myself I was just driving, that I needed somewhere quiet to think. You said last night you were coming here, and I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you.”
She doesn’t respond right away. She steps closer instead, closing some of the space I was holding onto like a shield.
