Iggy blinks up at me, jaw already swelling. “Nice to meet you,” he mutters.
I don’t answer.
My hands unclench slowly. The surge drains out of me, leaving something heavier behind. Heat crawls up my neck. I acted without confirming the threat. Again.
I step back.
I don’t trust myself to say anything that won’t make this worse. I turn and walk toward the car.
Behind me, Coco helps Iggy to his feet.
“No worries,” he says lightly, like he’s trying to smooth it over. “I’ll go clean up. See you later.”
He scurries away and turns a corner. The street goes quiet again.
“Ridge!”
I keep walking.
My chest heaves as I reach the car. Guilt presses down hard and familiarly. Overreaction, patterned behavior, acting first, sorting it out later.
I’m not some testosterone ogre, so why did I just do that? The clink of her heels on the street closes in fast. She grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Wait,” she says. “Just—wait.”
I look down at her hand, then up. Her eyes have softened, searching instead of cutting.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “For snapping. I’ve been on edge all day. Don’t leave like this.”
The words hit deeper than the accusation did.
I pull my arm free anyway. “It’s not a good idea, Coco.”
“Why not?” She steps closer. “You showed up. You clearly care. So talk to me. Iggy is fine.”
“I was driving by,” I lie. The deception sticks in my throat. “Saw him grab you and thought you were in trouble. That’s it. You’re fine. Your friend looks like he will be fine. You should go home.”
Her hand drops. Hurt flashes across her face before she folds her arms tight.
“I don’t need someone else controlling my life,” she says. “But thank you very much.”
I look away. Everything about this is wrong. Coming here. Letting myself get that close. Losing control in public.
“Go home, Coco,” I say, already turning away.
“Ridge!”
I don’t stop.
Each step forward tightens the mess in my head. I took what should have been a silent moment and turned it intoa scene. Another reminder that proximity makes me reckless.
If I turn around, I’ll say something I shouldn’t. Or worse, I’ll stay.
I reach the car and get in, slamming the door harder than necessary. My hands grip the wheel, knuckles whitening as the engine hums to life.
I sit there for a few moments to calm myself, staring at the dashboard. I need to let this go.
But for some goddamned reason, I can’t.
