The words hit harder than any punch. “I know,” I answer. “Me too.”
Across the room, Smoke’s voice rises. “Honey, I told you—” I glance over. He’s pacing now, hand in his hair.
“I was there last week. I came back this week. I just pulled out of town today.”
Pause.
“No, I didn’t go inside.”
Another pause.
“For what? So you could slam the door in my face in front of them?”
The tension in his voice tightens the air in the room. I turn slightly away, giving him what privacy I can in a twelve-by-twelve box.
Danae hears it anyway. “You sharing a room?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“That’s loud.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s Smoke.”
On the other side, his voice drops, then spikes again.
“I’m trying, Honey!” Silence.
Then a string of words too low to make out. A second later, he ends the call hard enough I hear the plastic crack against his palm.
I know what comes next before he even looks at me.
He grabs his jacket.
“Gonna grab a drink,” he mutters.
I meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
He shrugs. “Not staying in.”
Translation from Smoke speak, he’s not staying alone with his thoughts or his demons. Part of his problem is he won’t sit with himself and sort his feelings, his past, or even think about his future.
Once upon a time, I’d already be pulling my boots back on. We’d find a bar. Find noise. Find a woman who didn’t ask questions and didn’t expect answers. It was easier that way.
Temporary.
Numb.
Smoke jerks his chin toward the door. “You coming?”
For half a second, the old instinct rises. The itch. The familiar script.
Then I look down at my phone. Danae’s still there. Breathing quietly on the other end. Waiting.
“Nah,” I say. “I’ll be here you need me.”
Smoke blinks like he didn’t hear me right. “What?”
“I’m good.”
