Chris exhales hard. Something more brittle than a sigh, not as resigned as fatigue.
“You could’ve said goodbye,” I say. Quiet. Even. The words aren’t meant to be a weapon, but they hang there, heavy, but honest.
Chris doesn’t answer. Just holds my stare like I’ve said something unforgivable. Like goodbye would’ve made it real.
Mason unmutes again with a sharp click.
“Okay,” he says, like he’s trying to referee two drunk uncles at Thanksgiving. “What the hell is going on with you two?”
I glance at Chris. His jaw’s tight, shoulders locked. He’s not going to let this go.
“Nothing,” Chris snaps. Too fast. Too loud. It’s a tell.
Mason raises an eyebrow.
I open my mouth to tell Mason this isn’t about the op, that it can wait, but I already know I’m too late. Chris is coiled tight, and I’ve been in enough situations like this to recognize the moment someone decides not to hold back.
Chris’s jaw flexes. “You knew what she was walking into. And you didn’t stop her. You didn’t even try. I know Vicente. He’ll chew her up and spit her out.”
I swallow hard. “They’re not going to touch her. She’s not unprotected.”
He laughs, short and humorless. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to guarantee that.”
“I never did,” I say. “She made the call.”
“Yeah, she made the call,” he snaps. “And you just stepped aside. Held the door open like a goddamn gentleman while she walked straight into a den of fucking vipers.”
“Chris,” Mason warns.
Chris powers through. “I flew to Denver to stop her. She was already gone. And you were there, packing up her apartment. Playing the dutiful ex. She dumps you and you just volunteer to ship her life across the country. Like that’s normal.”
I’m stunned at first, not because what he says is true, but because they hit a nerve I’ve already touched too many times myself. I’ve gone over it again and again. Wondered if I framed things too cleanly. If I was too calm when I should’ve pushed back. If, by helping her move, I made it easier for her to walk into something she shouldn’t have had to face.
But I didn’t put her there. Nina came to me after Mason offered her the position. She’d already decided. She wanted my support, not my permission. And I gave it to her. I gave her space when she asked for it, trusted her to know her limits. She’s not someone you protect by making choices for her. She’s someone you back when the choice is already made.
Chris thinks I should’ve fought harder. That standing aside while she walked into that room makes me complicit. Like this is about possession for him. Mine or his, I don’t know.
But I saw her the night she decided. The fear, yes, but more than that, the certainty. She knew what she was walking into. And she wanted it to mean something.
Chris isn’t mad because she left. He’s mad because she didn’t tell him herself.
I exhale slowly. Ground myself in the silence. Let the sting settle before I open my mouth again.
“She asked me to pack up her place,” I say quietly. “They needed her in LA fast. She didn’t want to leave it sitting there.”
Chris shakes his head, scoffs. “You don’t even see it, do you? You made it easy for her. Packed her boxes, kissed her goodbye, and called it support.”
“Enough,” Mason cuts in, voice steel. “Chris. Go cool off. Wyatt, hang back.”
Chris disconnects without another word. His window vanishes.
Mason reaches for something offscreen, and the small red recording indicator in the corner of the call blinks out.
Then he exhales, rubs his forehead, covers Zoey’s ears. “The fuck was that about?”
I don’t answer.
“Wyatt.”
