“You don’t have to take all of that,” she says behind me.
I ignore that and come back for the box.
She steps closer this time. “Cooper.”
“What?”
“That’s enough.”
I glance into the trunk again. “If you’re moving your stuff out of the barn, I’m not leaving half of it in here.”
Her jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—”
“You’ve been living out of your trunk for weeks,” I say, quieter now. “I’ve hated it the entire time.”
The words slip out before I can soften them.
She stills for a second.
I grab the remaining bags as Brinley reaches for her boots, then shut the trunk before she can argue some more. “You’re not riding home with Caleb, and you’re not leaving your stuff sittingout here. That’s it. I’m not going to argue with you on the side of the road about it either.”
She would’ve never called and asked me for help. This much I know for certain.
I’m not going to let her handle this alone either.
She doesn’t say anything else. Just stands there, watching me load the rest into the back of my truck while Caleb finishes loading her car.
And for the first time, she doesn’t try to stop me or argue.
Our hands brush when I reach for the boots, adding them along with the rest of the stuff. She jerks her hand away like she touched something hot.
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sting.
When I shut the tailgate and walk around to open the passenger door for her, she hesitates before climbing in without a word.
The drive back is quiet. She keeps her eyes on the window. I keep mine on the road.
I want to ask if she’s talked to her father again.
I want to apologize for not responding to her last night.
I want to tell her that pulling up behind her car and seeing her sitting there alone, knowing she didn’t call me, bothered me.
But I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say right now.
When we pull up outside Broken Saddle, I grab her things from the back without asking. She unlocks the door and steps inside first. I set everything just inside the entryway.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You’ve done enough.”
She still doesn’t look at me as she bends to pick up her duffel.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
That makes her pause. She straightens and finally meets my eyes.
“For what?”
“For last night. For not responding to your messages or calling like I said I would.” I rub the back of my neck. “For making you feel like you did something wrong.”
