“I like the quiet,” he says instead.
“Bold claim,” I reply. “Your jaw says otherwise.”
He exhales through his nose, a sound that is absolutely, definitely, not a laugh. I beam at him, anyway. I know that jaw. I know what it looks like when he’s worried, and I also know teasing him is one of the few things that reliably pulls him back into the moment with me instead of wherever his thoughts are trying to drag him.
Detroit doesn’t scare me the way it scares him. I don’t tell him that, because it’s not entirely true. I just experience fear differently. I joke through it. I smile at it. I give it a nickname and pretend it’s less dangerous that way. Michigan is history for Zack—heavy, complicated, and soaked in memories he never asked for. For me, it’s just another place the universe might try to prove a point, and I refuse to let it win preemptively. Michigan was my nightmare until I decided the life it wrote for me wasn’t the one I wanted. I wouldn’t let it take over.
“You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice rougher than before.
I flash him my brightest smile. “Define okay.”
“You’ve been suspiciously quiet.”
“That isslander,” I say, offended. “I’ve been giving you my absolute best material.”
He glances at me, and for a second the tension in his face eases. “You’re distracting.”
“Excellent,” I say. “That’s literally my job.”
The truth, which I keep tucked safely behind the jokes, is that there’s a strange energy buzzing in my chest, like anticipation without context. I glance at my phone, half-expecting it to light up, half-hoping it won’t. It stays dark, and I decide that’s a good thing. Probably. Definitely.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” I ask lightly, tracing patterns on my knee, “that the universe is setting up a really dramatic third act and forgot to ask if you consented?”
Zack doesn’t answer right away. “Yes,” he says eventually. “That’s usually when I start planning.”
I nod approvingly. “See? This is why we make a good team. You plan, I provide emotional support and unnecessary commentary.”
The rain starts coming down harder, drumming against the windshield, and I pull my hoodie tighter around myself, still smiling and determined. May is definitely rainier than I remember it being in years past.
“Look,” I continue, my voice softening just a bit, “if Detroit turns out to be terrible, we’ll leave. Get food. Pretend this was just a long drive with weird vibes. I’m very good at pretending.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” I agree easily. “But I’m very adaptable. Like a raccoon with feelings.”
That gets a real almost-smile, and I bask in it shamelessly. I push on, because momentum is everything. “Also, if something goes wrong, you don’t get to go all dark and broody on my behalf, okay? I like you alive, functional, and only mildly terrifying.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No promises.”
“Rude,” I say, grinning. “I’m putting that on your permanent record.”
The silence settles again, but it’s softer now—less sharp around the edges—like static between radio stations instead of a warning siren. The road signs tick down the distance, numbers shrinking, and whenDETROIT: 47 MILESflashes past, my phone vibrates in my hand so suddenly I nearly drop it.
I freeze, just for a second.
Unknown number.
My smile wavers, barely noticeable, before I lock the screen and shove the phone into my pocket. “Everything okay?” Zack asks, instantly alert.He’s too fucking observant for his own good.
“Yeah,” I say, easily. “Spam. Probably someone trying to emotionally manipulate me about my car warranty.”
I grin at him, bright and unbothered, and turn my attention back to the window, refusing to let the moment linger. Whatever’s waiting for us in Detroit doesn’t get to steal this from me—not the jokes, the lightness, or the way Zack’s shoulders have loosened just a little because I’m here.
I keep talking. I keep smiling. I keep the sunshine turned all the way up.
Because if I don’t? I might notice how quiet the road has become.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
