The words landed between us with a dull thud. Something in his shoulders eased, tension sliding down a notch. He took one step back and crooked two fingers in a “get in here” gesture.
“Then don’t just stand there like a lost puppy,” he said. “It’s freezing.”
Warm air hit me when I stepped inside—coffee, laundry detergent, whatever he’d cooked recently.
He nudged the door shut with his heel and jerked his chin toward the couch. I lowered myself onto the end. He took the armchair opposite, forearms braced on his knees.
Up close, I could see the crease between his brows. Worry, not anger, and somehow that was worse.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I said, staring at my hands. “Or her. You were right—about not talking to her like that. I crossed a line and I’m sorry.”
The admission scraped its way out, rough and reluctant. It was still the truth.
Hayes let out a low breath, rubbing a thumb along the line of his jaw. “You were scared and in pain,” he said. “It’s still not an excuse, but I get it.”
He tipped his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Did you happen to apologize to her, or am I getting the exclusive premiere?”
A humorless sound huffed out of me. “She left before I could.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t blame her.”
Hayes was always a protective older brother. Honestly, I knew he was giving me a break because of our friendship. Instead of piling on, he just watched me, giving me enough silence to hang myself or spit it out.
“When I went out to the site, I figured I’d ... you know. Be the boss for five minutes.” I told him my version of everything that happened. Enough that my chest felt tight all over again.
Hayes didn’t interrupt or crack a joke when I paused. My friend watched me with that steady, infuriatingly patient look he’d been perfecting since we were teenagers. When I finally ran out of words, he sat back, palms rubbing once down his thighs.
“Okay,” he said.
I stared at him. “Okay?”
“You fell,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “It sucked. You scared everybody.” He lifted a shoulder. “That’s not proof you’re broken, Wes. That’s proof you’ve got a crew that gives a damn.”
The words hit like they were bouncing off armor I didn’t remember putting on. I shook my head. “It didn’t feel like that.”
“I know it didn’t,” he said. “But how it felt and what it was are not the same thing.”
I looked away, jaw clenching, because the worst part was that I could see his angle and some traitorous part of me wanted to believe it.
“I’m a grown man,” I said. “I used to take stairs without thinking about it. Now I’m an OSHA hazard who needs a spotter every time he wants a different view.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re very dramatic when you’re spiraling, you know that?”
I let out a breath that was almost a laugh, then scrubbed my hands over my face.
Hayes slouched farther back in the chair, one ankle over his knee, his socked foot bouncing once. “So,” he said mildly. “Clara walked out with a bag.”
The words dropped like a brick in my stomach.
“What did you do?” he asked.
I let my hands fall. Met his gaze because I owed him at least that much. “What I always do,” I said. “I panicked and lit everything on fire.”
His jaw tightened. “Define everything.”
I gave him the outline and nothing more. Told him I’d come home loaded with shame and fear, and instead of letting it sit in my own rib cage, I’d lobbed it at the closest target. How Clara had tried to get me to talk, and I’d taken her concern and twisted it into control. How we’d gone from roommates to friends to something ... more.
I didn’t give him specifics, but it was enough.
