"How long have you been there?" she asked.
"Clover needed air," Irish said with great innocence.
"We're in a garage."
"He likes the smells."
"Irish."
"The answer is not long." He paused. "You handled that really well, for what it's worth."
"What, asking for what I needed?"
"Yeah." He said it simply, without edge. "Some people can't do that. Takes a while to learn."
Emily looked at the enormous, soft-hearted man with his enormous, soft-hearted dog and felt a sudden urge to cry. Not sad tears, not exactly. Maybe they were grateful tears. She was grateful for the support she’d received and Irish was acting as close to a big brother as anyone ever had towards her.
"Thank you," she said, and meant it for more than a compliment.
The beginning of the drive to her apartment was quiet in the way she’d grown used to around Rampage, not uncomfortable, just present. He drove his truck, even though her car had cleared as safe after a full check. She imagined he might feel small and cramped in it.
"You didn't fight me," he said a few minutes into the drive.
"About the rules?"
"About coming back to the compound after we leave your apartment."
She looked at him. His eyes stayed on the road. "Did you expect me to?"
"I expected you to make the argument for staying at your apartment once we get there."
She thought about that. Once she was home, surrounded by her things, in her own space, it might be easy to sayactually, I'll just stay here, it's fine.
"I told you I'd stay with you until this was all over," she said. "I meant it."
"People mean things until they get comfortable enough to rethink them."
"I'm not comfortable," she said. Then, quieter: "That's not what's keeping me there."
He glanced at her. Just briefly. Then back to the road.
"What is?" he asked.
Emily looked out the passenger window at the Colorado scenery going by, at the wide sky and the road cutting through it and thought about how to answer that honestly.
"You make me feel like you are handling the situation and I’m safe," she said finally. "And I can't remember the last time Ifelt that. So, I'd rather be somewhere I feel that than somewhere familiar that doesn't."
The truck was quiet.
"Even with the twenty-foot rule," she added.
"Even with that," he agreed, and there was something in his voice she couldn't quite name, something low and careful that she felt more than heard.
For the next two hours, Rampage allowed her to play twenty questions with him. She knew he was allowing it, because occasionally he would sigh and shake his head, but he played along. She’d ask a question and he’d ask her one. They’d talked about everything from favorite foods to religious upbringing. She’d grown quiet and sad when he asked about her family, and he allowed her to only tell what she was ready and able. She appreciated his respecting her boundaries.
They pulled into her apartment complex.
"Fifteen minutes," he said, getting out. “After I clear the apartment to make sure no one is in there.”
