“Yeah,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Just taking care of something.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s vague.”
“I’m a vague man.”
“That’s not true,” she says immediately. “You’re annoyingly precise.”
The fact that she knows that about me—that she’s paid attention—lands somewhere deeper than it should.
I keep my expression steady. “Let’s get you home.”
Her mouth tightens. “I should go back to work.”
I blink once. “You just got stitches.”
“It’s my shift,” she says quickly. “Cal can’t cover the whole bar, and I already caused a scene and?—”
“Sutton.”
She freezes. Not because I raised my voice but because I used the tone. The one that means I’m not joking. “You’re not going back to work tonight.”
Her chin lifts immediately. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” I agree calmly. “I don’t.” She looks momentarily thrown by the lack of argument. “But I do get to point out,” I continue evenly, “that you’re exhausted, you’ve been bleeding for the last half hour, and you nearly passed out in the middle of the bar.”
“I didnot?—”
“You ran straight into me like a linebacker,” I say. “Which I’m honored by, by the way. But that’s not exactly a sign you’re having a great day.”
Her lips press together. “I think you’re being overdramatic.”
Rain taps softly against the windows behind us while I wait for her to reach the right conclusion.
“I’ll be fine,” she mutters.
I study her for a moment, the stubbornness, the exhaustion. The way she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower. Then I take one slow breath and step a little closer to her. Not to crowd her, but enough that she has to look at me. “Sutton,” I say quietly, “you don’t have to be fine right now.”
Her jaw tightens. “Yes, I do.”
“No,” I say gently. “You really don’t.”
She laughs, but it comes out brittle. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Yeah, maybe it is.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to need every shift, Shepherd. Every dollar. You don’t know what it’s like to?—”
“Exist without heat for several days because the electricity got shut off and your parents don’t want you to know it’s because they couldn’t pay the bill?” I say, nodding. “Yeah. I know that feeling. And I also know the feeling of being hungry as fuck because Dad’s paycheck had to go toward all the outstanding bills and there wasn’t enough for anything other than oatmeal or peanut butter and jelly.” My tone softens and I exhale a deep breath. “And I also know what it looks like when someone’s about to run themselves into the ground.”
Her words stop and she searches my face like she’s trying to find the angle.
“I promise you there isn’t one,” I tell her, desperate for her to believe me.
“What?”
“No angle. No catch. No lecture.” I slide my hands into my pockets so she can see I’m not trying to grab or steer her anywhere. “I just…I like you, Sutton.”
The words hang between us in the quiet hallway. A simple, honest confession. “And because I like you,” I continue, calm and steady, “I’m not going to watch you limp back into a bar tonight pretending everything’s fine.”
