“Four things you can feel.”
“The seat. My jacket sleeve. The wheel. My teeth because I’m clenching my jaw.”
“Fix that.”
I unclenched.
“Three things you hear.”
“Engine. Your voice. Some guy honking behind me because five over the speed limit isn’t enough for his personal growth.”
Tiny barked again in the background.
“That counts too,” I said.
“It does.”
My chest loosened by a small, embarrassing amount.
The roads got quieter after a while. Houses sat farther apart, porch lights glowing against snow piled neatly along driveways. Everything looked calm and expensive and far removed from people making terrible choices in parked cars outside restaurants.
“Next right,” Declan said.
I turned.
“Third house on the left. Brick front. Porch light’s on.”
My fingers flexed on the wheel.
“I’m parking on the street.”
“I figured.”
“I know that’s paranoid.”
“It’s aware.”
That helped.
I pulled up across from the house and put the car in park.
For a few seconds, I just sat there.
His house was bigger than I expected and less showy. Brick and dark trim. A wide porch. One truck in the driveway. Curtains drawn. Porch light on. A married man’s house. A coach’s house. A place I had no business entering after ending things with my girlfriend while his wife existed somewhere else, real and unaware of me sitting outside with both hands locked around the steering wheel.
My body refused to move.
“I’m here,” I said, although he obviously knew.
“I see you.”
My head turned toward the house. A curtain shifted near the front window.
The call ended.
A second later, my phone buzzed.
Declan: Door’s unlocked. Come in.
