“Wait, wait,” I interrupt, gesturing at the bed. “More importantly, explain this.”
His gaze follows my hand. He blinks. “What?”
I sigh dramatically, picking up an edge of the blanket to show off the faded, colorful cartoon characters. “These, the Power Scouts. I don’t know how to tell you this, but this is deeply embarrassing for you.”
There’s a pause. Then he exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he’s reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
“Patrick, you literally just passed out,” he says, his words dripping with disapproval.
“Yeah, but—”
“You look like you’ve been living behind a gas station.”
I raise my eyebrows, giving him my own disapproving look. “Rude.”
“And your primary concern is my bedding?” he asks, dangerously calm.
I nod, tapping the bedsheet. “As your best friend, I need to make sure you keep up with the cool kids, Colten.”
He holds his annoyance for another second before the tension dissipates. He lets out a heavy sigh as he rolls his eyes.
“Why are you like this?” he asks.
“Because I’m your best friend?” I offer, with a small grin.
“You’re an asshole,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Just relief, softening his edges.
“But I’myourasshole,” I tell him, fluttering my lashes. He gives me a very, very unimpressed look.
“I can’t believe you,” he adds, shaking his head. “Three days, Patrick. It’s a forty-five minute drive.”
“Only when traffic is good,” I remind him. “Besides, it’s three hours with public transit.”
He rolls his eyes so hard I’m worried they might get stuck. “Oh my god.”
I smile, happy despite what it took to get here, because he’s talking to me like normal.
He’s not ignoring me, he’s not leaving. He’s right here, right beside me, like he should be.
“You should be training,” he says after a second, the edge creeping back into his voice. “The combine is coming up. What are you doing, wasting time like this?”
I tilt my head, watching him. He looks…tired. Not like me—lost in the transit system for three days tired—but something deeper. Like he hasn’t been sleeping either.
“I need my physical therapist,” I tell him while trying to think of some dumb joke to lighten the mood.
I can't.
I don't want to joke about this.
Taking in a deep, shaky breath, I continue, “You promised me you wouldn’t leave again.”
My voice cracks as I add, “I can’t do this without you.”
His body goes still. It’s small, most people probably wouldn’t even notice.
His fingers tighten against his knee before he leans back, putting space between us.
“I won't let you do this alone,” he says quietly, staring at his fingers as they tap against his knee. “I just...I need some time to figure this out.”
