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“Gateway jerky.” She smiles. “Take it.”

“Fine.”

Her smile widens. “Goodnight, Hot Lips.”

“Don't call me that.”

She reaches for the door.

“Callie.”

Her hand stops.

For the first time since she climbed into my truck, I'm not sure what I was going to say.

Be careful?

Text me when you get home?

Don't come back?

All three sound like things I shouldn't need to tell her. Especially the second one.

She waits.

“Don't come back.”

Her mouth curves.

Of course I choose that one.

“Goodnight, Roman.”

She opens the door. Cold autumn air rushes into the cab, chilling my skin.

Then she's gone.

I watch her walk down the sidewalk.

She doesn't look toward Mercer's house. Doesn’t draw attention to herself. Or do anything stupid.

Which shouldn't impress me.

The bar isn’t high. It’s currently at don't draw the attention of a dangerous man while carrying an emergency piss bottle.

Callie disappears into the darkness.

A few minutes later, headlights appear farther down the street.

Her car pulls away from the curb and does a U-turn. I watch until the taillights disappear, then I turn back to Mercer's house.

Silence fills the truck.

No crinkling wrappers.

No whispered questions.

No fucking gummy bears.