Sixteen
Snow hammered the windshield in thick sheets, blurring the world into nothing but brake lights and wind. The Pike was deadlocked — not slowed, not crawling. Fully stopped, as if the entire city had decided to give up at once.
Inside the truck, the heater rattled and coughed, pushing out air that was warm in theory but hopeless in practice. Savannah could feel her fingertips going numb even inside her pockets.
Tilly hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.
And Savannah was aware of every second of it.
Not since they packed up from the live hit and got into the truck without looking at her.
Savannah stared hard at the storm. “We’re going to be here all night.”
“Probably.”
Their tone was clipped, neutral in a way that wasn’t neutral at all.
She shifted in her seat, her knee brushing Tilly’s by accident. She didn’t move right away. Tilly didn’t move, but Savannah felt the tension in them like a live wire.
She tried again. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
It was the kind of “fine” that meant nothing was fine.
Savannah let out a slow breath, fogging the window. “You’re being weird.”
Tilly’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. Just a twitch, but she saw it. “I’m being quiet.”
“You’re being distant.”
Tilly let out a humorless laugh. “Savannah, I’m always distant.”
That hit harder than they probably meant it to.
Savannah’s voice dropped. “Not with me.”
Tilly finally turned their head. Their eyes flicked over her, assessing, guarded, tired. “You sure about that?”
A cold jolt went through her chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Tilly said slowly, “I don’t know where the hell I stand with you anymore.”
Savannah stared at them, stunned. The heater sputtered again, pushing out another useless puff of air.
“Where is this coming from?” she finally asked.
Tilly rubbed their thumb against the leather of the wheel, jaw flexing. “Forget it.”
“No,” Savannah snapped, heat rising in her cheeks. “I’m not going to forget it. You said it, so say the rest.”
Tilly exhaled hard. “Savannah, I’m tired. I’m tired of guessing what you want from me.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t want anything from you.”
The words felt wrong the second they left her mouth.
“That’s the problem,” Tilly shot back. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
The words landed like a punch.
Savannah swallowed. “Why would you think I want anything?”
Tilly blinked at her. Slow. Disbelieving. Hurt. “You’re really going to ask me that?”
A hot, tight knot formed in her chest. “Yes. I am.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them growing hotter, narrower, heavier with every second.
Then Tilly spoke, voice low. “Because you keep looking at me like you expect something.”
Savannah felt her face flush.
Because they weren’t wrong.
“Or like you’re daring me to say something. And then the second I even breathe wrong, you shut down,” they finished.
Savannah felt her face flush. “That’s not— I don’t— you’re reading me wrong.”
Or maybe too right.
“Am I?”
The emphasis made her toes curl in her boots.
Outside, a horn honked somewhere far back in the line of cars — the sound swallowed by the storm. Inside, the cab felt claustrophobic, like the cold had nowhere to go and the heat had nowhere to rise.
Savannah pressed her thumbnail into her palm. “If I’ve been off, it’s because I’m overwhelmed. That’s all.”
“You said that already,” Tilly murmured. “But you never say why.”
Savannah turned her face toward the window, heart racing. “Maybe I don’t know why.”
Which wasn’t entirely true.
Tilly studied her profile. “I don’t believe that.”
Savannah whipped her head back toward them. “Then stop asking me questions you think you already have the answers to.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it.”
“Well,” Tilly said tightly, “it feels like you expect me to read your mind.”
Savannah’s breathing quickened. “I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t!”
Their voices echoed too loudly in the small truck cab, and both of them froze at the sound of it.
Outside, the storm kept howling.
Inside, the silence clawed at Savannah’s skin.
Tilly looked away first, shoulders tight. “You see what I mean? This is what I’m talking about. I don’t know what any of this is. I don’t know how to talk to you without messing up.”
Savannah’s lips parted. She hated how much those words stung. “I’m not asking for perfection.”
“No,” Tilly said. “You’re asking for clarity you don’t give.”
The heater wheezed again. Savannah felt heat rise to her face — from frustration, embarrassment, something else she didn’t want to name.
She spoke quietly. “I’m trying to figure things out.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Tilly—”
“Savannah.” Their voice cracked. “Please. I don’t have the energy for half-answers tonight.”
Her chest tightened. “Then what do you want?”
The answer sat somewhere in her chest, loud and unhelpful.
Tilly laughed under their breath — a tired, fraying sound. “Honestly? I just want one conversation with you that doesn’t feel like I’m stepping on a tripwire.”
Savannah inhaled sharply. “You think I’m explosive?”
“I think you’re… unpredictable.” Their voice softened in a way that felt worse. “And I don’t know how to brace for you anymore.”
The words landed heavy, right in her center.
A beat.
Two.
The storm was roaring like static around them.
Savannah forced her voice steady. “I’m not avoiding you on purpose.”
Tilly didn’t look at her. “Intent doesn’t change how it feels.”
That was somehow worse than yelling.
Savannah dropped her gaze to her lap, pulse thudding in her ears. “So what do we do? Just keep… tiptoeing around each other?”
Tilly gripped the wheel harder. “I don’t know. But this…” they motioned between them “…is exhausting.”
Savannah’s breath caught. “Is that why you keep pulling back?”
Tilly looked at her, eyes sharp with confusion and something else — something she didn’t dare identify. “You think I’m pulling back?”
“Yes,” she said, heat in her voice. “Don’t act surprised.”
For a moment, they just stared at each other — trapped in the storm, trapped in the silence, trapped in something neither of them had language for.
Then Tilly broke the gaze and turned on the headlights.
The movement was sharp. Final.
“We’re done talking,” they said quietly.
Savannah stared at them, stunned.
Not because the conversation was over, but because it felt like something else was.
Savannah stared at them, stunned. “Tilly—”
“We’re not getting anywhere. And I don’t want to say something I regret.”
That hit like a slap.
Before she could answer, traffic lurched forward. Tilly shifted the truck into gear with clipped precision, expression unreadable, body rigid with restraint.
The rest of the drive was silent, suffocatingly so.
When they finally pulled into the station lot, Savannah reached for the door handle — but Tilly beat her to it.
They opened their door fast. Too fast. Like they couldn’t get out of the truck quickly enough.
They grabbed their bag, slammed the door harder than they meant to, and walked off across the lot without a single glance back.
Savannah sat there, breathless, pulse still racing from the fight that never actually became a fight.
Heat crawled up her neck.
Anger. Confusion. Something sharper.
By the time she stepped out into the snow, she was shaking with it.
Tilly didn’t want to talk?
Fine.
She would make them talk.
Because she couldn’t leave it like this.
Not with them.