Chapter 1 #2
I reach out before this escalates any further, placing a hand on Will’s arm. He’s coiled tight, his muscles twitching beneath my palm like they’re ready to spring.
“Will,” I say softly.
He doesn’t look at me directly, but he turns his head just enough that I know he’s listening.
“They’ve been drinking,” I say. “They can’t drive. I’ll take them back. He can get his truck later.”
Thick silence hangs between us. Will stares down Carl like he’s trying to burn him out of existence, but his hand doesn’t move, and I can feel the tension slowly bleeding off his shoulders.
“You sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, but still edged.
“Yeah,” I say. I squeeze his arm once, maybe for reassurance. Maybe for me. “I’ve got it.”
His jaw tics, and he nods once, short and sharp. But when he finally turns to look at me, really look, there’s something flickering behind his eyes. Something that makes my pulse jump.
Will steps back, but just barely. His body still hums with the kind of tension that says he’s two wrong words away from throwing a punch. His eyes stay on Carl like a warning, even as I move to herd the drunks toward the door.
Liam mumbles something unintelligible as he stumbles after me, and Carl tosses one last glance over his shoulder, more interested in the redhead by the jukebox than the damage he nearly caused.
I don’t say goodbye. I don’t look back.
But I feel him.
Will’s eyes follow me all the way to the door, like the weight of his stare is stitched into my spine. I hold it together until the cold night air hits me in the face and I’m helping Liam into the passenger seat of my truck while Carl fumbles his way into the back.
Only when I slide behind the wheel do I let myself breathe. Just once.
Because even though I left the bar behind that moment—Will’s body shielding mine, his voice full of gravel and fire, his eyes burning with something he wouldn’t say—that didn’t stay inside. It followed me. Like a question waiting to be answered.
Liam leans his forehead against the passenger-side window and murmurs, “I miss her, Phern.”
Carl snorts from the backseat, but when I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror with a glare that could slice through denim, he wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“I bet she misses you, too,” I say softly. “You should call her.”
Liam lets out a long sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s carrying more weight than his shoulders can hold. Then, not even a minute later, he’s out, his snores loud and uneven, rattling through the cab like a sad lullaby.
I almost let myself feel the quiet.
Almost.
But then Carl leans forward, beer-soaked breath filling the space between us. “Stop encouraging him. He’ll get over that girl soon enough.”
My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter.
“He’s in love with her, you ass,” I bite out, low and furious. “Maybe it’s you who needs to back off.”
He grunts and slouches again, but I keep my eyes on the road. Because if I look at him, I might say something I can’t take back. And even if I hate him, he’s still family, and my dad would be so upset if he knew we were falling apart without him.
It takes a bit to get Liam and his father settled on the couch. Liam is mumbling something about love and Carl already half-snoring by the time I toss a blanket over them. By the time I pull up in front of Sam’s house—my childhood home—it’s nearly two in the morning.
I slip through the back door like muscle memory, shoes in one hand, every creak in the floorboard still mapped in my brain. I make it to my room without waking anyone, close the door behind me, and finally exhale.
I’m just pulling back the covers when my phone buzzes with an Instagram notification.
I glance at the screen and my breath catches.
Will Flowers sent you a message.
It’s just one thing. A phone number. No words. No explanation. I stare at it for a solid thirty seconds, heartbeat loud in my ears. Do I call him? Text him? Did he even mean to send it to me?
I bite my lip, heart pounding, then open my contacts and add the number. And then, because I’m apparently a glutton for emotional chaos, I send him a message.
Will Flowers
Hey, this is Phern. Did you mean to send me your number?
His reply is instant.
Of course I did. Who else would it have been for?
I blink at the screen, stomach flipping.
You’re a former Pbr star. I’m sure your DMs are wild.
There’s a pause. Long enough for my nerves to start buzzing again.
Maybe.
Make it home ok?
Yeah. They’re both passed out on Liam’s couch, and I’m safe and snug in bed.
My face flames. Crap. I shouldn’t have mentioned the bed part. Right? Like, he’s going to think that’s weird or that I’m hitting on him.
I type a reply. Delete it. Type another. Delete it. Finally, I settle on something to say.
Also, thanks. For earlier. For stepping in.
Anytime. You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.
I didn’t feel alone. Not with you there.
Ugh. I have immediate regret for sending that last one. God, he’s going to think I’m such a dork! He’s going to ask me to delete his phone number and never text him again. He’s…
Good. Because you aren’t alone.
I let out a soft, shaky sigh. Part of me—stupid, reckless, and still hopelessly hung up—wants this to be the moment. The moment he admits he has feelings for me. That seeing Carl in my face flipped some switch in his chest he didn’t know existed.
Then another message comes in.
Sam would never forgive me if something happened to you, kiddo.
I stare at the screen.
For a second, I think I’ve gone numb. Or into shock. Because that? That’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said.
He invoked my brother. And he called me kiddo.
I’m nearly twenty-nine, but he’ll never see me like that. I get it now.
So I do the only thing I can.
I shut off my phone, roll over in bed, and cry into my pillow until sleep drags me under.