Rebecca
The drive is quiet.
Not the comfortable kind of quiet we usually fall into where we hold hands. No.
Marcus hasn't looked at me in the last ten minutes. His jaw's clenched, one hand gripping the steering wheel like it might fly away if he lets go.
The air between us feels heavier.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His expression is flat, but not calm. It's the kind of blank that's hiding something—something sharp and too close to the surface.
"Marcus," I say softly.
He doesn't respond right away. His eyes stay fixed on the road like it's the only thing keeping him anchored.
"What?"
That one word is short. Not cruel, exactly. Just… hollow. Like he's already pulled away from me and shut the door behind him.
I fight the instinct to shrink back. Instead, I rest my hand gently over his on the gearshift.
"I'm here," I say. "With you. Okay?"
His jaw works, but he doesn't say anything. Not right away.
I wait.
