The ride home is quiet—too quiet. Not the comforting kind, but the kind that presses against your skin and fills your lungs like smoke.
Anthony's grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles pale against the leather. I stare out the window, watching streetlights blur like ghosts.
We haven't said a word since leaving the event. And for once, I wanted to hear him speak.
Even if his voice is cold. Even if it's clipped and distant. Because silence feels lonelier than his frost.
Ugh. Why am I like this?
I squeeze my eyes shut, scolding myself. Internally facepalming like some tragic extra in a drama.
Focus.
I need to think about my life. I have nothing—not yet.
This is my chance. My one breakthrough. The only shot I have at chasing a dream that feels too big for someone like me.
So I'll pretend. Pretend I didn't hear a thing.
Didn't see a thing. Just... hold on. Just a little longer.
Till I'm free.
