What the hell?
Thunder cracks overhead, snapping me back.
Okay.
Car’s dead. Middle of nowhere. Storm coming.
What now?
I grab my phone and almost call Reid.
Almost.
Then I stop.
No.
I call AAA instead.
“Thank you for calling AAA. Your call may be recorded for quality assurance. If this is a roadside emergency, please stay on the line.”
After a few prompts, a voice comes through. “Hello, my name is Melissa, and it is my pleasure to assist you. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, um—my car just broke down. I’m on the side of the road, and there’s a storm coming.”
Silence.
I frown. “I need help.”
The line cuts out.
I pull the phone back and stare at the screen.
No service.
“Fuck!” I slam my hand against the steering wheel. “Why is everything going wrong today?”
Thunder answers, louder this time. Getting closer. The sky darkens to an ominous copper color.
And then, just a few drops at first, but rapidly picking up the pace, the rain comes down in earnest.
CHAPTER 28
Luke
The silence between us yawns like a chasm, thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides as I stare at the untouched glass of bourbon in front of me. The ice has melted just enough to dull the color, the amber now slightly cloudy under the low bar lights, condensation gathering on the outside and pooling on the scarred wood beneath it.
I was on a roll earlier, working through drinks like they might take the edge off, but I haven’t touched this one since I poured it. Reid totally killed whatever buzz I had going the second he walked in.
I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here without speaking. Long enough for the noise of the bar—a local radio station playing rock classics at low volume, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, the clink of glassware, the door opening and closing—to fade into something distant and irrelevant. The mood between us has shifted from sharp and heated to something worse. Not calm. Not resolved. Just… stalled. Awkward in a way that feels heavier than the argument did.
He hasn’t said anything because he can’t answer the damned question. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way hekeeps his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder like there’s something worth studying in the grain of the wall. I can hardly blame him. I can’t answer it either.
We’ve landed ourselves with an impossible problem—a dilemma with no clean way out. I’ve turned it over again and again in my head, looking for some version where we all walk away at least okay. But there isn’t one.
Seems Reid’s hit the same wall. All we can do is sit here, drink, and let it hang between us—that low, gnawing awareness that whatever happens next is going to cost us something. Maybe a lot. Maybe everything.
I roll the glass between my fingers, watching what’s left of the bourbon shift, then sneak a glance at Reid. He hasn’t moved. Still staring past me, still somewhere else entirely. Probably thinking about Sierra. Not a hard guess, considering I’m doing the same.