Ileaned against the side of the truck, letting the cold bite into me. The snow was steady now, soft flakes settling on my jacket before vanishing into damp spots that clung to the fabric. I didn’t mind the cold—it kept my thoughts sharp. Kept them from drifting where I didn’t want them to go.
Still, they wandered.
Callie’s laugh echoed in my memory, clear and bright in a way that cut through more than just the silence. It had stuck with me since last night—lodged somewhere behind my ribs, warm and uninvited. The way her eyes lit up talking about Mrs. Winslow… she’d looked alive. Comfortable. Like the version of her that hadn’t been hollowed out by what Leo did.
Whatever that was.
I shouldn't care.
I knew that.
It wasn't my business.
But…
I still didn't understand why. Why someone could walk away from… her.
I pulled a crate from the back, letting the weight ground me. It scraped against the truck bed, and I welcomed the sound, the roughness of it. Simple. Tangible. None of the messy threads Callie tangled up in me lately.
The latch stuck again, rusted and stubborn like everything in this damn town that refused to let go. I worked it loose with stiff fingers, more grateful for the resistance than I should’ve been. Anything to keep me from replaying the way she leaned into me last night—unthinking, familiar. Like she used to.
Like she still could.
That thought twisted in my gut. She was Leo’s ex. No matter how different we were—how much I wanted to believe I wasn’t like him—there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Lines that started to blur the moment I let myself care.
The latch finally gave with a groan, snapping me out of it. I wiped my hands on my jeans, ready to toss the crate into storage—when a voice rang out behind me.
“Cavil!”
My whole body tensed.
I turned slowly. And there he was—Leo—standing like he owned the lot, shoulders squared and that same smug grin tugging at his mouth.
Perfect timing.
He walked toward me, snowflakes catching in his hair, hands in his coat pockets like this was just another casual run-in. Like we didn’t have years of damage between us.
“What do you want?” I asked, already done with whatever game he thought we were playing.
He stopped a few feet away and gave a lazy shrug. “Just wanted to catch up.”
Bullshit.
Of all the nights for him to show up, it had to be this one.
The one where, for the first time in too damn long, something almost felt right.
Leo stepped closer, his grin curdling into something meaner. The air between us tightened. He was always theatrical—drama clinging to him like smoke—but today, it stank of something heavier. Resentment, maybe. Or desperation.
“You always were the good son, huh?” he said. “Even tried to steal the girl I left behind.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Let the silence stretch. Men like Leo fed on reactions.
He wanted a fight. That was clear. He always did.
Another step, close enough for our shadows to merge against the side of the truck. “You playing house now? Dropping off cookies and pretending you’re not just like me?” His gaze sharpened. “And here I thought you hated her, with the way you ignored her when we were together.”
Hated. No. That wasn’t it. But the truth was heavier than anything he could understand.
