“Tonight,” I agreed. Then, because I couldn’t leave it alone, “I heard something about a file. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—I just couldn’t help it. Is someone messing with you?”
“No.” She answered too fast, caught herself, and let out a slow breath. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s not the same thing, Becca.”
Her jaw tightened just slightly. “A file was gone. That’s all it was. It could’ve been anything—a glitch, something I did by accident.” She paused. “But no. I don’t really believe that.”
“I know you don’t.” I stepped closer to the window, bracing my forearms on the sill so we were almost level. Close enough that if either of us leaned forward, the distance would close entirely. “So until you figure out what you do believe, I need to know you’re safe. That’s not negotiable.”
She studied me for a long moment, the early light catching in her eyes. “I am safe,” she said. “Matt’s five minutes away, you’re right there, and I’m not walking around scared. I’m not going to let myself do that.”
There it was—the stubborn edge underneath everything, the part of her that refused to be handled. I’d always loved that about her, even when it drove me to distraction. “Good,” I said. “I don’t want you scared.”
“I’m not,” she said. Then, softer, like she was being honest with both of us, “Not like last night.”
I let my gaze move over her face, looking for the cracks she might be hiding. All I found was strength. Fatigue, yes, but not fear. Not anymore. “If that changes,” I said, keeping my voice low and certain, “you call me first. Not Matt. Me. I’m closer, and I need you to promise me that.”
Something warm and complicated moved through her eyes. “Okay,” she said quietly.
“And if someone is messing with you—” I held her gaze, “—I want to know. I need you to tell me. If it’s Travis, I’ll handle him.”
She hesitated, and I could see her weighing it—how much to say, how much to hold back, how much of the careful distance she’d been keeping she was willing to let go of right now. “I will,” she said finally. “Tonight. I was going to tell you everything last night, but I went to bed instead, and now I’m already almost late.” A pause. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. “Just tell me tonight.”
“I will. Oh. I’m going out with Harper and Elizabeth, so I’ll be late. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, actually. I was supposed to have poker night with my brothers. I’ll uncancel it, and we can meet back here tonight.”
“You don’t have to cancel things for me,” she whispered. “I don’t expect that of you.”
“Don’t you know by now that I’d rearrange my entire life for you?”
“Levi…”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt like something settling into place between us—not resolved, we weren’t finished talking everything through, but we were no longer held quite so tightly apart.
She held my gaze one beat longer than necessary. Then she stepped back from the window, stretching the thread between us without quite snapping it, and moved around her trailer—grabbing her keys, tucking her hair back, slipping her phone into her back pocket. She seemed back to normal. But I’d held her through a panic attack less than twelve hours ago, and normal was relative.
When she stepped outside, I did the same.
Gravel shifted under my boots as I circled around the narrow strip of space between our trailers. The morning air was cooler than it had been earlier, clean and sharp-edged, the kind that made everything feel more awake than you were ready for. She paused when she saw me rounding the corner.
“You don’t have to escort me,” she said, but there was a softness in it. Not irritation.
“I know,” I replied. “I’m still going to.”
Her mouth curved faintly, and she didn’t argue.
I walked with her the few steps to her car, not because of any invisible threat, but because I wasn’t ready to let her carry the weight of the morning alone. She stopped by the driver’s side door and looked up at me, and up close I could see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way she was holding herself a little straighter than usual, doing the work of holding it all together so visibly that it made my chest ache.
“You’ll tell me if something changes,” I said quietly.
“I will.” She said it like she meant it.
“And we’re not dropping this,” I added. “Whatever’s going on. Promise me.”
She studied me for a second, and I saw it—the flicker of relief at not having to pretend everything was fine indefinitely, at being seen clearly by someone who wasn’t going to flinch at what they found. “I promise,” she said.
