I turn.
He's already moving.
Fuck all of you.
He doesn't look at me.
Not once.
He turns and walks out and the door swings shut behind him and I am finally, finally out of my head and back in my bodyand back in this room and he is gone.
Fuck.
I'm moving before I decide to move.
Through the bar. Past the Eldridge guys. Past Cooper who says my name. Through the door and into the cold.
The street in both directions.
Empty.
Just the pavement and the cold and the bar noise bleeding through the door and nothing.
He's gone.
I stand there.
I put my hands on my knees.
Breathe.
What I let happen settles over me.
Not a choice.
That's what I have to face right now.
It wasn't a choice in the way choices feel. It was a reflex. A conditioned response built into me so early and so completely that by the time I understood what was happening Rhys was already out the door.
My father made me this way.
But I keep letting him.
I straighten up.
Pull out my phone.
Call him.
It rings out.
I call again.
Nothing.
I text him.
Nothing.
