She exhales sharply, rubbing her face. “I know,” she says. “But Jesus Christ, Cole. You’ve been a damn maniac since Mom died. Since Abby.”
That name hits low.
“Layla’s not Abby,” Maggie continues, lowering her voice, stepping closer. “She’s not even your girlfriend. She’s Dad’s tenant. You’re losing your fucking mind.”
Her eyes soften just a fraction, then harden again.
“And you’re playing games with her feelings. If you want her, then fucking act like it.”
I clench my jaw.
“But don’t act like a lunatic,” she adds. “She was torn up after what you did at the creek. Torn up, Cole. That was fucked up.”
I shake my head, turning away. “I’m not doing this right now, Maggie.”
That’s when the truck door opens.
Layla steps out just enough to look straight at me, fire in her eyes, chin lifted like she dares me to say something.
“Can we go?” she asks sharply.
Fuck. That tone.
Maggie sighs behind me. “You need to make this up to her. Show her who you really are, not this asshole you’ve been pretending to be.”
I don’t look at Maggie. I look at Layla.
“Get in the truck,” I say.
Maggie snorts. “Nah. I think me and Lanie are gonna…head back to her house, you know. It’s been a minute.”
I cut a look at her. “Yeah. Yeah. I got it.”
She laughs, already backing away. “You know what to do,” she whispers.
I stand there for a second longer than I should, forcing myself to breathe, forcing my hands to unclench. My knuckles ache. My chest feels tight. I don’t remember deciding to hit Jake, I just remember seeing Layla’s face when he didn’t stop.
I walk to the truck and take a deep breath before opening the door.
She’s sitting there rigid, staring out the window. She doesn’t look at me when I get in. Doesn’t say a word. The silence is brutal. I start the engine.
The engine growls low as I pull out of the parking lot, rain starting to spit against the windshield like it’s pissed too. Laylasits stiff beside me, arms crossed tight over her chest, staring out the window like she’s trying not to come apart right there in my cab.
I ruined her night. I know that. The tires skid when I take the turn too fast, gravel snapping under us.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to me,” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut.
I nod once, jaw clenched. If I open my mouth right now, I’m going to say the wrong thing like I always do.
“You don’t get to punch people over me,” she continues, turning toward me now, eyes blazing, “and then act like you don’t want me. Who does that?”
That one lands hard. Right in my ribs.
“You don’t understand what could’ve happened, Layla,” I say low, rough, like I’m holding something feral back.
“I said no,” she fires back. “And yeah, he didn’t listen, but I didn’t need you to save me. I had it under control.”
My hands tighten around the steering wheel. Leather creaks under my grip.
