“That’s not an excuse,” he snaps. “We’re going to a business dinner. These people matter.”
I nod because nodding costs less energy than arguing.
“You embarrassed me last time,” he continues, already opening the passenger door. “You looked distracted. Like you didn’t want to be there.”
I swallow. “I didn’t embarrass you.”
“You didn’t smile,” he says sharply. “And you slouched. And you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else.”
Because I did.
Because I always do.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because my mouth knows this script by heart. “I’ll do better.”
“You always say that,” he mutters. “Try meaning it.”
The exhaustion hits me all at once, heavy and suffocating. I just want to sit down. I just want quiet. I just want five minutes where no one is correcting me or adjusting me or telling me how to exist better.
I hover beside the open passenger door, one hand on the edge of it, stalling because climbing in feels like surrender. Evan’s already moved around the front of the car, keys in hand, muttering under his breath as if I’m an inconvenience he has to transport.
“Faith.”
The sound doesn’t belong here.
It slices through the street noise wrong. Too steady, too familiar, too gentle for the sharp corporate edge of this city. Not Evan’s voice. Not my father’s. Not anyone who has spoken my name in days.
My body goes still.
Evan pauses mid-step on the driver’s side. I see it in the way his shoulders lock, like he heard it too and hates that he did.
I don’t turn around. I can’t. My heart slams so hard it steals my breath, the world tipping, the pavement shifting under my heels like it’s deciding whether it’s going to hold me or give way.
Then the voice comes again.
Closer. Not louder, closer.
“Faith. Hey. It’s me.”
Evan’s head snaps toward the sidewalk. His gaze tracks over my shoulder, sharp and instant, and whatever he sees there changes his face. The polish slips for half a second.
“What the hell…” he growls.
I turn.
And the city disappears.
Dallas is there, standing on the sidewalk like he belongs in the middle of this insanity, jacket dusted with road salt, jaw tight, eyes locked on me like he’s been holding his breath for days.
My knees actually buckle. A broken sound rips out of me before I can stop it. “Dallas?”
Evan moves fast then. Too fast. He reaches for my arm, like he can reel me back in, like I’m still something he can steer…
But Dallas steps forward at the same time, calling my name again, and that half-second of hesitation is all my body needs.
I drop my bag.
I turn.
