“That makes sense.”
“Later may be different.”
“Do you want later to be different?”
His gaze lifted.
“I want you to have every option your health allows.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
He reached across the table.
I gave him my hand.
“I don’t want you on the road,” he admitted. “I don’t want anyone on the road with unsecured equipment, bad weather, and schedules that reward rushing.”
“We can change those things.”
“Yes.”
“Two-person calls.”
“Yes.”
“Better restraints.”
“Yes.”
“Vehicle cameras. Automatic alerts.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does it still frighten you?”
His fingers tightened.
“Because systems reduce risk. They do not erase it.”
I understood.
“Like sex.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“After the accident, my body learned pain could happen during anything vulnerable. We made rules. Moved slowly. Talked. The rules did not guarantee I would never hurt.”
“No.”
“They made it possible to choose despite fear.”
Reid looked down.
“You’re saying I need exposure therapy for vans.”
