He glanced over, but didn’t pull away or say anything.

I began to rub at the base of his thumb. It was rock hard.

He bit out a groan. “Jesus, that feels good.”

“That’s all stress.”

Another grunt. “Tell me about it.” His eyes fluttered a second, and he seemed to shake himself loose. “Wait. No. Tell me about it. Tell me about your flight. Your dinner. How’s the infamous Janet? Am I ever going to meet her?” He managed a crooked smile.

I filled him in: A caffeine buzz. Okay. Same. And no.

His laugh was a low baritone. “That’s it? You’re not going into any more detail?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My turn of being the center of attention was, like, five states ago. We’re in your territory now.” I kept rubbing over his thumb. “Fill me in on what’s going on with your brother.”

His hand jerked, but he kept it in mine. “It’s a shit show. That’s all I can say.”

“So tell me.”

He cursed, pulling his hand away and rubbing it over his jaw. “I don’t really want to talk about it, to be honest.”

I tried not to feel dejected. I was mostly failing. “I told you about my stuff.”

“And I told you mine.”

“You gave me the bulletproof version. The stuff that’s in the past and not affecting you.” I eyed his hand, but he switched his grip on the wheel, his left hand going to his leg now. “What’s affecting you now?” I murmured.

“Charlie.” He gentled his voice. “I don’t want to be a dick, but I spent all fucking evening on the phone with people about Roman. You’re here.” His hand covered mine again, squeezing. “And I didn’t kiss you at the airport.” He glanced over, his eyes darting to my mouth. “I’m more pissed about the camera guy now.”

He was lying.

I recognized the signs. Distraction. Smoothing things over. A more cheerful tone. Bullshitology 101, and I’d become damned good at it.

Feeling a pang in my chest, I said, “Look, full transparency? You’re full of shit.”

His head whipped back to mine, just for a second before returning to the road.

I didn’t touch his hand, and he didn’t move it away.

“You pushed through my walls. You dug inside when I didn’t want to talk, and then you poured out your baggage. We chose to be more than friends. That means real conversations like this.”

My chest tightened as I flashed back to Damian’s temper. My teeth began to grind together. “I won’t be anything with a guy unless he gives as much as I do. That’s my rule. And yeah, that’s friendship too, I guess, but most definitely a guy I’m fucking. You open up, at least a little, and we’re good. I opened up last time. Remember?”

Damian would’ve turned the tables, made me the bad guy for pushing. He’d be the victim… I felt like a rock, entirely on edge as I waited for Reese to blast me. My eyes were closed, my nails digging in my jeans when he let out a soft curse.

His hand took mine, tugging it to his lap. “Fuck. Is that what he did to you?”

“What?” My voice had gone hoarse.

“I was a dick, and a second later your entire body froze up. You said your piece, and now it’s like you’re expecting me to start beating you or something.”

He was right.

I knew he was right. I had thought it too, prepared for it, but hearing it come out of someone else, that was different. The impact was smack in the middle of my chest.

“I…”

“Did he?” His question was biting.

I flinched.

“Hey.” His hand squeezed mine, let go, squeezed again. Over and over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Just…” He was fighting for control. “You’re right. You’re completely right, and I was being an asshole. You called me out on it, and I like that you did that. But…fuck. Did he hurt you because you did that to him?”

Tears dripped down my cheeks.

I was really sick of feeling this way.

“He didn’t physically hurt me, but yes. I’d call him on things, and he’d twist it. I was always the wrong one, until I just stopped talking.”

He wore me down. That was the truth, and that gaping hole was back inside of me.

I tugged my hand away, turned to the window, and pulled my feet up on the seat—folding in on myself, my go-to. If I could’ve gone into a fetal position, I would’ve.

“Hey. Hey.” Reese reached over, taking an exit. His hand touched my leg, softly rubbing back and forth. “I’m sorry, okay? My brother shit? It’s just that: a shit show. I’m sorry for being short.”

“I don’t care if you’re short. Honestly. Just…”

We were back here. I was pushing, or prompting, and scared to do that. But that’s what was normal, right? Or was I wrong?

I started laughing, wiping away the tears. “I don’t know how to do this, whatever this is.” I motioned between us. “I went from a seven-year relationship to a three-month regret. Now I’m here, and…” It wasn’t the same, so not the same. “Is this healthy?”

Reese slowed at the intersection, taking a right. We were pulling away from the city, moving onto a road that wound along the shoreline. It was gorgeous. Trees. Long stems of grass sticking up in the air. White tree limbs on the ground. Rocks.