Page 114 of Your Place or Mine

The truck ride back was quiet.

Not tense. Not angry. Just… full. The kind of silence that buzzed like static in your ears, every second heavy with things we hadn’t said.

Callum kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he kept himself grounded. His profile was unreadable with jaw tight, lips a firm line, brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a problem with no clean answer.

I didn’t try to fill the quiet.

I couldn’t.

Every time I opened my mouth, something sharp tried to claw its way out, and I didn’t have it in me to bleed again. Not right now.

He pulled into the back lot of the Rusty Stag, his headlights cutting a familiar path across the gravel, and parked in his usual spot without a word.

I hesitated, hand hovering near the door handle.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.

He nodded once. “You sure you’re okay?”

No.

But I nodded anyway.

He didn’t stop me when I climbed out. Didn’t offer to walk me the block to my place. And that was fine.

Except it wasn’t.

I stood there for a second under the flickering security light, watching him disappear inside the bar. My chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. And the idea of going back to my apartment alone with peeling paint, unanswered questions, and a bed too cold made my skin crawl.

So instead, I followed him.

The Rusty Stag was almost empty, and a few locals tucked into their usual booths. The low hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the distant croon of something old on the jukebox warmed the space. I didn’t know if I wanted comfort or to be numb, but I sat at the far end of the bar anyway, the one closest to the kitchen.

Drew spotted me before I even opened my mouth. His smile was easy, full of something softer.

“I’m starving,” I admitted.

“Chicken tenders?”

“Please. With fries. And… something fizzy.”

“You got it.”

He gave me a little wink and walked off, and for a moment, I could pretend things were fine. That I hadn’t just stood at a stranger’s grave and poured my heart out to someone who made me want things I wasn’t ready for.

The food came fast, greasy, golden, and perfect. I ate like I hadn’t had a real meal in days. Which, now that I thought about it, might’ve been true.

Drew kept checking in, topping off my water, asking questions about the coffee shop reno, nodding like he actually cared. And maybe he did. He had kind eyes and that same quiet steadiness Callum had, just wrapped in warmth instead of walls.

But every time he smiled, my eyes strayed to the far side of the bar.

Wherehewas.

Callum.

I could feel him.

Even though he hadn’t looked my way once since I sat down.

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