Page 24 of Whiskey & Wreckage

I glare.

Nash presses, “You tell her how you feel? That you actually care? That you’re scared it’ll mean nothing to her?”

I grit my teeth. “No.”

“So what’s the plan, genius? Sit back and let her assume it didn’t matter? That you regret it?”

“Idoregret it.”

That comes out sharper than I mean it to, and Nash goes still.

“I regretwalking away,” I add quietly. “Not kissing her.”

He nods slowly. “So go see her. Fix it.”

“She’s about to start a new job. She’s figuring her shit out. I didn’t want to add pressure.”

“She texted you.”

“Yeah. A couple times. I gave her space.”

“You gave her silence,” he says. “And while you’ve been busy playing noble idiot, some other guy could be making her laugh. Buying her coffee. Helping her change her next deadbolt.”

That’s the wrong button to push.

I’m on my feet, jaw tight. “She’s nothisto help.”

Nash stands too, chest squared. “Thendo something,Thomas. Or are you really gonna let someone else step in and take what you’re too scared to claim?”

The air goes hot between us. We don’t throw punches, but it’s close.

“She’s not just some fling,” I grit out. “I want more. I wantall of it.But if I screw this up, I don’t get a second chance.”

“And what makes you think walking away gave you one?”

I stare at him.

He exhales and claps me once on the shoulder. “You’re a stubborn bastard. But you’re not too far gone. Go see her. Or at least answer her damn texts with something that sounds human.”

I sit back down, the weight of everything pressing on my chest.

I’ve been trying to protect her. But maybe what she needed most… was for me to stay.

Thirty minutes later, I get home and kick off my boots by the door, shoulders tight, skin buzzing in a way that has nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with frustration.

Bear trots over, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Usually, I’d crouch down and rough him up a little, let his oversized goofiness take the edge off. But even he seems to feel the shift. He slows as he gets closer, sniffing the air like he knows I’m not in the mood.

“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over his head. “I know, bud. Something’s off.”

I shower. Quick, hot, mechanical. I towel off, throw on jeans and a clean T-shirt, but I don’t sit down. I can’t. I’m starving, but nothing in the fridge sounds good. I open it three times anyway, like magically something new will appear, but It doesn’t.

So I grab my keys and head out. I don’t even know where I’m going,I just drive. Windows down. Radio off. I let the wind roar and the silence hang.

And of course, every damn turn I take, my brain just drifts straight back to her. Poppy. Her laugh. Her stubbornness. That ridiculous kiss I still haven’t recovered from. The way she pulled me back in like she meant it, like itmeantsomething.

And then Nash’s voice echoes in my head:

"You gonna stand back and wait your turn while someone else scoops her up and gets her rebound phase, or are you gonna be a man and admit you want the real thing with her?"

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