Page 33 of Welded Defender
The silence stretches. Then Wes clears his throat, eyes flicking toward Landon, mischief sparking in his grin. “So… you wearing the same shirt as yesterday, man, or am I seeing things?”
Landon doesn’t look up from his mug. “You’re seeing things.”
“Nope,” Wes says, grinning wider. “That’s definitely the same shirt. Did the man who never dates finally go on one?” His eyes flick to me and back to Landon.
My heart stops. Heat floods my cheeks.
Landon’s jaw ticks. He sets his mug down with a soft click. “Drop it.”
“What?” Wes shrugs, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying?—”
“Say less,” Joon cuts in flatly.
Wes throws his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Alright, alright. Killjoys.”
Becket comes back in, brushing snow off his jacket, and the conversation shifts back to car parts and snowplows. But the air in my lungs stays thin, my pulse too loud in my ears.
A hand touches my shoulder lightly. I jump. Landon tilts his head toward the hallway.
I follow him, grateful for the escape.
We stop in the staff break room, out of earshot. He leans one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, studying me. His eyes are softer now, but shadows line them. He looks as tired as I feel.
“You okay?” he asks.
I want to say yes. Pretend the garbage thing didn’t slice through me like that. But the truth pushes out anyway, quiet and raw. “It feels like I’m back to hiding. Like every time I step outside, he could be there.”
Something flickers in his gaze—a sharpness I’ve only seen when he’s angry. But his voice stays steady. “You’re not hiding. You’re being careful. Protecting yourself and the life you’ve built here. He doesn’t get to take that from you.”
The conviction in his tone steadies me more than the words themselves.
He uncrosses his arms and shifts his weight. “Wes is making dinner tonight at our place. He wanted me to ask if you’d come.”
I blink. “Dinner?”
“Nothing fancy. Just Wes showing off with a skillet. But…” His eyes hold mine. “It might be good to get out for a bit. Somewhere that’s not here or the shop.”
My fingernails dig half-moons into my palms as I glance toward the window. Beyond the glass waits a world where Brett might be watching. But staying here—I picture myself curled on the bed tomorrow, then the next day, the blankets pulled higher, my body shrinking until the room swallows what’s left of me.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Okay.”
He nods, his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “Good.”
The day drifts by slowly. Snow thickens outside, steady but not yet dangerous. Becket works in the garage, Wes putters around, and I hover between paperwork at the counter and staring out the window, my body wound tight with the expectation of headlights that never come.
By late afternoon, Landon shrugs into his jacket. “You ready?”
I zip up my coat, heart hammering at the thought of leaving. But when his hand brushes the small of my back, guiding me toward the door, the panic eases. Just enough.
Snow crunches under our boots as we cross the lot toward his truck. The cold bites at my cheeks, sharp and clean.
Something Wes said earlier has stayed with me. “Is what Wes said true?” I ask.
Landon chuckles. “Wes says a lot of things. You might need to be more specific.”
“The part about you not dating.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. He unlocks the truck, holds the door for me, and waits until I’m inside before sliding behind the wheel. The heater rattles to life, filling the cab with warm air.
