Page 118 of Tessa and Nash

“I’m fine,” I add, more firmly. “We should go.”

“Okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe me. He’s learned in approximately two weeks that my definition of fine means I’m currently holding myself together with thumbtacks and spite.

He starts driving.

The road back into Buckhorn is packed down with snow, the tires crunching over ice like the world is chewing on our choices. We pass fences buried to their lower rails. Trees heavy with white. The kind of winter postcard people from the city think is romantic.

It is not romantic.

It is cold, inconvenient, and a reminder that nature doesn’t care about family legacies.

The silence stretches long enough to start feeling like another person in the truck.

Nash glances at me once. “You gonna talk to your uncle?”

The question is quiet. Careful. He knows he’s stepping near something sharp.

“No,” I say immediately.

He nods. He expected that.

I look out the window. “Not yet.”

Because I don’t trust Thomas with the truth, mostly because he doesn’t want it. He wants ammunition.

And I’m not handing him a loaded gun.

When we pull into my grandmother’s driveway, I see the house sitting there like it always does. Solid. Calm. Built on old money and older control.

Safe, in the way cages can be safe.

Nash parks and cuts the engine, then sits there, his hand still resting on the steering wheel like he doesn’t want to let go yet.

I reach for the door handle.

“Tessa,” he says quietly.

I pause.

I don’t look at him right away because I already know his expression will be difficult.

“What?”

“You’ll be okay?”

It’s a simple question.

It shouldn’t make my throat tighten, but it does anyway.

“I will,” I say, because I can’t afford any other answer.

Nash’s gaze holds mine for a long beat, and I think he might say more. Instead, he leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmurs.

I blink because I don’t know what to do with tenderness from him. It feels like being offered water in a place you didn’t know you were thirsty.

“I will,” I say.