The steering wheel took the third hit before he made himself stop.
He was driving with no particular destination and his jaw was tight and the image that kept arriving uninvited was Victoria's eyes going bright at the rims before she looked away and said I understand what you think of me in a voice that was completely level and that was somehow the worst version of it — not broken, not angry, just quiet and unsurprised, like she had always known this was coming from him specifically and had simply been waiting for it to arrive.
He tried Lucas's number.
Voicemail.
He tried again. Voicemail.
He hit the wheel one more time, lighter this time, and made a right turn toward Lucas's building because sitting in his own apartment with this feeling was not something he was willing to do and Luc
