DENVER
Next morning, I dropped Zee at school anyway — even after spending half the night trying to talk her out of going back.
The moment I stopped the car at her school gate, she waved me off with that little tilt of her chin, pretending she wasn’t worried. Pretending yesterday hadn’t happened. But I saw it — the hesitation, the way her eyes lingered a second too long before she turned away.
Like she wasn’t sure I’d still be here when she walked back out.
That look followed me. Sat in my chest like a damn weight all the way to the clubhouse.
By the time I parked, my jaw ached from grinding my teeth.
Every muscle in my body screamed to turn the car around, rip her out of that damn school, and lock her somewhere no one could touch her. Somewhere only I had the key. Somewhere she could
