(Sean's POV)
A strawberry.
I'm losing my mind over a strawberry.
I try to make sense of it the way I do at work — what changed, what moved, what tipped it. My hands tighten on the leather. The engine hums low under the hood, the same drone as the bar stripped down to nothing but vibration.
Hannah says something about the weather. I say, "No." It might not be a yes-or-no question. She adjusts in her seat.
The strawberry. His fingers. Her mouth.
I blink. The road snaps back. Lane markers. Red light. I stop.
I missed the turn.
I grip the wheel and let the question surface — the one I've been swatting down for days, the one that doesn't fit inside my rules.
What is happening to Rebecca?
I lay them out. Every piece. My fingers tighten on the wheel with each one.
The hangups. She used
