Page 120 of Rhodes

"You still don't get it."

He rubs his hand over his jaw and breathes in through his nose.

"This has never been about you. Whatever I decide to do is my choice, and you don't get a say. Whatever I tell my grandfather is my business. I can guarantee you I won't do anything to protect you."

That shuts him up.

"You wanted to help me so badly that you never bothered to ask whether I wanted your help. Then when it blew up, you decided you could protect me from knowing that too."

My hand tightens around the strap of my bag.

"Stay away from my family, Rhodes."

He nods once.

"And stay away from Oak Moss."

Another nod.

I start toward the parking garage.

"Tallulah," he calls behind me.

I don't turn around.

"I'm sorry."

I look back at him then. "Fuck you, Rhodes."

His face breaks just enough that I almost hate him for making me see it.

I turn back around and keep walking to my truck, leaving him standing there.

Level three is empty and dim, the concrete sweating in the heat that never leaves this garage. The Cruiser sits where I left it this morning, back when the biggest thing on my mind was a district office phone number.

I climb in and pull the door shut, and I don't reach for the key. I put both hands flat on the wheel and wait, but nothing comes. I expect tears, or panic or rage.

I'm bone dry, my eyes are clear, and my hands on the wheel don't shake at all. That's worse than any amount of crying would be, because tears would at least give me something to feel besides the facts. Without them, all I've got is betrayal and disappointment from everyone in my life. He knew the whole time, and he held me anyway, and he made the same decision again every day after.

I take stock of what's actually in this car with me, because that's a question I can answer.

The duffel from Friday's reef crew is still in the back. I can smell it from here, all boat and salt and old shell. My laptop's in the bag on the seat. My charger is coiled up in the cup holder.

I start the car. The engine catches on the first turn now, thanks to him, and I don't let myself sit with that either. I back out and wind down the ramp and out into the white afternoon.

On Claiborne, I pick up my phone and click on Jo's name. I put it on speaker, not even occurring to me to call my sponsor until Jo's phone is already ringing. Getting high hasn't entered my mind, either.

On the second ring, she picks up already talking.

"So the shell guy says Thursday, but you know that means Friday. I told him if it's Friday again I'm going to lose my whole⁠—"

"Jo, where are you? I need you."

"I just got home. I can come to you."

"I'm okay, and I need to come to you. Can I come to your house?"

"Absolutely, come right now."