Page 94 of Rhodes

"Midnight sharp," I say. "Straight back to me pretending you don't steal my shirts."

"This was too small on you. I'm helping you."

"See, that's why you needed an extra bag on the way home."

"Why are you always pointing out my flaws?"

"I think it's kind of cute, not a flaw."

"Oh." She yawns. "Back to normal."

"Normal starts now," I agree.

Her hand finds my forearm beneath the blanket and stays there. I look down at it, as if I can see it beneath the blanket. If this is normal, I can work with it.

The wheels hit New Orleans, and her eyes open. The cabin lights come up around us. By the time the doors open, she's sitting straight in her seat with her hand back in her own lap.

My phone buzzes against my leg, then buzzes again. Beside me, Tallulah picks up her phone, the screen lighting her face in that flat white glow. I watch her thumb through something I can’t see.

I finally pick up my phone to see messages in a group chat with Deuce doing most of the texting, a message from Ridge, and four ESPN updates. None of it catches my attention enough to delve into them beyond making a note of what came through that I missed.

Neither of us says anything, scrolling, shoulder to shoulder, both of us disappearing into our phones.

"And it's gone," she says. "The whole week. Poof."

"That's why vacation is a double-edged sword."

"No kidding."

We get the bags off the belt. She's got a hand free before I do and takes her lighter one off my shoulder that I'd planned to carry for her. We walk out through the doors into that thick, wet air that means home more than any sign does.

Our driver is already at the curb, pulled to the side. It's a black Escalade. I'd recognize it anywhere because it's the same fleet of cars that has picked me up for years.

The drive Uptown is empty this late. Streetlights slide over the hood. She's quiet a while, still scrolling, then she puts the phone face-down on her thigh.

"Oak Moss," she says.

It's the first time she's said it all week. I'm not sure where she's going with this, so I just meet her gaze.

"It was nice," she says. "Not carrying it every single minute. I didn't realize how heavy it was until I put it down."

"I was surprised. I was certain it would come up."

"I know my dad well enough to know it wouldn't come with him to Italy. And it made me insane. Because I’m not an idiot. Silence doesn’t mean it’s fixed. They just keep moving, thinking I'll forget about the fight until one day it's done, and nobody ever said no to my face."

"Well, you got them to stop and listen. I don't see Tallulah Maybank forgetting any fight, and I have a feeling they know that, too. They're listening to you."

"Barely."

"Still counts. You know that ground better than any of them, and you've got years of notebooks to back you up. They're not going to be able to wave you off."

She looks over at me. I feel it without turning.

"I like your optimism. I'm not quite so optimistic, but I'm going to try to steal some of yours."

"Wisdom," I say with a smirk, tapping my temple. "Stick with me, grasshopper."

She laughs, picking her phone back up. A week in Italy and she's already back in the fight, both hands.