Chapter 3Trapped in the Mudslide with Him

I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, terrified of letting out a sob. I could only let the tears fall, hot and silent, splashing against my jeans and leaving dark, wet stains on the denim.

I shrank into the passenger seat, keeping my head bowed, dreading the moment Bowen would ask what was going on, or worse, give me a look of pity or disgust.

But he didn't say a word.

He didn't ask about my boyfriend. He didn't offer unsolicited advice about the fight. He didn't show a hint of judgment or morbid curiosity.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bowen leaned over, awkwardly twisting his tall frame to reach into the cramped back seat. The rear of the SUV was packed to the roof with our presentation boards and sample cases, leaving practically no room to maneuver.

I watched him through blurred vision, confused.

He wrestled with a duffel bag for a moment before finally straightening back up. He opened his hand.

He was holding a can of Coca-Cola. It was the single can he had brought from his apartment that morning, forgotten at the bottom of his bag.

Settling back into the driver's seat, he hooked his finger under the tab and popped it.

The sharp tss-crack of the carbonation hissed into the suffocating quiet of the car.

Then, without a single word of commentary, he slid the cold aluminum can across the center console until it rested gently against the back of my hand.

The sudden chill against my skin jolted me out of my spiraling thoughts. I looked down at the Coke, and for some reason, the simple, quiet kindness of the gesture shattered the last of my composure. The tears fell harder.

I sniffled, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve. "Bowen... thank you. Seriously. Thank you."

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Don't mention it. Drink some sugar. It'll help you center yourself. The sun will be up soon."

With that, he turned his gaze back to the pitch-black windshield, giving me the privacy I so desperately needed.

I took small, shaky sips of the soda. The sharp, sweet carbonation burned pleasantly down my throat, washing away the tight, suffocating knot of humiliation in my chest.

Outside, the storm was still raging, the wind screaming against the metal frame of the car.

But sitting there, clutching that cold red can, I suddenly felt that this cramped, dimly lit cabin was the safest place in the world.