Page 13 of The Hang Up
“Hey,” I say quietly as Lena approaches, her head down and her jaw set.
She stops short when she sees me, her shoulders tensing like she’s bracing for a fight. Her bag is slung over one shoulder, and her eyes are bloodshot like she didn’t sleep last night. She looks exhausted. And I hate that I probably had something to do with that.
I hold out the to-go tray and brown paper bag. “I brought you a coffee. And a brownie. The kind you used to like from Sandbags Burgers.”
She doesn’t move.
“Lena—”
“No,” she says, voice low and even, like she’s spent all night rehearsing it. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not trying to get anything from you,” I say quickly. “I just… I thought you could use something sweet.”
She stares at the tray for a second, her lips pressed in a tight line, then looks up at me. Her eyes are tired. Wary. “I don’t want it.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
I set it on the bench outside the shop, careful not to spill anything, and step back. She moves past me without another word, unlocking the door and slipping inside like she can’t bear to be near me for another second.
I don’t follow. I just stand there, staring at the door until the Closed sign flips and the lock clicks. Then I allow myself to exhale.
That went well.
I don’t know what I expected when I brought her the brownie. Forgiveness? A smile? Maybe a thanks?
Yeah, none of that happened.
She didn’t even look me in the eye.
I run a hand down my face and walk toward Wade’s place. He and Ray are working on the old truck in their garage this morning, and if I stay out here any longer, I’ll lose what little patience I have left.
It takes me ten minutes to get to the house, and I hear the music before I see the open garage. Wade is inside with his sleeves rolled up, grease on his hands, and a grin on his face. Ray is next to him, wiping down an old carburetor.
“Morning, soldier,” Ray calls when he sees me.
“Morning,” I reply with a nod.
Wade eyes me. “You look like you got your ass kicked.”
I gesture toward town. “I tried to bring her a brownie.”
He winces. “Damn. Cold rejection?”
“Freezer burn.”
Ray lets out a low whistle and sets down the carb. “That girl’s got fire.”
“She’s always had it,” I say, leaning against the garage door frame. “That’s what I loved about her. She was always full of fire, full of life.”
“So what’s the plan now?” Wade asks as he wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it onto the workbench.
“I don’t know. Keep showing up? Prove I’m not here to mess with her head.”
Ray studies me with the quiet wisdom he’s known for. “You serious about staying this time?”
I nod. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been back for six months. This is home. It’s where I belong.”
“With or without the girl?”
