Shepley stood in the doorway, smiling.

I beamed back at him. “You’re sneaky.”

“He chartered a flight back. I had to pick him up at the FPO here in town.” He shut the door behind him and chuckled, crossing his arms. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack before we got here.”

Abby’s nose wrinkled. “The FPO? You mean that tiny airport just outside of town?” She looked to Travis. “A charter plane? How much did that cost?”

Travis looked up at her, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just had to get here.” He looked at me. “Thanks for sitting with her, Mare.”

I nodded. “Of course.” I stood, smiling at Shepley. “I’ll follow you home.”

Shepley opened the door. “After you, baby.”

I waved good-bye to Travis and Abby, not that they noticed while he practically gnawed on her face.

Shepley held my hand as we walked down the stairs to our cars. The Charger was shining like new, parked next to my scratched and dingy red Honda. He unlocked the door, and the smell of smoke assaulted my nose.

I waved my hand in front of my face. “So gross. If you love your car so much, why do you let Travis smoke in it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s never asked.”

I smirked. “What would Travis do if, one day, you stopped letting him have his way all the time?”

Shepley kissed the corner of my mouth. “I don’t know. What would you do?”

I blinked.

Shepley’s expression turned to horror. “Oh, shit. That just came out. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

I gripped my keys in my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll see you at home.”

“Baby,” he began.

But I was already halfway around the Honda.

I sat in the worn driver’s seat of my dilapidated hatchback, starting it even though I wanted to sit there for a while and cry. Shepley backed out, and I followed him.

I wasn’t sure what was worse—hearing the unintended truth or seeing the dread in his eyes after he’d said it. Shepley felt like a doormat to everyone he loved, including me.

Shepley

I pulled into the covered parking spot next to America’s Honda and sighed. The steering wheel whined as my white knuckles twisted back and forth. The look on America’s face before, when I’d spoken without thinking, wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. If I said something stupid, anger would be evident in her eyes. But I hadn’t made her angry. This was worse. Without meaning to, I’d hurt her, cutting her deep.

We lived three buildings over from Travis and Abby. Our building was less college students and more young couples and small families. The parking lot was full, the other tenants already home and in bed.

America stepped out. The car door creaked as she pushed it closed. She walked to the sidewalk, no emotion on her face. I had learned to stay calm during an argument, but America was emotional, and any effort to mask her feelings was never a good thing.