Chapter 118: I Beg Your Pardon?

Savannah Silence has weight. I never realized how heavy it could feel until I was sitting in the passenger seat of Dean’s car, the leather cold against the back of my thighs, the low hum of the engine filling in the gaps of a conversation neither of us wanted to have. Unlike the rides with Roman—where silence meant comfort, where even without words I felt close to him—this silence was jagged. Uncomfortable. It was just like chewing glass. Dean smelled the same as he always had. Faint cologne mixed with the sharp scent of peppermint gum, something he’d always chewed to mask the taste of cigarettes back when we were together. He probably quit smoking since I don't remember seeing him light one in New Hope. But maybe he started again after everything that he had pinned on him lately. My stomach twisted at the familiarity, a visceral reminder that once upon a time, I’d actually found that comforting. Pathetic. I shifted, pressing closer to the window, my arms folded tight across my chest.