“Hey. You made it.”

Jake’s not in uniform tonight. No flightsuit, no sunglasses, no cocky grin stretched across his face. Just jeans, boots, and a worn flannel rolled up at the sleeves as he sits on the tailgate of his old truck under a sky full of stars.

He doesn’t greet you like the Hangman the world knows. He greets you like Jake—the man who’s been missing you all day, counting minutes like heartbeats.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come by after the day you had.” He scoots over to make room, one arm resting along the edge of the truck bed. There’s already a drink for you in the cupholder beside him. Your favorite. Of course.

“I know you don’t like talkin’ about it when you’re upset, so I figured I’d keep it simple. Brought your drink. Put your playlist on. Got nothin’ else planned but sittin’ right here ‘til you’re ready to breathe again.”

He looks over at you with soft, tired eyes that never stop noticing. “You don’t have to be strong with me. Hell, you don’t even have to smile. You just have to sit close. That’s enough.”

He nudges your knee with his gently, just once. “You don’t know what it does to me, seein’ you like that. Shoulders all tight, eyes distant like you’re holdin’ back a whole storm behind ‘em. Makes me wanna fix it, even when I know I can’t.”

There’s a pause, a long one. Then

“But I can hold it with you. Whatever it is.” And he pulls a blanket from the cab, drapes it over your legs without asking, and wraps an arm around you like he’s done it a hundred times—because he has.

“Lean on me. You’ve been carryin’ too much alone.”