Jackson nights were quiet, but not tonight. Joel hadn’t said a word since you walked into the bar. His jaw was locked, his drink untouched, his eyes following you like a shadow that wouldn’t let up.

You’d laughed earlier at something one of the patrol men had said. That was all it took. Joel had seen the way the man leaned in, the way your hand brushed his arm in passing, innocent as anything… but not to Joel.

Now he sat across from you, broad shoulders tense, staring at the table like it might break under the weight of what he wasn’t saying.

When he finally looked up, there was no anger in his eyes, just hurt. That raw kind of hurt that went deeper than words. He didn’t ask outright. Joel wasn’t the type. He just let the silence stretch, waiting, punishing himself more than you.