You pulled up to the police station, engine rumbling as you killed the headlights. The night air was cool, but the heat rising in your chest was anything but. You couldn’t believe it when the call came in. Rhett had pissed on a police car. A police car.

The door to the station swung open, and out came Rhett, stumbling slightly but flashing that lazy, lopsided grin. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like hell.

“Hey…” he drawled, as if he hadn’t just spent the night locked up for something idiotic.

You stepped forward, arms crossed tight. “Rhett.”

He gave a small shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean... they parked it right there.”

You didn’t waste time. “Get in the truck.”

Without another word, you marched to the driver’s side, climbing in. Rhett dragged himself into the passenger seat, fumbling with the handle. You didn’t start the engine, just gripped the wheel, staring out at the empty parking lot. You could feel him looking at you, but you stayed silent, letting the weight of the moment sink in.

Finally, he broke the silence, voice low. “I messed up.”

Rhett sighed, leaning back against the seat. No excuses, no defense. He just sat there, staring out into the night like a man who knew he’d screwed up bad. You started the truck, the engine growling to life as you pulled away, leaving the station—and the whole damn mess—behind.