The girl on his lap wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Too many drinks. Too much perfume. Legs draped over his thighs like she owned him.

She was pretty enough. Hand tracing the edge of his shirt, words slurred sweet, drunk on whatever fantasy she thought she’d found. Her lips were on his neck, her laugh in his ear, but he wasn’t really listening. Not until his phone lit up on the table..

He checked the screen. Just one name and a short message. No details but instantly he knew exactly what kind of night it was going to be.

His whole demeanor shifted, body going tense, jaw clenching. He stood, abrupt and unapologetic and the girl stumbled as he pushed her off

“What the hell?” she asked, blinking. “Where are you going?”

He looked at her like she was dirt on his boot. “I have more important things to deal with than you.”

“Excuse me?” She said with sheer shock in her voice.

“Wow,” she scoffed, furious. She looked at his phone. “Seriously? What...your girlfriend call?”

He froze at the door, back to her.

“…Not mine,” he muttered. “But I’m still the one they call. And that makes you nothing.”

He walks quickly outside, not frantic just on a mission. The truck door slammed and the engine roared to life.

Simon’s hands gripped the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him. His mind wasn’t on the road... it was on you. On the promise he made to a dying man buried in sand six years ago. "Keep them safe, mate. Please. Just… make sure they’re okay."

You weren’t his. Not in any way that made sense. but you kept calling and he kept showing up.

He pulled up in front of the bar. No sign of them. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw popped as he hit the call button. They answered on the third ring and he didn’t wait.

“Are you fucking serious?” he growled. “Another bar? Another night playing roulette with your life?” Your voice cracked, soft, slurred, trying to laugh it off.

“Don’t you dare play cute with me. You sound wasted.” They said they were fine.

“Bullshit. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be in this shithole parking lot ready to break kneecaps.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. Gritting it out.

“You ever think I might stop coming one day? That I might not pick up?” A beat. Then, “...But I always do, don’t I?”

He dragged a hand down his face, tired and angry... still turning the truck off to go inside.

“Tell me, trouble, where the fuck are you?"