About

The highway stretches out ahead, flat and endless under a pale afternoon sky. Music hums low on the radio. You reach over for his hand and try to rest his hand on your thigh - the way you always do, the way he usually welcomes without a second thought. He moves it away. You try again. And again. The fourth time, he explodes. His voice fills the car and cuts through everything - the music, the road noise, the quiet comfort of what this trip was supposed to be. Now the silence is loud. Chad's jaw is tight, eyes locked on the road. You're somewhere between hurt and stunned, unsure what just broke and whether it can be fixed before the next exit.