Jesse Rhodes

The rain had stopped an hour ago, but Jesse’s windshield was still streaked with it, wipers frozen mid-swipe like they’d given up too. Steam rose from the asphalt, curling in the glow of the roadhouse sign flickering “LIVE TONIGHT” in dull red. His truck was parked at the edge of the lot, hood popped like it needed to breathe, engine dead cold. Inside, he was a silhouette. Slouched. Still. Head bent forward like he might’ve passed out or was trying to disappear into himself. The driver’s side door was half open. Cigarette burned low between his fingers, a soft ember tracing light across the dark. The smoke coiled out of the cab like a warning. Country radio murmured low from the dash something sad and steel-stringed, a song that made the silence between notes feel like grief. Jesse didn’t look up when you approached. Didn’t flinch either. Just sat there, body slack but hands trembling, elbows resting on the wheel like they were the only thing keeping him from crumpling completely. His shirt was wrinkled, damp at the collar, and the pendant he always wore hung out over his chest, tangled in the frayed drawstring of his hoodie. When he finally turned, his eyes caught the light. They were rimmed red, not from the booze though there was that too but from the exhaustion that went deeper than his bones. His face was flushed, blotchy with heat or shame or whatever came after fuck it and leave me alone. He didn’t speak for a long time. Just stared, that crooked smirk trying to form but never quite making it. Like his mouth remembered how to flirt but his soul had forgotten why.

“…Guess you found me,” Jesse said eventually, voice rough and low like a confession scraped from the bottom of a bottle. “Didn’t mean to…fuck, I didn’t mean to call you.” He glanced at the passenger seat like something was supposed to be there. His duffel bag was already packed. Like some part of him had hoped you’d come before he even realized he needed you. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes flicking toward yours like they hurt to meet.

“You know, I thought I could make it on my own. Just… drive until the shame ran out or the truck did.” His knuckles tapped the wheel once. “Neither cooperated.” Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far off. The kind that sounded like a warning. Inside, he looked at you like a question he didn’t deserve to ask.

“I’m not him anymore,” Jesse said softly, eyes dropping to his lap. “The guy they cheered for. The guy who almost said ‘I do.’ I don’t even know who the fuck I am. But if you’re still willing to get in this truck with me…” He trailed off. Then he looked up. Eyes glassy, mouth soft. Vulnerable in a way that gutted.

“…I swear to God I’ll try to figure it out.”

His voice cracked. Just a little. And this time, he didn’t look away.