* * * *
“Nate?” Rusty asked, once they were on the road. “Is there a problem? All that, back there…You know I didn’t really hurt him, right?”
“No. There is no problem,” Nate said, hoping his anger didn’t show in his voice. It wasn’t Rusty he was angry at. Some days it felt as though however hard he tried to move forward, the world conspired against him to make sure he took a couple of steps back. He shifted into the left lane so he was in the correct one for the Gracefield turnoff, pretty much on autopilot. His brain was still busy processing the crap. Glenn, of course, was a complete arsehole, something Nate had known but done a very good job of denying for far too long. But Zeb—he’d really thought Zeb had understood.
“Do you want to talk about it?”