Joel doesn't budge when her composure slips. It's not from experience or the patience of old age; he can't recall a time in his life he ever would have.

That and she's not wrong. Which has him sucking in a breath through his nose, fingers buried to the nail beds in his scruff, eyes shifting off towards a darker corner of the barn rather than staying locked in with hers. Being alone? It's what they do. Fitting in with a crowd's the hard part.

"Look, I know you don't give a damn about baseball, but there's other stuff to talk about. The Johnsons are taking their boys out hunting the day after tomorrow and--"

And despite knowing what she's itching to bleed out, he can't bring himself to discuss it.