Page 42 of Playing Dirty
The door creaked behind me, and then Sawyer was there, beer in hand, leaning his elbows on the railing beside me. He popped the top with a flick of his thumb and let the cap fall between the slats with so many others.
“Feels different now, doesn’t it?” he said, watching the horizon like it might answer back.
I nodded, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets. “Money changed everything. But she changed me more.”
He looked over at me then. Just looked. Steady and unblinking. “Then don’t screw it up.”
My jaw flexed. “I’m trying not to.”
Sawyer took a long pull from his beer, then exhaled through his nose. “Trying’s good. But tomorrow… that’s where it counts.”
I nodded again, slower this time because he was right.
This porch, this stretch of land—it all held the weight of what came next. Tomorrow wasn’t about revenge. It wasn’t about catching a liar or proving a point. It wasn’t even about the million-dollar secrets we’d all come to carry like scars.
It was about a woman I’d known since childhood, who used to sleep in a camping trailer beside Tessa in my side yard. And tomorrow, I’d meet her differently armed with truth, not power. No smugness. No “I told you so.” I wasn’t going to stoop to Matt’s level.
“I’ll stop by the market in the morning,” I said, flicking my bottle cap into the tin can on the railing. “Ask Callie over for dinner.”
Sawyer tipped his head. “Sounds like a plan.”
I looked out across the field, the last sliver of light bleeding from the horizon. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “She deserves that much.”
This time, I wouldn't let her walk away without knowing exactly what she meant to me. I stood and stretched, my shoulders tight from running on fumes. “Come on,” I said, nodding toward the truck. “Let’s head home.”
Sawyer rose without a word, falling into step beside me as the porch creaked beneath our boots. Tomorrow was coming fast—and I was ready for it.
Chapter Twelve
The Last Lie
Callie
By mid-morning, I’d already restarted the same email three times.
The store’s inventory report sat open on my screen, half-filled cells blinking like accusations. I was supposed to flag a handful of items from last week’s delivery—shortages, overcharges, and damaged goods. Still, my focus kept slipping sideways, straight into the mess of my personal life.
I typed two lines, deleted them, then sat back in my chair and rubbed the space between my eyes. Matt was supposed to be in Tucson. Training, he’d said. Important stuff for the regional team. His words, not mine. And like a fool, I’d nodded and kept the store running while he disappeared—again.
I stared at the screen a second longer, then clicked open the employee schedule, scanning for holes I needed to fill this weekend. A couple of people had requested Sunday off, and the high school kid who stocked the freezers had baseball tryouts coming up. I made a note in the margin, emailed corporateabout the missing cases of creamer, and flagged a second box of freezer-burned burritos to be credited.
All productive. All necessary. And all completely useless when what I really needed was to figure out how I was going to move out of the cabin.
Because I couldn’t stay there. Not anymore.
The walls felt different now—smaller, somehow. Like they’d soaked in too many lies. I knew Tessa would let me stay in the guesthouse with Dalia if I asked, but I wasn’t sure I could handle being that close to someone who loved me that much. Not right now. Not while I still felt so scraped raw.
Maybe I needed a fresh start. Something temporary. A hotel. A long drive.
But where would I even go?
I exhaled hard and flipped the inventory report over, pretending it wasn’t all caving in a little more each day. Matt hadn’t just left me with the store—he’d left me with his mess. Unanswered calls. Vague texts. Weeks of one-sided trust that now felt more like denial dressed up as patience.
And the worst part?
I still missed the version of him I thought I knew.
I missed the man who made coffee before I got out of bed. The one who laughed at my bad jokes and said we made a good team. I missed the life we were supposed to be building together—grocery lists, mortgage talk, daydreams about a porch swing, and maybe a dog someday.
