Page 20 of Playing Dirty
The phone buzzed against the tabletop, and I flinched like it might bite.
Tessa’s name lit the screen. I answered on the second ring.
“Callie! Oh my God, are you okay? Sawyer said you and Rhett were stuck up at Matt’s place. Are you still snowed in?”
“Hey,” I breathed, the word thin. “Yeah. But we’re fine. The storm’s passed.”
“Well, thank God for Rhett,” she said, and I could hear the relief giving way to concern again. “Sawyer’s heading up now with the plow. He should be there soon. I need you to come stay with us, okay?”
“I—Tess, I don’t want to be in the way?—”
“Don’t even start,” she cut in. “Your car’s useless right now, and you’ve been stuck in a frozen cabin for two days with no heat. You’re staying here. Mom can’t wait to see you.”
I glanced at Rhett, who stood near the fireplace, arms crossed and quiet, but he gave a slight nod when I met his eyes. No argument. No pity. Just... agreement.
“Oh, I’d love to see Dalia. I’ve missed her.”
“It’ll be just like old times, Callie.”
“One more thing. Can I bring Pixie, Matt’s cat?” I asked, my voice hitching halfway through. “I don’t want to leave him here, not after—” I didn’t finish.
“Of course,” she said, softer now. “Bring the kitty cat. The twins’ll go nuts. Pixie will probably hate every second of it.”
That made me laugh—a real one this time—and Rhett’s lips twitched like he might’ve cracked a smile too.
The warmth didn’t last long. As I set down the phone and turned back toward my room to throw together a bag, the weight settled again, low and heavy in my chest. My hands shook as I shoved a sweater into the canvas tote.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be living here anymore.” The words fell out of me before I could stop them.
Rhett paused where he stood by the hearth, a blanket draped over his forearm. “Then don’t.”
I looked down at the half-zipped bag. “It’s not that easy.”
He didn’t say anything, just waited.
“He manages the store. Rents the cabin. He pays for my rental car. My paycheck. If I screw this up…”
“If?” Rhett echoed, voice low.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my boots. “I don’t know what I’d do. Where I’d go.”
He crouched beside my bag, folding the sweater I’d just jammed in like I was packing a tantrum. “That’s not a relationship,” he said gently. “That’s leverage.”
It landed like a punch I hadn’t seen coming. And worse—he wasn’t wrong.
“I heard Sawyer’s tractor. Let’s get out of this hellhole,” Rhett said, gesturing toward the door.
“Pixie and I are right behind you.”
Sawyer’s gleaming John Deere tractor led the way down the ridge, fitted with a commercial-grade plow that cut clean lines through the snow like it was nothing. The man didn’t do half-measures. No rush, no drama—just efficient, get-it-done Sawyer, clearing a path like he owned the mountain.
“Pretty sure he’s having the time of his life right now,” I muttered. “Bet he’s already named that plow.”
Rhett smirked. “He has. It’s Bertha. Don’t tell him I told you. He’ll hold it over my damned head forever.”
Rhett’s truck rolled steadily behind him, tires gripping the newly plowed trail. I relaxed a bit in the passenger seat, Pixie tucked in my lap like a princess wrapped in fleece, her ears twitching every time the truck hit a rut.
The silence between us had weight, but it didn’t feel punishing. Just full of things we weren’t sure how to say.
