Page 36 of Playing Dirty
North ridge. The cabin.
I blinked. Glanced down at my phone sitting screen-up in the console. A notification from earlier glowed back at me—missed in the swirl of the day.
LOVELACE PROPANE CO:
Sorry for the delay—your tank has been refilled. Stay warm out there.
That was all it took.
I pulled over on the shoulder, threw the car in park, and stared at the steering wheel for a long moment. My fingers hovered over the screen before tapping out a quick text to Tessa.
Me:
Heading to the cabin for the night. Will grab Pixie in the morning.
No explanation. Just space.
I hit send, flipped on my blinker, and made a U-turn. Asphalt hummed under my tires as I drove toward the place I thought I’d made a home in.
It wasn’t about Matt anymore.
Not really.
I just needed to be somewhere that didn’t ask questions. Somewhere I could sit with the hollow and not have to smile through it.
I didn’t know if I wanted distance.
Or if I just wanted someone to come looking.
The door creaked open with a familiar groan, the kind that once made this place feel like home. Tonight, it just echoed.
The cold hit me first—sharp and unmoving. No heat humming through the vents, no fire waiting in the hearth. Just stale air and the faint scent of dry wood and whatever was still lingering from the last time I’d been here.
No voices. No music. No cat.
Just the absence of everything.
I shut the door behind me and adjusted the thermostat. Hearing the heater click on, I stood trying to decide if I felt relieved to be alone or just… exposed.
I slipped off my jacket, dropped my bag on the couch, and crouched to start a fire. The logs caught faster than I expected, flames licking up the kindling with a crackle that filled the silence a little too well. I stood and walked to the kitchen, set a kettle on the stove, and pulled down the same chipped mug I always used when I was trying to calm down or pretend things were normal.
The tea steeped while I paced. I moved through the rooms like a ghost retracing her own footsteps.
The bedroom. The hallway. The bathroom still stocked with the same soap Matt liked. I paused in front of the dresser where he used to drop his keys, the faintest scratch worn into the surface. My fingers hovered over it, then pulled back.
Every room had some kind of memory tucked into it. And most of them didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I walked back to the living room, sat on the couch, and stared into the fire. The mug of tea sat untouched beside me, the steam already fading. The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was thick and suffocating. The kind that forced you to hear your own thoughts.
I wasn’t just missing Matt.
I was starting to see that I’d been holding on to a version of him that hadn’t existed in a long time.
And maybe the version of me who’d thought she’d loved him… didn’t either.
I couldn’t sit still.
The fire crackled behind me, the tea long forgotten. My skin itched with restlessness, with the need to move—do something, anything, to escape the echo chamber in my chest.
