Page 85 of The Games We Play
I turned on my heel and stalked toward the door, not giving her a chance to respond. “Not that I owe you a damn explanation, but Josie’s covering my shift tonight. Don’t wait up…Mommy dearest.”
The silence behind me cracked like a whip, no room for a final jab. Pushing through the door, I stepped onto the sidewalk, letting the cool morning air slap some sense back into me.
Logan wasn’t there yet, but I didn’t care. I’d rather wait outside in the street than stand another second in that room with her.
One of these days, I’d have to actually talk to Lizzie. But now that I had even the slightest inkling she might know about the marriage—that she was here because of it—it lit a fuse under my already simmering frustration.
Why wouldn’t she just say something?
The resentment I felt wasn’t just about the bar.
It went deeper.
She’d left me behind. Took off with our mother while I stayed. While Istruggled,and I was supposed to just welcome her back like it was no big deal?
I was jealous. There, I said it even if it wasn’t out loud.
Lizzie got a life. A different one. One where she didn’t have to scrape and fight and grind her way through every damn day. And maybe I ended up building something I was proud of, something I wouldn’t trade, but that didn’t mean the resentment didn’t burn just beneath the surface.
That, despite no help from her or our mother, I’d made a life for myself that didn’t follow in our dad’s shitty footsteps either.
She should be lucky I wasn’t some worthless drunk making my problems everyone else’s.
I pulled the carton of cigarettes from my back pocket and tapped it rhythmically against my palm, the soft thump grounding me more than I cared to admit. Flipping the lid open, I slid a cigarette between my lips and patted down my pockets, searching for my lighter.
Shit.
I must’ve left it behind the bar when Lizzie came storming out. Groaning under my breath, I tilted my head back, let the sunlight warm my face for a second, and pulled the unlit cigarette from my mouth, returning it to the pack.
So much for that.
I leaned against the rough brick wall, the heat from it soaking through the back of my shirt. Crossing one ankle over the other, I watched as locals milled about across the street, the breeze tugging softly.
It was a perfect day, sun-drenched with just enough wind to keep the heat from settling in. Even with the weather working overtime, my mind lingered on Lizzie. A part of me half-expected her to barrel out the front door and finish what she started. But the minutes passed and all I got was the sound of slow-moving traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird overhead.
I stayed where I was—smokeless and stubborn—refusing to go back inside.
Thank God, Logan pulled up a few minutes later. My emotions practically radiating off me, I climbed into the passenger seat, the familiar creak of his old truck welcoming me like an old friend.
“Here, man,” Logan said, reaching for the console and popping out the lighter. His truck was so damn old it still had the original cigarette lighter. I took it with a small grin, fingers curling around the warm metal.
“What gave it away?” I muttered, lifting an eyebrow.
Logan shrugged with a smirk. “The fact that you weren’t smoking when I pulled up. Plus, you had that look like you were ready to punch a stop sign or something.”
I chuckled low in my chest and shook my head. “Sounds about right.”
I pressed the lighter to the tip of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the fire catch. One, two, three puffs—then the soft red glow was alive. The first drag felt like a necessary evil, familiar and grounding.
“I’m that predictable?” I asked, exhaling slowly out the open window.
“When it comes to you and nicotine?” Logan laughed. “You might as well be a walking Marlboro ad.”
I’ve been smoking since I was fifteen, even back then, the world felt heavier than it should’ve, and a cigarette felt like the only thing that made sense. It wasn’t just a habit anymore. It was part of me.
Maybe one day I’d quit, but I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.
Logan shifted into drive and eased away from the curb. “Your text didn’t give much away,” he said, eyes flicking toward the road.
