Page 7 of The Long Game

Matthew continued talking, his words getting lost in my head as I rounded a cabin. A cabin. An honest-to-God cabin with wooden beams and windows looking out at the mass of trees I’d left behind.

This couldn’t be right.

For some unfathomable reason, on my way here, I’d built up this idea in my head. On the plane, I’d convinced myself that I was heading to a North Carolina city—maybe a suburb, which would explain why I hadn’t heard of it. This was an assignment, after all. A philanthropic venture led by an MLS team. It was a serious project in a real town. But I found that hard to believe now.

Whatever place this property was attached to couldn’t be a city. Or a suburb. It didn’t look like there was a large enough town anywhere close, either.

I was surrounded by… nature. Woodland. Slopes covered in emerald greens and coppery browns. I’d driven down dirt roads that had led me to the kind of property I saw advertised as a rustic alpine retreat. There were birds chirping. Leaves rustling. Wind gusting. Silence.

I hated it.

I’d been too careless. Too hasty. I should have checked the location Kelly had sent me before programming it into the maps app. I should have researched. I should have—

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the female voice of my maps app chanted.

I ignored the clogging sensation at the bottom of my throat and rounded the cabin again, looking for a place to park. There had to be an explanation. A reason. Probably a major town I’d missed coming up a shortcut in the mountains. And, hey, at least the cabin was… tasteful. Most people would be glad to be given the opportunity to escape to such a peaceful place. Mountain-fresh air. Cozy sunsets under a blanket. A porch facing the greenery.

But I wasn’t most people.

I hated the cold. And I didn’t have that strange need to travel across the country in search of fresh air. I liked Miami’s air. The city.The coast. Even the overwhelming heat. My job with the Flames. My life.

My stomach twisted, a ball of nausea climbing up.

Images of Sparkles’s head dropping to the grass flashed behind my eyes.

Breach of contract.

Female rage.

Embarrassing.

You’re a distraction, so I want you to leave Miami.

My palms turned clammy again, the steering wheel feeling slippery. Was the car still moving or had I put it in park?

“Adalyn?” Matthew asked, reminding me he was still there. Had he been talking? “Talk to me.”

But I was too busy trying to focus on whatever was going on in my body. Was this exhaustion? Dehydration? When was the last time I’d had water? Was I PMS-ing? I shook my head. Oh God, was I losing it again? I—

Something hit the bumper with a thump.

I slammed on the brakes, the action so sudden, so rough, that my whole body shot forward.

My forehead bounced against the steering wheel.

“Ouch.” I heard myself groan through the ringing in my ears.

“ADALYN?” came from somewhere to my right. Matthew’s voice. It sounded muffled now. “Jesus Christ, what just happened?”

“I hit something,” I announced, a stinging sensation burning the right side of my forehead. With a ragged breath, I gave myself three seconds, letting my head rest on the leathery surface of the wheel, before I straightened up and turned my head, looking for my phone, which had fallen from the dashboard.

Matthew’s voice returned.

“Tell me you’re okay or I swear I’ll call your mother right fucking now—”

“No,” I croaked. “Please, don’t. Not Maricela. She can’t know.” I blinked, trying to clear the tiny spots popping around the edges of my field of vision. “I’m good,” I murmured, spotting somethingmoving outside the car. Something… that was running. And… Clucking? “I think I just hit a chicken.”

Unintelligible swearing came from the speaker while I released the seatbelt and picked the phone up from the floor. I returned to the upright position and—

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