Page 8 of Wren's Winter

Three months I had been away from him, I kept waiting for the pain to come, but all I mourned was the loss of those years I had with him. The declined dates with the nice guy from my econ class junior year. The cute barista at my local coffee shop who would give me extra whipped cream. Countless girls’ trips I had to decline because he would miss me if I went away. He certainly took his share of weekends with his boys. I told myself that everyone sacrifices for the people they love. We all make concessions. Only, I was the one hollowed out in the end.

One by one, I selected the pictures that were the worst lies. Him holding out the bouquet of grocery store discount flowers he only got me because he missed my mom’s birthday dinner. Lounging on a pool float during our anniversary trip. The one where I spent most of the day holed up in the room sick with a stomach bug while he drank at the pool bar.

I stopped selecting them one by one and started deleting entire albums. Christmas gone. His cousin’s wedding and the trip to see his favorite football team play. Cabo San Lucas gone.

Once I finished, I had only a quarter of my pictures left. Is this how much of my life was taken up by being with Buck? I left the pictures I liked of myself, especially the ones where my hair was natural. Buck preferred it when I straightened my hair, saying it was classier.

Fuck him.

Without reading his messages, I deleted the whole thread and then made the split-second decision to block his number on my phone. A sense of righteousness flowed through me. I should have done that years earlier. As I sank into the couch, I stared up at the wood ceiling, the swirls and circles of knots from century-old wood. Steady and strong. I could be that for myself.

Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine how I would spend my days on my own, relearning myself.

At some point in my sleep, I heard an engine but ignored it, rolling over and taking the blanket onto the floor with me. That’s right, I fell asleep on the futon in front of the fire. Raising my head, I saw the fire was still burning.

With an audible groan, I pulled myself off the floor and trudged to the surprisingly spacious bathroom. My hair was—as it always was in the morning—wild. I had forgotten to put my bonnet on, and the curls were rebelling, as they always did. It took me over a year to wear my bonnet in front of Buck. He never said anything, but there was a definite pattern where he wouldn’t want to have sex if I was wearing it.

Since the breakup, I had been back to wearing it every night, and my curls were all the better for it. Finger-combing the ringlets back, I braided them into a tight braid before washing the sleep from my eyes.

A large soaking tub sat in front of a window overlooking the trees and what must have been the Icicle Creek they named the town after. I might need to treat myself to a good soak when I got back from town.

Town. Drive. Car. Shit.

Grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I dialed the towing company.

The brisk woman on the other line informed me that their truck was currently running behind but that they could be out this afternoon to get my car. When she quoted me a price, I about dropped the phone.

Not that I was completely broke. My job as an analyst with Andra Data earned me enough to pay bills and the occasional trinket from Nordstrom. But the cost of this trip had already eaten into my savings enough that I might have to delay my move out of my parent’s house for another month.

Straining my voice to sound as nonplussed as possible, I nodded as if she could see me through the phone. “Of course, not a problem.”

“Please confirm the address for me.”

“It’s on Sitka La—”

“Oh, are you staying at Agatha’s place? How is she? Don’t tell me, somewhere warm. I’ve been meaning to visit her, but life got in the way.”

“I’m not sure. I’m renting the place.”

“Yes, yes, across from that Winter boy.”

The last thing I would describe Adrian as was a boy. That man was all firm muscles and full lips and…

“Dammit,” I cursed to myself.

“What was that?” the dispatcher asked.

Clenching my jaw, I took a deep inhale and tried to get the image of Adrian standing over me the night before out of my mind. The dip in my stomach as he walked out the door and ordered me to lock the door. The way those lips formed that little nickname, Birdie. Birdie. I had tried so hard not to react, but the space between my legs throbbed at the memory.

“Nothing.” Walking to the front door, I pulled it open. Maybe a blast of cold air on my face would help. I stepped out onto the porch and stopped to stare at the car in front of me.

My car.

“Um, I’m sorry, ma’am. It appears I don’t need towing after all.”

I gave my goodbye, letting my hand fall to my side.

How did he do that? Still, in my thick socks, I walked down the recently shoveled stairs and peered closer.

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