Page 18 of Huck Frasier
The place smelled like lemon and regret.
I walked next door to mine, confused, heartbeat picking up speed—
And then I saw the note.
I read it once.
Then again.
Then I crushed it in my hand and punched the doorframe so hard I split the skin across my knuckles.
Sheleft me.
Again.
After everything. After the storm, the kiss, the way shelooked at melike I was safety and danger and home all at once.
She walked out like none of it mattered.
And the worst part?
I still wanted to go after her.
13
Frasier
Igave her a day.
Twenty-four hours to come back on her own.
She didn’t.
So I stopped waiting.
I wasn’t chasing her this time.
I wastrackingher.
And she’d left enough breadcrumbs to make it easy—Lark’s porch swing still swaying, Marley’s jacket missing from the hook, Axel muttering, “You really want to do this?” while tossing me the keys to the truck.
Yes. I did.
Because if she thought she could run without hearing what I had to say—
She had no idea who the hell she was dealing with.
I foundher forty minutes outside of town in a roadside motel with broken blinds and a flickering vacancy sign.
She didn’t even look surprised when I pounded on the door.
She just opened it in silence.
Hair up. Hoodie on. Eyes red.
“Frasier,” she whispered.
“Don’t.”
