Page 15 of Playing Dirty
No heat.
No Rhett.
The couch creaked as I collapsed onto the cushions, arms wrapped tightly around myself, heart pounding in that high-pitched, fluttery way that always came before the tears.
They slipped out anyway.
Silent, stupid tears for a woman who used to pride herself on how well she handled things.
I sank deeper into the couch, arms wrapped tightly around myself, heart fluttering like it might lift right out of my chest.
Pixie leapt silently up beside me, kneading the throw blanket with determined little paws before curling into a warm loaf by my thigh.
I rested a hand on her back. “At least one of us knows how to stay calm when everything’s falling apart.”
Chapter Five
Snowed In
Rhett
Ishould’ve turned around sooner.
The snow came in sideways now, thick enough that my high beams just bounced it back in my face like a damn blizzard strobe light. I kept both hands on the wheel, easing the truck around the curve just past Miller’s Ranch, tires crunching over fresh accumulation. Every few minutes, the wipers smeared ice more than they cleared it.
I was halfway home to Lucky Ranch when the screen on my dash lit up with a missed call.
Callie.
No voicemail. No text. Just a timestamp from ten minutes ago and a signal so weak it barely registered a bar. My stomach tightened, like it always did when anything about Callie showed up unexpectedly.
I hit redial, but it dropped before the first ring finished. Tried again.
Nothing.
I swore under my breath and slowed down, easing the truck toward a spot wide enough to turn around. My headlights caught on a crooked fence post and a drift piling high across the shoulder. I should’ve kept driving, let her handle it—whateveritwas. But that wasn’t who I’d ever been when it came to Callie.
It wasn’t who I wanted to be now.
As I turned the wheel, I remembered the way she looked standing in the cabin doorway—her lips parted like she wanted to say something but didn’t. The way her breath caught when I brushed that lock of hair from her face. She said Matt’s name as if it were a truth she needed to repeat until it stuck.
But she hadn’t believed it. Not really.
Wind gusted across the hood, rocking the truck slightly. I tapped the brake and steered around a fallen limb half-buried in snow, the tires slipping just enough to remind me this was risky.
Still, I kept going.
I remembered another night like this one—senior year, the night of the bonfire out at Jackson’s pasture. She’d gotten lightheaded from the smoke and the cold, and everyone else had been too drunk to notice. I’d walked her back to her car, holding her up with one arm, teasing her to keep her conscious. She’d laid her head on my shoulder and mumbled something about the stars spinning.
And now here I was again, chasing a feeling that never fully went away.
The call might’ve failed, but I’d gotten the message loud and clear.
She needed me.
I gunned the engine just enough to climb the next incline. The trees leaned over the road like they were bowing under the weight of the storm. Every part of me was humming now—adrenaline, concern, something else I didn’t want to name.
Just before I reached the cabin road, I grabbed my phone again and texted Sawyer.
