Page 7 of Playing Dirty
“Well, I ran into Rhett on the way in,” she said casually, changing the subject. “He asked me if I’d seen Matt. Is he always that nosy, or is that just a perk for you?”
“Just a perk,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Lucky me.”
Lilly grinned. “Since Matt is out of town, why don’t you come to the Rusty Nail tonight instead of Ropers. It’s more chill. Where you can relax. Lately, it seems you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“I don’t act like that?—”
“You do,” she said, slicing through my protest. “A yummy dinner and wine, and we can call it therapy.”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no—to head home, pull on sweats, and stew in silence. But the bigger part of me knew if I didn’t get out of my head, I’d drown in it.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not talking about Rhett.”
“We’ll see,” she said, winking.
And just like that, I felt lighter. Maybe not fixed. But not quite so cracked open either.
I locked the office door behind me, the deadbolt clicking with a finality that made my shoulders sag just a little. Another shift done. Another set of numbers balanced, and another day, trying to make everything look easy.
The overhead fluorescents still buzzed inside, but out here behind the store, the world had softened. The sky was slipping into dusky purples, and a chill hung in the air that smelled like woodsmoke and coming frost.
The cabin’s back door creaked open, and Pixie darted out like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She trotted over to the patch of gravel near the trash cans, sniffed around like the whole world needed her inspection, then flopped dramatically onto a pile of dry leaves.
I leaned against the brick wall and let myself breathe.
I didn’t hate my life.
It just… didn’t feel like mine sometimes. It was not the way it used to be when I was hauling tire pressure gauges out of a gear bag, chasing prize money with Tessa, living on coffee, adrenaline, and whatever gas station sandwich we could afford.
Back then, things were messy—but they were mine.
Now, with Matt, I wore order like armor.
My thoughts drifted, uninvited, to Rhett’s eyes. The way he used to look at me—like I wasn’t something to fix. Like he knew the mess and didn’t mind it.
I pushed the thought away.
Tonight wasn’t about Rhett.
Tonight was about remembering who the hell I used to be.
Chapter Three
Storm’s Brewing
Rhett
Joe’s Feed & Supply always smelled like hay, old barn wood, and diesel—all the scents of my childhood wrapped up in one creaky-floored building that hadn’t changed a damn thing in thirty years. Even the “Free Coffee for Veterans” sign still hung crooked above the register. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and stepped around a pallet of salt blocks, half-lost in the echo of my last stop.
I’d barely left Frontier Market, but Callie was still stuck in my head—buttoned up, biting her tongue, pretending everything in her world was picture perfect.
I suspected Matt was gone, again, off doing God knows what, and she was playing manager, cashier, and girlfriend like it was all business as usual. Sooner or later, something was going to crack. I just didn’t know if she’d let it or keep patching over the truth with that sharp little smile of hers.
When I walked past the dog food display, I noticed Sawyer was already parked at the back counter, elbows spread wide anda stack of specialty brochures fanned out like he was prepping for a SEAL op. Which, knowing him, wasn’t far from the truth.
“Find us a sniper cam yet?” I called out.
He didn’t even look up. “I’m narrowing it down. We need 1080p at minimum, motion-activated, and preferably one with night vision. Cellular upload’s a must. If I’m gonna freeze my ass off in the woods checking batteries, I at least want the footage synced to my phone.”
