Page 27 of Stuff My Turkey
In the bedroom, we moved around each other carefully, like dancers avoiding collision. Heath took extra pillows from the closet and rebuilt the barrier down the center of the bed. A physical manifestation of the wall between us.
I changed in the bathroom, taking my time, hoping the distance would ease the tension. When I emerged, Heath was already in bed, back turned toward my side. I slipped under the covers, maintaining the careful boundary between us.
"Goodnight," I said quietly.
"Night," came his clipped response.
I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to Heath's measured breathing and knowing he was just as awake as I was. Both of us pretending to sleep, just as we'd been pretending everything else.
Outside, an owl called into the night, its lonely sound echoing the hollow feeling in my chest. How had we gone from passion to this cold war in less than a day?
More importantly, why did it hurt so much? Knox's infidelity had bruised my ego, but Heath's mistrust cut deeper, like a wound to a place I hadn't realized was vulnerable. And that terrified me more than any deal with the devil I'd made to save my career.
Chapter Six
Heath
I woke before dawn on Thanksgiving morning with an ache in my chest that had nothing to do with sleeping wrong. The pillow wall between Honey and me had stayed firmly in place all night—the first time since she'd arrived that we'd maintained that boundary so strictly.
She slept with her back to me, curled away like she was protecting herself. From me, probably. The argument from yesterday still hung in the air, heavy as woodsmoke on a windless evening.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and headed to the bathroom. The face that stared back at me in the mirror looked tired. This week was supposed to be simple: pretend relationship, secure investment, go back to normal. Nothing about it had been simple.
Especially not the feelings I couldn't seem to shake.
I showered quickly and changed into running clothes—a thermal long-sleeve shirt, lightweight athletic pants, and running shoes. The annual Gobble Wobble 5K was this morning—a Bitter Root tradition I couldn't skip, especially with the Vickerys in town.Every year, the whole community gathered for this turkey-themed race before retreating to their respective Thanksgiving feasts.
When I returned to the bedroom, Honey was sitting up, hair tousled, eyes guarded.
"Morning," I offered, testing the waters.
"Morning." Her voice gave away nothing, flat as a prairie horizon. "The turkey trot thing is today, right?"
"Gobble Wobble," I corrected. "Starts at ten."
She nodded, gathering clothes as she headed to the bathroom. "I assume we're still going? Playing the happy couple?"
"That's the deal," I said, immediately regretting how transactional it sounded.
She disappeared into the bathroom without another word. The door closed with a soft click that somehow cut deeper than if she'd slammed it.
In the kitchen, I made coffee and simple breakfast—toast, fruit, yogurt. I'd just finished setting everything out when Knox and Bitsy emerged from the guest room, already dressed in matching red and white running outfits with "Team McGraw" printed across the back. Bitsy wore a headband with bouncing turkey feathers.
"Morning, bro!" Knox clapped me on the shoulder. "Race day! Got our coordinated outfits and everything."
"I see that." I poured them each coffee, fighting the urge to dump Knox's in his lap.
"Where's Honey?" Bitsy asked, looking around. "We brought her something too!"
"Still getting ready."
Bitsy held up a gift bag. "I'll leave this for her. It's her race outfit—we had it rush-delivered yesterday!"
"We got you one too," Knox said with a smirk, "but figured you'd rather die than wear it."
I glanced at their matching ensembles and the turkey feather headband. "You figured right."
Before I could respond, the Vickerys knocked at the door, entering without waiting for an answer. They wore identical royal blue tracksuits with white piping, looking like escapees from a 1980s exercise video.
