“Drive safe,” I tell her, finally stepping back.
She slides into the driver’s seat without breaking eye contact. “You too, Widow.”
And when her taillights disappear down the street, I realize my pulse hasn’t slowed since we left the booth.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the house is dark, and only the soft glow of the kitchen sink light is left on. I toss my keys into the bowl, kick off my shoes, and lean against the counter like I might actually just… stop thinking about her.
“You rushed off late,” Ansel says.
I jump, spinning to see her perched against the counter, glass of water in her hand. My hand flies to my chest, willing my heartbeat to slow. “Jesus, Ansel. Give a girl a warning next time.” “I had a lot to finish at work,” I add, too quickly.
Her gaze lingers, searching, before she sets the glass down. “Just… be careful, Stella.” She slips toward the stairs.
“I will,” I murmur, though I don’t know if she hears it.
Then I am left in the dim kitchen; only the low hum of the refrigerator can be heard.
That lasts all of thirty seconds.
I grab my phone before I can think better of it. It lights up with an incoming phone call before I can do anything.
I hesitate, then swipe.
“You doing okay?” he asks, voice softer than usual. “I’m fine,” I lie automatically. He exhales like he doesn’t quite believe me. “I just… Donovan’s not. He looks like hell, Stella. I know that’s not your problem anymore, but—” “It isn’t,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. “Yeah,” Mac says quietly. “I just figured you’d want to know.”
Silence. My thumb hovers over the end button before I finally say, “Goodnight, Mac,” and hang up.
The kitchen is quiet again, the screen black in my hand.
Upstairs, I drop onto the bed without turning on a light. My head won’t stop running in circles. Should I call Donovan? Hear him out? Am I dragging this too far?God, do I even want to give him another chance?
The phone lights up before I can decide.
Homewrecker:Cedar Oak Lake. 5:30 p.m.
I don’t respond. I just set it face down beside me and stare at the ceiling until sleep finally drags me under.
I wake early and head into Carrington Caskets before anyone else arrives. The quiet of my office is a relief, free of reminders of the utter shit show I call my life. My pencil glides across the sketchbook, the scratch of graphite against paper keeping me tethered. I’m halfway through the curve of a lid molding, the grain beginning to take shape—
“Goddammit.” I slam the pencil onto my desk.
The phone is already in my hand before I realize it. Back to that one message.
Homewrecker:Cedar Oak Lake. 5:30 p.m.
No hello. No explanation.
I stare at it longer than I should, the scattered order forms on my desk blurring at the edges. My lip is between my teeth before I even notice. This isn’t a strategy session. It feels like… an invitation.
My thumb hesitates, then moves.
Me:Okay.
Donovan
The locker room smells like sweat and disinfectant, the scent that’s been my life longer than I can remember. I’m leaning against the doorframe to the coach’s office, arms folded, watching him shuffle papers that don’t really need shuffling.
“I’m not re-signing,” I say. “Contract’s up in two weeks. I’m going home to Arizona.”
