I step closer, heat rising.“I didn’t use nothin’.I fell in love.”
That shuts him up.
“You fucked up,” he repeats, low and dangerous.“You’re supposed to be my sergeant, my right hand, not some lovesick fool wreckin’ the patch’s name.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I started over.”
He shakes his head.“You’re a damn fool, Jack.”
“Probably,” I say.“But I’m a fool who’s finally tellin’ the truth.”
“Go get your girl,” he relents.
I walk out before he can say anything else.Frost’s still by the door.He doesn’t stop me.He just nods once.“She better be worth it.”
“She is,” I say.“She’s the only thing that ever was.”
But I have unfinished business first.
My house is dark when I get there.Trina’s home.The front yard looks like a war zone, trash bags full of my life dumped in the snow.My clothes.My tools.A few old photos in shattered frames.
I light another smoke, stare at the pile.There’s a note taped to the top, written in red again.“You deserve the cold”.
She’s right.I do.
I leave it all there.Flick my lit cigarette into the pile.
That pile can burn.House can burn for all I care, too.Canceled the insurance months ago.Maybe the bitch will finally leave town.But I don’t want Trina dead.Not by my hand at least.Karma can kill her anytime now.
I shoot her a text:Hope the smoke detector’s working at my house.Brother rode by and saw smoke.
I’ve got one place left to go.
Her street’s dark except for one upstairs window glowing gold.The sight of it hits like mercy.I kill the engine, climb the steps two at a time, and knock before I can talk myself out of it.
Chapter 18
Carol
I leave right away with nothing but a duffel bag, a handful of tip money, and a heart that won’t stop pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest.Evervale still glows behind me, that same snow-globe lie it’s always been, plastic cheer, fake snow, Christmas lights that never burn out.I used to love that.Now it makes me sick.
Blake doesn’t answer my calls.The first time, it rings out.The second, it goes straight to voicemail.By the third, I know better.He’s hitting the FU button.
I sit on the bus stop bench with frost biting through my jeans and tell myself he doesn’t owe me anything.Blake was good.Safe.And I blew it.The wind stings my eyes, but I tell myself it’s just cold.
The bus hisses to a stop before long, lights flickering like tired stars.I climb on and sit near the back, my bag wedged under the seat.Through the fogged window, Evervale shrinks to a blur of light and shadow.I'm finally moving forward.
Pine City isn’t much to look at, but it’s real.The snow here is gray instead of glittering, the people too busy to notice you exist.I like that.I find a small room above a bakery that smells like butter and sugar and something almost like hope.
The landlord is a short old woman with gray hair and sharp eyes.She asks if I can bake.Says her and her husband have been looking for someone to run their bakery.I remember Blake’s soon to be brother-in-law telling me about just this.I give Grant as a reference, and we hit it off immediately.Maybe it’s fate.I tell her yes, even though I’ve only ever burned things or mixed drinks.
Turns out I can bake.It’s as easy as mixing drinks.You just put what you mix in the oven.My hands can remember more than I think.Kneading dough becomes meditation.The heat of the ovens wraps around me like a hug, I desperately need.
Every morning, I wake way before dawn, roll out dough, watch the sky lighten through frosted glass.The aroma of cinnamon and yeast clings to me long after I leave, and I don’t mind.It covers the guilt and loss.
By the second week, I know the regulars, the man who comes in for day-old donuts and always leaves exact change.The woman who orders scones but only eats half, saving the rest for her dog.They talk about weather and grandkids.They call it dull.I call it peace.
At night, I walk past dark storefronts and half-lit bars.The cold bites my cheeks, the quiet hums.I still check my phone when I get home.Still stare at his number before I remember it’s blocked.I tell myself it’s for the best.That hearing the biker’s voice would only unravel everything I’ve stitched back together.I tell myself lies until they sound like truth.
