The rock in my gut balloons, feeling ten times heavier, and I grab my stomach to brace it. I can’t hold it in for another second. Tears rapidly fall down my face, and I swipe them away as I scurry to the bathroom for a tissue. I’ve never been a huge crier, but this isn’t a normal breakup. I thought Tom and I were going to be married. I quit college so I could be closer to him. I was so dumb for thinking that was a good idea. Now I have no job skills, and the only job I could get was cleaning. I screwed up my life and all I got in return is a broken heart.
I ugly cry, letting my shoulders shake, and I blow my nose into a tissue. I let it all out before Christian gets back, because he won’t tolerate me crying over Tom. After all my sobs are out, I blow my nose one more time and toss my tissue into the trash.I take a deep breath, clearing my head of all things Tom, and I mentally draw a line to be done crying. I need to clean up before Christian gets back. I splash water on my face, drag my feet back to the bedroom, and pick up my phone. My throat instantly dries when I see an unread text message.
No, not Tom.
It’s the code for the karaoke app that Portia told me she’d send me. A frown of forlornity tugs on my lips.
I will not sing karaoke.
Especially not here in a hotel room.
Portia has the wildest ideas.
I mean, if that’s what she likes to do, then more power to her. Shaking my head, I let my fingers hover over the code as I’m ready to delete it. My gaze floats back to the door.
The room is empty.
No one would hear me.
It distracted me last time.
Right on cue, the rock in my gut swells, threatening to spring more tears.
I just cleaned up from ugly crying. I can’t cry like that again.
I need a distraction.
At least until Christian gets back.
My fingers tremble as the tears travel up from the rock in my gut, and I panic and click on the code.
Anything is better than crying.
three
Stallone Hart
My eyelids shoot open, darkness is all around me, the wind howling so loudly it sounds like a freight train is barreling through my front door. I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table and groan. 3:00 a.m.
Always, I’m up at this hour, as my life seems to be stuck on autopilot.
On this unordinary day in the middle of a not-special week, the house shutters and the evergreen branches scrape at my bedroom window, but I’m not scared. I’ve heard worse. It does, however, prick at my mind, telling me I won’t be going to work. A knot swells in my throat, and I swallow to force it down, but it stays. The knot doesn’t care about the money, as I have more of that than I’d ever dreamed of.
It’s a knot of avoidance.
And it’s a real jerk, reminding me to keep busy so I don’t rememberher.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, force my tired body to my feet, on the hunt for a glass of cold water to soothe my throat. It’s been ages since I slept through the night, and getting up way before the first light of dawn is my pattern. I shuffle my feet forward until my hand finds the cool stainless-steel handle on the fridge. I grab a bottle of water and down most of it before I pivot and turn on my coffeepot. It gurgles to life while I lean over the kitchen sink to peer out the window into the night sky.
The light I always leave on above my front porch for security reveals a blanket of fluffy snow has already accumulated in my yard, and all the branches on my pine trees are bowing down from the weight. Sighing, I turn away. The moisture isn’t a bad thing. It’s the fact the rural backcountry roads have nearly washed-out with mudslides, making it impossible for my oversized trucks to haul logs to the mill. We’ve been piling up everything we chop until the roads dry out. This weather is going to turn the mudslides into ice, which is so much worse.
This means another few days—at best—until I can move wood.
I run my hand through my hair, pretending it’s pain in my head and not my heart that keeps me up. Right as I’m about to let out a defeated sigh, Lucky stirs awake from his spot by the front door and walks over, greeting me with his tail wagging. Lucky is a stray I found roaming these hills. He got his name after he narrowly missed getting slammed by a tree. I used to call him Lucky Nine Lives, but he has far surpassed nine lives in the two years he’s been my logging partner.
He’s also gotten used to my predawn rising, and he’s ready to go for our walk. “Just a moment, boy.” I pat his head before filling a travel mug with black coffee. I always take my coffee to go, as it keeps me warm on our walks. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll be on our way.”
I head to the door, where all my outer clothes are neatly hung on hooks, and I slip on my thickest lined flannel shirt and coverit with a pair of coveralls. I slide my feet into a pair of snow boots and tug a thick beanie over my head. The front door isn’t even cracked before Lucky pushes his nose out, leading the way.
