seventeen
Trouble
It’s the next night, and I’m paying for every damn second I spent in the arena today. My muscles ache, my skin’s still hot from the shower, and all I want is sleep. Then my phone lights up—Winnie’s name pops up on the screen.
Winne
Got a hot date tonight? or can I call first dibs?
My thumb hovers, hesitates, then decides, pressing the side button until the screen is just darkness. Eyelids heavy, I shut them for a moment, when the buzzing starts again—I reckon it's her again, but surprisingly the screen says Mama now.
"Hello?" I sigh, as I lift the phone to my ear.
"Tristan, where you at?"
I run a hand through my hair. "In my bed."
There's a rustle on the other end of the line. "Oh, good," Mama continues. "I need you to go over to the guest house. Sawyer said she thinks someone might be trying to break in.She was about to call the police, but I told her not to worry, that I’d send someone over."
I shoot upright. “Break in?”
“Nothin’ to worry about,” Mama’s voice crackles on the line, way too calm for someone dropping potential home-invasion news. “I checked the cameras. Didn’t see a thing on there. Figured you might wanna go play hero.”
“Oh, did you now?”
“A mama always knows what’s best,” she hums, tryin’ to be slick.
“Mama, that sounds an awful lot like instigatin’ to me.”
She goes quiet for a moment, and I can damn nearhearthe smirk stretching across her face. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she says, “And over here it sounds like my bath’s ready. Gotta go.”
Click.
I stare at the phone, half amused, half ready to throttle her.
I pull on grey sweatpants and a tee before stepping into the thick night air. Sliding into my truck, I grip the wheel, headlights cutting through the dark as distant thunder rumbles—like it always does when I’m on my way to her, when I’m headed somewhere I shouldn’t be. And somehow, knowing that, I want every damn second of it.
When I pull up to the guest house, the porch light’s on, casting a soft glow over the steps, but everything else is wrapped in black and quiet.
I hop out, stalk up to the front, and knock hard—three sharp raps. It echoes, quick and loud in the hush just before the storm heads our way.
The door swings open, and there’s Sawyer—hair tied up in a messy knot, drowning in an oversized shirt that still manages to make her look insanely gorgeous. She tugs at thehem like it might somehow cover her bare legs, but all it does is make me notice them more.
“Trouble?” she asks, glancing around like she expected anyone but me. “I figured she’d send your sheriff friend.”
I smirk, leaning one arm against the porch post. “You’re stuck with me instead.”
“Thank you for coming. I just… I keep hearing something.”
That worry in her eyes doesn’t fit her.
“Show me,” I say, stepping closer. My gaze sweeps around, but not before catching the flush on her cheeks.
She nods, backing up. “Come in here,” she says, her tone soft but urgent.
I step across the threshold, and she guides me deeper inside.
"Listen," she whispers, and I look around, waiting. Then, it comes: a crack of thunder so loud it feels like it rips the sky in two. Sawyer's body tenses and she stumbles backward into my arms. Instinctively, I wrap my hands around her waist, steadying her against me.
