Time continues to tick by, and I’m starting to feel more and more like I shouldn’t be here. Like I don’t belong.
Eventually, the noise starts to grate on my nerves. The laughter and the music worsen my anxiety. I set my drink down, barely touched, and grab my bag.
“I’m gonna head out,” I tell Wren quietly.
She frowns. “You sure?” She glances around the room, likely looking for Cooper.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
It’s not a lie, just not the whole truth.
I inhale a deep breath when I step outside and make a beeline across the yard toward where I parked. I sit there for a second, my hands on the steering wheel, staring at the hockey house, hoping that he might finally show up.
Like if I wait just a little bit longer, he’ll be here, and everything will be okay.
If he’s not here, though, maybe he’s already at the barn.
The thought is enough to get me moving.
This time around, the drive back feels longer. My eyes track every headlight I pass, wondering if maybe it’s him before disappointing me.
When I pull into the gravel drive, the barn apartment is dark, and I don’t see his truck anywhere outside.
I unlock the door anyway, stepping inside like he might be here just out of sight. The space feels emptier than it has before. I drop my keys and kick off my shoes, resisting the urge to check my phone once more, knowing what I’ll find.
Not knowing what to do with this restless energy, I take a shower. The water is hot, almost too hot, but I stand under itanyway. I let it pound against my shoulders while my thoughts loop in circles.
I shut off the water and dry off slowly, pulling on an old T-shirt and underwear before climbing into bed. I set my phone on the nightstand, knowing I’ll hear it if he texts or calls.
He’ll text. He always texts.
***
Sleep comes in pieces. I drift off for a few minutes before jerking awake, like my body won’t let me sink too deep.
At some point, I reach over and check the time on my phone. It’s 4:07 a.m.
My chest tightens when I notice there are no unread messages and no missed phone calls.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, hoping answers will somehow appear in my mind. Or like a message will come through explaining everything.
They don’t.
I set the phone down on my chest and stare at the ceiling instead.
Whatever happened last night… it wasn’t small. I can feel it now.
And for the first time since I got to Rixton, the thought slips in that maybe this place isn’t for me after all.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed before my mind spirals out of control.
The room looks the same as it did when I went to sleep, but something about it feels off. In the span of a few hours, it’s like I’m not supposed to be here anymore. Like I’ve slipped back into that same feeling—being somewhere I don’t quite belong, surrounded by people who were never meant to be permanent.
I move quietly, pulling my duffel out of the closet. I fold my clothes, pack up my toiletries and shoes, and gather all the little things I brought with me.
I tell myself that giving him space will be easier than waiting for a call that may never come. But really, I don’t know how to stay here when I’m starting to feel like he’s pushing me away.
I find a scrap of paper in the drawer and sit at one of the stools at the breakfast bar, waiting for a few minutes before I start writing.
