Thank you for letting me stay here. And for everything else too. Please tell your family how much it means to me.
It’s polite. Safe. It doesn’t say anything about how this place has felt more like home than anywhere else I’ve lived.
I leave the note on the counter where he’ll see it.
If he comes looking for me.
On the drive back across town—to the loft above the bar—my mind keeps replaying the last time I saw him. The way he searched the stands until he found me. The way his face softened when he did. The wink like it was just ours.
The way he asked me to come like it mattered.
I’m only a few miles from the loft when my car jerks as I’m approaching a stoplight.
It’s subtle at first, like I hit a rough patch on the road. The light changes, and I let off the brakes and ease into the gas.
“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath.
The engine makes a strange, higher-than-usual whining sound. The steering wheel starts to vibrate faintly beneath my hands. A sharp scent of gasoline seeps into the car, enough to make my stomach turn.
It’s an old car, so I’m used to its quirks by now. But the dashboard lights flicker.
My stomach drops when the car lurches, harder this time. I have to tighten my grip on the wheel to keep it straight. The street is mostly empty this early, which is the only thing working in my favor.
“Not now. Please not now.”
I manage to coast onto the shoulder before the car finally gives out. The engine sputters once, twice, then goes quiet.
I sit there for a second, staring at the empty stretch of road ahead, my hands still locked around the steering wheel, as if I can will it back to life.
Of course this would happen today.
I turn the key again. The engine makes a god-awful grinding sound, something that feels expensive, then dies just as quickly.
I let my head fall against the headrest and close my eyes.
I don’t have anyone to call.
That realization hits harder than the breakdown itself.
For a split second, Cooper’s name flashes through my mind. I picture his truck pulling up behind me, him climbing out, telling me it’s fine like he always does.
I shove the thought away.
He hasn’t answered me. Why would he now?
My vision blurs before I realize what’s happening. I press my palms against my eyes, annoyed at myself. It’s just a car. It’s fixable. Probably.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat and reach for my phone. Not to call him, but to search for a towing company.
My fingers shake more than I’d like as I tap the first number that pops up. The man who answers sounds half asleep, but he promises someone will be there in thirty minutes.
I sink into the seat and pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. It’s not freezing, but it’s cold enough to feel it settling into my bones without the heater running.
Cars pass every few minutes, and each one makes me tense. Headlights sweep over the windshield and disappear again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And the quiet is the worst part.
I came to Rixton looking for answers. For closure. Maybe for proof that I wasn’t just drifting from one place to the next.
