Page 293 of Power Play

Pain tore through my hand. It wasn’t enough, so I hit the door again with the front of my fist, harder this time, rattling the frame beneath the impact.

“Fuck!”

I turned away before I put my hand through something I would have to explain to management.

My duffel waited beside the couch, half-packed because I had been too busy cutting Charm out of my life to finish. Her apartment key remained trapped inside my fist.

I opened my hand and found a red line crossing my palm where the teeth of the key had pressed into my skin. It looked exactly the same as it had when I gave it to her. The same cheap silver metal and shallow grooves remained, but my hand shook beneath its weight.

Giving Charm access to my apartment had meant I had finally stopped keeping one foot outside my own life. She could walk in whenever she wanted, leave books on my counters, hang dresses beside my clothes, steal my shower, and cover my bathroom with products I couldn’t pronounce.

She could exist inside my space when I wasn’t there. Instead of feeling invaded, I had liked finding evidence that I was no longer alone.

I had built room for her without realizing how much of myself I moved to make it. Now I had the key back, and none of the space around me felt like it belonged to me anymore.

I threw the key onto the counter. It struck the laminate, skidded into the wall, and dropped behind the toaster.

After opening the group chat, I typed the only explanation I was willing to give them.

Ryan: Leaving this chat. Leaving Kimball. Headed to Flint. Charm and I had a thing for a minute. It’s dead. I’m out.

I added one more message.

Ryan: Signed, El Cuchillo.

I left the conversation, closing another path people could use to reach me, and dropped my phone onto the table.

I grabbed the duffel and tossed it onto the couch to finish loading it. My phone began ringing before I had shoved the last shirts inside, and I knew who it was without looking.

Cade’s name filled the screen.

I let it ring while I closed the bag. The call ended, only to start again three seconds later.

“Persistent motherfucker,” I muttered.

I slung the duffel over my shoulder, answered on my way out, and pressed the speaker button. “I’m driving.”

“Then put me through the truck.”

Cade’s voice sounded controlled. Too controlled. The motherfucker only sounded like that when he was furious enough to start making careful decisions, the kind that benefited the people he loved more than himself.

“I’m not in the truck yet.”

“Where are you?”

“Leaving my apartment.”

A door closed on his end of the call. Bliss said something I couldn’t understand, followed by rustling and the unmistakable sound of Briggs complaining about his knees.

“Why is Briggs with you?”

“Because your dramatic group-chat exit interrupted pie.”

Briggs’s voice came from farther away. “I didn’t even get pie.”

“You had two pieces,” Bliss said.

“One was experimental.”