night air is sharp and salted, every gust of wind slicing against my skin like it has a grudge. The stars are smothered b

Even the pubs feel heavier here. The men inside don't drink

afety in forg

-down bike shop and a funeral home that somehow still has business. There's an "8" etched crook

it did years ago when the landlord promised he'd get it fixed

arrow stairs and bang on the door

s. A loc

irk of Matt Cooper-tall, blond, and terminally chille

fell off the face of the Ear

mutter, eyeing the ridiculous doormat

t, grinning like a five-year-old who just tol

rve to be

"You've m

door plumbing.

a second to find your spare key. You left it y

rgent and old pot. The walls are still painted that anonymous rental gray, and

the drawer where you dump all the stuff you don't know what to do with. Sim c

're

wenty-

I said

grimy buses across the country, it feels like lying on a cloud. My bones

ning building

gaze. "Oh yeah, some big casino fire in Atlantic

ed it?" I ask, trying n

e says casually. "Guess someo

s, the smoke still thick in my lun

hing w

just

'mon, let's ge

partment. He unlocks the door

, the cracked tiles in the kitchen, the TV that needs a good smack on the side to work.

as I left i

ts. "Stil

teach hockey to

aren't fugit

rns him

undraiser gala tomorrow night. The kind where people pretend to care abo

are you tell

come. You know, reintroduce yourself to society. Mi

inter

Hotel and I already RSVP'd fo

u'll thank me when you're sipping spa

im off. "Fine. But do

n't dream of it.

ov

e. You pretend to be into m

"You're p

he calls as he van

dress and dump it in the trash. I'm done with that chapter. With Atlantic City. With conni

ut it washes away more than grime-it scrubs off the person I used to be.

at's for

and toss my bag onto the bed. Something

Kings

against my skin,, molded to the shape of his neck. His s

mediately and never think of him again. But in

ed and hold the w

on in the air like static before a storm. I remember the hammer.

ld hat

I

mo

nto my duffel bag and pull out the burner phone I bought somewhere in Nebrask

I started voice logging a year ago, on the nights w

t re

#47. I lost track somewhere between the gas stat

d. Something big. I ran into Rap

y screwed u

But he gave me his watch. No threats. No demands. Just... droppe

verything. It's not fun anymore-it's su

se. B

omething new. So

e good. Jus

it's like to earn

maybe-I want

try this.

ght, D

the ceiling, heart still racing

something decent and try to blend in. I'l

-but this time, I'

yb

be

'm not playing