🩷THE LONG GAME🩷

Chapter Six

The hum of the tires on asphalt was the only sound between us.

No radio.

No words.

Just silence—and the occasional creak of the leather seat when he shifted.

The road ahead was black, ribboned by shadows and streaks of fog. Trees loomed like sentinels on either side, tall and bare, their branches skeletal against the moonlight. We hadn’t seen another car in hours.

I wrapped my arms around myself, but it wasn’t the cold I was trying to fight. It was the feeling creeping up my spine—the sense that everything familiar had been swallowed whole, and I was drifting in the dark with a stranger beside me.

Except… he wasn’t a stranger anymore, was he?

Not after the way his voice had broken when he said my name last night.

Not after the way he touched my hand like it was both a promise and an apology.

He hadn’t looked at me since we left. But I could feel him watching the road like it was a battlefield. Like he expected something—or someone—to leap out of the dark and take me from him.

He drove like a soldier. Like every turn had weight.

“How far?” I asked quietly.

“Three more hours. If the weather holds.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we adapt.”

I turned to study his profile—sharp jaw, faint stubble, lips pressed in a grim line. He was built like the man I married. Sounded like him. But everything else was different.

I wasn’t sure when it happened… but I’d stopped wishing he was the man I used to love.

Now, I just wanted to understand the one sitting next to me.

---

We pulled into a gas station that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘80s. The lights above the pumps flickered. A rusted soda machine leaned against the wall like it had given up on life. The kind of place that existed only on back roads and in bad dreams.

He stepped out first, scanning the area before motioning for me to stay put. Old habits. Protective instincts. Whatever it was, I obeyed.

My fingers curled tighter in my lap as I watched him move—efficient, alert. Like danger was always a breath away.

Inside, the station was deserted. A single attendant sat behind the counter reading a dog-eared paperback, barely glancing up when we entered.

The smell of burnt coffee and dust settled thick in the air.

I wandered the aisles, pretending to care about the selection of overpriced snacks while he paid in cash. No trail, no cards. He was careful.

When he returned to me, he dropped a protein bar and a small bottle of water into my hands without a word. The gesture was simple. Thoughtful. It hit harder than it should have.

“I’m not hungry,” I murmured.

He didn’t argue. Just nodded toward the exit. “Eat anyway.”

Outside, the air bit through my sleeves. I leaned against the SUV while he filled the tank. For a minute, I let myself look up at the stars—scattered like a map I didn’t know how to read.

“I’m scared,” I said suddenly. Quietly. Like admitting it out loud might make it worse.

He didn’t look at me. Just kept his eyes on the pump.

“Good,” he said after a beat. “Fear keeps you alive.”

His words should have chilled me.

But when he finished, he came around to stand in front of me. His hand lifted slowly—slow enough that I could pull away. I didn’t.

He touched my chin, tilting my face toward his. His eyes searched mine like he was memorizing me.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Celeste.”

“But you’re the reason this is happening.”

That made him flinch. Just barely. But I saw it.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m also the reason you’re still breathing.”

I didn’t know if it was a comfort or a threat.

But when he opened the door for me, I got in.

And I didn’t look back.

---

The sun was just beginning to stain the sky gray-blue when the SUV slowed and crunched to a stop at the edge of a clearing.

The safe house didn’t look safe. It looked like the kind of place where bad things happened in the dead of night—weather-worn siding, windows boarded from the inside, a chimney that coughed smoke like it resented the warmth it was made to give. Trees crowded the perimeter like watchers.

“This is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer. Just shut off the engine and climbed out. By now, I knew what silence meant—yes.

I followed him up the uneven path to the door, my sneakers crunching over frost-laced leaves. He unlocked it with a key that had been taped to the underside of a loose rock near the porch. Inside, the air was dry and stale. Dust motes floated in the weak light filtering through a cracked curtain.

There were no photos. No signs of life. Just bare essentials—couch, table, wood stove, a small kitchen. Survival, not comfort.

He checked every room before motioning me in. I stood in the center of the living room, arms crossed.

“This was Jordan’s backup place,” he said finally. “Only a few people knew it existed.”

“Do those people want me dead?”

His jaw tensed. “Some of them. Not all.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have right now.”

I walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain just enough to peek out. Trees. Nothing but endless trees. No roads. No neighbors. No witnesses.

Isolation had a sound. It was the kind of silence that filled your ears until your own heartbeat felt too loud.

“I need a shower,” I said softly.

He nodded. “There’s hot water. I’ll build a fire while you settle in.”

For some reason, that small domestic detail—him making a fire—felt heavier than it should have. We were playing house in a nightmare.

As I moved toward the bedroom, his voice stopped me.

“Celeste.”

I turned.

His eyes were darker than before. Guarded.

“If anything happens—if I tell you to run—don’t hesitate.”

I held his gaze, something icy crawling under my skin.

“Will you be the thing I’m running from?”

A long silence.

Then: “I’ll be the one making sure no one ever touches you again.”

I didn’t know whether to feel safer… or more afraid.

---

The fire crackled low in the corner as I stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel that smelled faintly of cedar and dust. The heat clung to my damp skin, but a chill still settled deep in my bones. Maybe it wasn’t the air. Maybe it was something else. Something wrong.

I passed through the small bedroom, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet, and found him crouched in the living room, one hand braced against the edge of the fireplace, the other holding something—black and flat. A phone?

No. Not a phone.

It was a photo. An old one, slightly bent, the edges curling like it had been hidden a long time.

“What is that?” I asked.

He didn’t flinch. Just held it up without looking at me.

It was a picture of me—sleeping.

I froze.

My hair was splayed across a pillow I didn’t recognize. My face, peaceful. Vulnerable.

“This wasn’t taken by me,” he said, voice like gravel. “It was left under the mattress in the spare bedroom.”

My skin crawled. “Left by who?”

He didn’t answer.

I moved closer, noticing something now—something scrawled on the back of the photo in dark ink.

“You can protect her from the lie, but not the truth.”

A weight settled in my stomach like lead. I reached for the photo, but he pulled it back.

“I’ve seen this handwriting before,” he muttered. “It’s his. Jordan’s.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He looked up at me then, and for the first time since the night of the accident, real fear glinted in his eyes.

“It means… he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That someone was going to take his place.”

The words struck like a slap. My heartbeat stuttered.

“Was it you?” I whispered.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I wasn’t the first. But I was the one who stayed.”

I didn’t know if that made him better or worse.

The photo shook slightly in his grip, and when he finally placed it gently on the table, I backed away without realizing I’d been moving forward.

Whatever this was—whoever he was—he wasn’t the only one playing a long game.

And we weren’t alone.