Semua Bab Off Limits: Playing With Fire (Short Stories Collection): Bab 11 - Bab 20

I woke up, So early in the morning. It wasn’t intentional. The lake house didn’t have blackout curtains, and the sun came through the thin white drapes like it had a personal vendetta against sleeping in. I rolled over, groaning, and stared at the ceiling. Sophie was still out. Maya snored from the guest bed. Leo had crashed on the couch downstairs. And somewhere outside, I heard the soft scrape of the dock against the pilings. I knew who it was. I dressed fast—oversized sweater, cutoffs, no makeup. I told myself I was just getting coffee. That running into Liam at 6am was a coincidence. It wasn’t. He was already there when I stepped onto the dock, mug in hand, bare feet hanging over the edge of the water. Henley rolled to his forearms, hair still damp from a shower. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “Morning,” he said. “Morning,” I said back. I sat a few feet away. Not too close. Close enough. He handed me a second mug without asking. “Thought you might want thi

The lake was flat when I woke up, the kind of morning that made you think the whole day would behave itself. It didn’t. Sophie found me on the porch with coffee, flipping through her wedding binder like it might attack her. “Mom and Dad are leaving,” she said, dropping into the chair next to me. “What?” I sat up. “I thought they were staying the whole month.” “Dad’s got a work emergency in Seattle. Mom’s going with him.” She sighed. “They’ll be back for the wedding, but for now it’s just us and Noah.” That explained why Noah looked relieved and why Sophie looked like she’d been handed extra weight. “What about Jackson?” I asked. Liam’s friend who left unexpected two days ago. “Jackson got called back to Portland,” Sophie said. “His crew had a site issue. Didn’t even say goodbye.” So the house was thinning out. Sophie gave me a look. “Don’t get weird about it.” “I’m not weird.” “You’re weird,” she said, and left me with my coffee. Later that day, The afternoon tur

The weather report lied. It said “scattered showers” for the evening. the sky tore open. I was in the main house, trying to sleep in the guest room. The wind hit first, rattling the windows hard enough to shake the glass. Then the rain came, sideways and loud. Lights flickered twice and died. “Emily?” Sophie’s voice came from the hall, muffled by the storm. “Here,” I called back. “Stay put. Liam’s checking the generator.” Liam. Of course it was Liam. If something broke, he fixed it. I didn’t go back to bed. I pulled on my hoodie and followed the sound of voices downstairs. The living room was lit by phone flashlights. Maya, Leo, Noah, Sophie—all of them clustered near the back door. Rain lashed the deck. “The generator’s dead,” Liam said as he came in from outside, soaked to the skin. Water dripped off his hair onto the floor. “Tree’s down across the bridge to the cabin. We’re cut off from the main line.” “How bad?” Sophie asked. “Bad enough. We can’t get a veh

The house felt different when I woke up that morning. Not louder. Not quieter. Just calmer somehow. Like the walls themselves had finally exhaled after holding tension for too long. The kind of silence that settles after a storm—not empty, but peaceful. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I didn’t wake with that tight feeling in my chest, like something was waiting to go wrong. I lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of movement downstairs. The old house creaked softly in the morning air, the familiar noises oddly comforting. Sunlight spilled through the curtains in pale gold streaks, warming the blanket tangled around my legs. Half asleep, I rolled onto my side and reached for Liam automatically. My hand brushed across cold sheets before reality caught up with me. We weren’t at the cabin anymore. The memory of the night before came rushing back all at once—the lake, the flashlight, the way he had looked at me like he’d finally stop

By morning, the house had completely lost any sense of peace or order. Every room buzzed with movement, overlapping conversations, and the constant sound of doors opening and closing. Cars rolled up the driveway one after another while people carried luggage, coolers, flowers, folding chairs, and enough food to feed a small town. Sophie’s parents arrived first, their SUV packed so tightly it looked ready to burst. Her mother climbed out holding a casserole dish wrapped carefully in towels while her father wrestled a cooler from the trunk. “We brought salmon from Seattle,” her mom announced immediately, as though this explained the chaos. “It’s enough salmon for an army,” Sophie muttered under her breath. Ten minutes later Jackson appeared with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and the exact same grin he always wore when he intended to cause problems. “There’s my favorite family,” he announced loudly. “You’re not family,” Noah called from the porch. “Emotionally, I am.” The