He Stripped Off His Ring So I Stripped Him of Everything

That woman's laugh and Ryan's low, familiar response pinned my boots to the dirt.

I couldn't walk away. The sound acted like a physical tether, yanking me backward. I pivoted, my soles crushing dry pine needles as I retraced my path through two rows of parked campers.

I stopped in front of Eddie's rig. The old RV was an eyesore, its off-white paint peeling away in long, ugly strips. The main door stood wide open. Only a broken screen door blocked the entrance, hanging awkwardly off its hinges. The aluminum frame sagged on one side, and a jagged hole tore right through the center of the mesh.

Before I even tried to look inside, my eyes locked onto the cheap plastic folding table set up in the dirt outside. A half-empty beer can sat near the edge. Next to it rested a red-and-black plaid flannel jacket.

Ryan's jacket.

The one I washed three times last week to get the campfire smell out. The one I bought him for his birthday two years ago.

My knuckles stretched tight over the car keys in my hand, the skin gleaming white in the moonlight. The metal compass dug sharply into my palm. My chest seized, the air trapping itself in my throat. I forced myself to swallow.

*He just took it off because it's warm,* I told myself. *He's helping Eddie fix a sink. That's all.*

"You always leave your stuff everywhere," the woman's voice drifted through the torn screen.

"Only when I'm in a hurry," Ryan replied.

"Were you in a hurry tonight?"

"Maybe."

"You didn't seem in a hurry when you were talking to the sound guy."

"I had to make it look convincing."

"Convincing for who? Me