by Huss, JA
I nod and smile once more, but it’s futile. She’s already got her back to me, heading into the room where her game show awaits.
I push through the door, the bell jingling my exit, and the snow assaults me as I make my way under the covered breezeway that at least attempts to block out the raging elements. I walk all the way to the end of the building, slip my key into the door and glance over at my Bronco.
It’s not my truck that I’m looking at though. Dallas and the flatbed are gone. Probably more cars to rescue from the storm. It’s the car next to the Bronco that catches my attention. I can still see the girl inside, still fussing around under the dome light.
I twist the key, open the door, find the lights on the wall and flip them on before closing the door behind me.
It’s fucking freezing in here. Like they have no heat at all. I hit up the unit under the window that acts as a heater and air conditioner and turn it to full-blast hot.
Now what?
There’s two queen-sized beds, a table and chairs, a long low dresser with a mirror, and a TV mounted on the wall. I grab the remote and switch it on. The time flashes on the screen for a moment. One-thirty AM. Shit, time has flown by. Last I looked it was eleven-thirty.
Well, happy New Year, Ford. Yet another one spent alone.
I watch a repeat of the ball dropping in Times Square, and then realize the room is not much warmer. I fuck with the controls on the under-window unit for a few minutes, trying to see if the dials are just lined up wrong and another setting will deliver the heat I’m badly craving. But it’s no use. I take out my phone and check the thermometer app. Twelve degrees outside. I calculate the probable temperature in this room and come up with fifty-three.
Fifty-fucking-three degrees. For two hundred and fifty dollars a night.
I can go complain to Mrs. Pearson. Or I can suck it up, go sift through my winter survival bag from the back of the Bronco, and grab the self-heating blizzard blankets.
I opt for the blizzard blankets because Mrs. Pearson is just… no.
The snow is still coming down hard, maybe even harder than before. I can barely make out the garage parking lot and it’s only about a hundred yards away. I jog over and open the back of the Bronco, yanking the tub of gear towards me. The blankets are down at the bottom, so I just dump all the shit out on the bed of the truck and take out the flat packages. I slam the door and a baby’s cry almost gives me a heart attack.
I look carefully at the girl’s car and realize it’s steamed up from breath. They’re still inside.
I knock on the back seat window and see some blurry movement inside, but no one answers. “Hey,” I call. “Do you have a ride coming?”
The baby answers with a small complaint, then some gurgled noises. And nothing.
Even though I’m freezing my ass off now, I try again. A softer knock this time. “Hello? It’s too cold to be in a parked car with no heat.”
Nothing.
I get the hint and walk away. Hey, if she wants to stay in the car, it’s none of my business. I get all the way back to my room door before I realize I could at least give her a blanket. I look at the door. Then the car. Then the door.
And walk back over to the car. I’m fully wet now, so I stop by the Bronco again and pull out my gym bag that at least has a pair of running shorts and a dry shirt.
I knock on the window again. “Hello—”
“Go away!” the girl yells. Then the baby starts crying for real and she starts swearing inside. Like she’s reached the end of her coping capability and is about to lose it.
I’m familiar with this feeling. I used to get it often.
I scrub my hand down my face and decide to switch tactics. “If you do not answer me, I will call the police and report you for child abuse.”
There’s a brief pause, then the window cranks down a single inch and the girl inside peers up at me from dark eyes. She is young. No older than twenty if I guess right. The snow swirls in the small opening, chilling the baby out of its temporary acquiescence. It straight-out bawls.
“Report me? Are you serious? I have no money for a room, OK? I didn’t plan on getting stuck here in this blizzard, there’s nothing I can do about it. So go ahead, call whoever you want!” She rolls the window back up and I knock again. It rolls back down, a half an inch this time. “What?” she snaps.
I look down at the blanket, then up at the snow illuminated in the street light. It’s so thick the light comes across as a dull gray. I am fully planning on just handing the blanket over and telling her that it will self-heat once she opens the package and exposes it to oxygen. But instead my mouth says, “I have two beds in the room. You could sleep there. It’s the last room they have or I’d just buy you your own.”
“What?” she says, rolling the window down another half an inch.
“I, ah… I’m offering you a place to sleep for the night.”
She stares up at me, blinking.
And then I can’t stand her attention anymore and I pivot and walk away.
What the fuck am I thinking? Stupid. What the fuck?
I push my key into the door and slam it closed behind me. I throw the gym bag on the bed and rip open one of the blanket packages. It takes about fifteen minutes to fully heat up once the bag is open, so I set it on the bed and go start the shower. The water gets hot immediately and this is the first stroke of luck I’ve had all night.
Luck. We are not on speaking terms, luck and I. Because my name is not Ronin Flynn. Luck loves him. Shit, if Ronin was in this predicament, he’d have broken down across from the Four Seasons, they’d tell him they only had the penthouse available, and he could have it for half price since it was sitting empty anyway. They’d send up complimentary fruit baskets and give him free spa passes to ease his worried brow.
I laugh. The sad thing is that it’s closer to the truth than I’d like to admit. Ronin is like… walking magic when it comes to life. Everything he wants, he gets. People love him immediately. They don’t scowl at him because he conjures up memories of almost blowing people up on the golf course or electrocuting boys in the skate park bathroom, or for being the town freak who read every book in the library, even the dictionary and the encyclopedias.
I have had my share of women, albeit on my own very strict no-touching terms. But Ronin has women throwing themselves at him everywhere he goes.
It’s… it’s infuriating. He’s literally a professional liar, for fuck’s sake, and all they see is sweet perfection. But when they look at me they see freak.
I’m a goddamned movie producer. I know famous people. I have a mountain home in Vail, a luxury condo in Denver, and a five-million-dollar monstrosity on Mulholland Drive in Bel Air. I take care of myself, I’m well educated, I’m not bad-looking. I’m sorta hot, actually. I know this, I have no trouble finding sex when I want it.
And yet I get sluts. I swear. Sluts who don’t even blink when I tell them they can’t touch me.
And Ronin? He gets Rook.
She does not give one fancy fuck what Ronin’s part in our business is. Her exact words. Not one fancy fuck. She loves him, no matter what. Unconditionally. She rode a thousand miles on a motorcycle back to the place where the most horrific things happened to her, stole secret files, and almost got her legs burned off in a house fire to save his professionally lying ass.
And I get no-name pets who want me to bend them over a couch and smack their pussy to make them come.
It’s just… what the fuck? Why? It’s like I have a sign on my fucking head that says I like the weird ones.
I might like to try a nice girl, or at the very least, a semi-nice one with a little freak to her.
I admit, I’m not wholly dissatisfied with the naughty ones. But just once, just fucking once, I’d like the Sandy instead of the Rizzo.
Holy fuck. I just used a Grease Rookism to illustrate my point.
That makes me smile. But then I remember that Rook’s not mine and I just walked away for good.
That action—walking away from her, slamming that door and driving off—that was the most painful thing I’ve ever done. And it still hurts. Like… in my chest. I’m not sure what it is, really. This feeling. It’s a little bit like when my dad died a couple years ago. But not really. It’s different.
That was just… unreal. Like I was watching a movie of everyone around me going through the motions of mourning.
I did not cry. Not once. But my dad would not take it personally, because as far as I can remember, I’ve never cried. Not for a stubbed toe, not for being called names in elementary school, not when my dog died when I was ten. And not when my dad died when I was twenty-three even though I did out-luck Ronin in the dad department and I miss him this very moment.
I came to the conclusion a long time ago that I don’t have tears. I’m deformed.
This is not logical reasoning and I realize this. If I had no tears I’d need eye drops. I’d have all kinds of eye problems, and my vision is perfect. So of course, I make tears. I just don’t cry tears. This gets me through the introspection required to understand why I have never felt the deep sadness that others experience.
I look at myself in the mirror as the steam floats out of the bathroom. People who know me see the imperfect weirdo. They see the anti-social freak. They see nothing about me that’s real. And the people who don’t know me are instinctively suspicious. I have a vibe, or something. A vibe that says stay away.
And yet when people look at Ronin they see honesty. Even though he’s a fucking professional liar.
I scrub my hands over my stubbly chin. I’m gonna grow it out. I’m gonna be someone different. I’m going to do things different from this second on. I’m not going to look for happiness anymore. I’m going to eschew happiness and seek out the glum. The broken and doomed. The dark and the dirty.
Why not? It’s where I belong anyway.
I’m New Ford. Fuck happiness. Fuck the nice girls. Fuck everyone. I’m all about me now.
I take off my suit coat and hang it up using the pathetic hangers in the makeshift closet next to the bathroom vanity, then strip off my shirt and do the same thing with that. Like it or not, I’ll have to wear it tomorrow. Even New Ford realizes gym shorts will not do in the aftermath of a blizzard. I check the water temperature in the bathroom one more time and I’m unbuttoning my pants to strip down when there’s a small knock at the door.
I peek around the corner and stare at it.
The knock comes again.
I walk over and open the door, expecting Mrs. Pearson. But it’s the girl with the baby.
She swallows hard, like it’s taking an incredible amount of willpower just to stand here at the door. “I’d like to take you up on your offer. I’m sorry I was rude.”
I don’t even know what to say. She sways back and forth a little, like she’s trying to comfort her baby who must be hidden under the blankets covering the carrier, but the child is silent so it comes off as nerves.
And then she decides my silence is a message and she hears it loud and clear. She turns and starts walking back towards her car.
“Stop.” I find my voice. “You can stay.”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she stops walking and the snow just pours down on her like blobs of white rain. Her dark hair is soaking wet and dotted with sparkling flakes. It takes another second for her to turn and then she nods at me. I open the door wider, letting in the blizzard and freezing cold air, and she brushes past my bare chest when she enters my room.
I shiver, but not from the cold.
So much for New Ford.
Chapter Five
I close the door with a whoosh and my heart beats erratically for a few seconds before it calms down. We stand still, her looking at the room, not turning to face me. And me looking at her.
The distressed cry from beneath a blanket covering a baby carrier snaps me out of my surreal funk and brings her focus back. “I’m sorry,” she says as she sets the carrier down on the floor and kneels. “I just…” She pulls the pink blanket away and snow falls onto the floor. The baby is trying its best to sleep, but there’s too much going on and its little fists flail as it winds up to wail.
I grab the remote and flip the TV and the lights off at the same moment. The girl gasps.
“Sorry.” It’s my turn to apologize. The bathroom light is still on, so it’s not completely dark, but the baby quiets down. “It was too bright and I don’t mean anything derogatory by this remark, but crying babies are not my thing.”
She finally turns to face me. Her eyes are brown and so is her hair. It’s soaking wet, and now that I have a good chance to look her over, so are her clothes. Her skin has olive undertones, but maybe she’s tired, or maybe she’s scared, because she’s very pale at the moment. “I was just saying that I’m sorry to have to ask for help. I’m just… stranded with no other options.”
“Of course,” I say, waving my hand at the beds. “This is out of character for me as well. I do my best to ignore society as a whole. I just happened upon you in a vulnerable moment. I was just going to take a shower, so—”
So what?
“So just do whatever you need to do.”
I go back into the bathroom and close the door. What the fuck did I just get myself into? I shake it off as I undress then get in the shower. Luckily the water is still hot, otherwise I’d be pissed. When I’m done I realize my gym bag is still out on the bed so I wrap a towel around my waist and go to retrieve it.
She’s lying down with the baby, huddled under the blanket. She might even be asleep, although that is not a very smart move. I could be a serial killer for all she knows. My bag is on the bed closest to the door, so she’s sleeping in the one nearest the bathroom. I grab the bag off the bed and when I turn she’s staring right at me. Her eyes take in my bare chest for a few seconds—not in a seductive way, either, more of a do you mind putting on some fucking clothes way.
I ignore her and go back to the bathroom and change into my gym shorts, then flip the light off and walk back over to the bed.
“It’s freezing in here,” she says softly. “I tried to change the setting on the heater, but it’s just cold air so I turned it off.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” I switch the bedside light on and grab the heat blanket on my bed and offer it to her. “It’s a blizzard blanket. Self-heating. It should last all night.”
“What about you?”
I offer her a small smile and hold up the other bag. “I have two. But takes like fifteen minutes for them to heat up, and this one’s already warm.” I wait a few seconds as she studies my face. “Want it?” She still says nothing. “Well—” I throw it over the top of her and then sit back down on my bed. “I’ll have to insist. You’re still wet.” I rip open the other blanket bag and her reply is so small I almost miss her, “Thank you.”
“No problem.” I throw the other blanket over my bed, turn the light off, and let out a long sigh as I get under the covers. What a fucking day.
“Good night,” she says. And then there’s some rustling as she turns over.
“Night,” I say back to the darkness. I expect to stare at the ceiling for a good long while, since I’m not a big sleeper on the best of days and having a strange girl with a baby in my room is pretty out of the ordinary for me. But I’m drifting off before I can even close my eyes.
I sit up in bed, confused, and then instinctively reach over and switch on the light. “What’s that fucking sound?” And where the hell am I, I don’t add out loud. My heart slows as I remember. I turn to the girl in the bed next to me and her expression is nearing fearful. “Sorry,” I say.
“She’s hungry, that’s all. I’m trying to be quiet.”
It’s only then that I notice the sound that woke me is a baby suckling. On a breast. That’s partly exposed right now. I’m not sure what comes over me but it takes quite a few seconds to pull my eyes away. When I find her gaze she’s not afraid anymore, she’s mad. I laugh a little as I switch the l
ight off and lie back on the bed, my hands behind my head.
“What’s funny?” she asks, annoyed.
“That look. Like you’d punch me in the face if you didn’t have a baby attached to you.”
“I’m going to ignore you.”
And she does. The baby slurps away happily and I can make out the girl’s face in a stray beam of light that filters through an opening in the curtains from the parking lot. Her eyes are closed and she appears utterly content.
My dick twitches a little and I laugh again.
“Do you mind?”
“I actually do not mind. Not one bit.” And then it’s my turn to turn away and ignore her. But the smile is still on my face and even though I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, I think that breastfeeding a baby not six feet away from me—a man she knows nothing about but seems ready to trust completely—is just about the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever encountered.
Chapter Six
A knock at the door pulls me back from my dreamless slumber. I open my eyes and stare at the door. “Now what?” I look over at the girl but she’s still asleep. I wrap the blanket around me and check the time on my phone. Seven AM. Who the fuck is up at seven AM on New Year’s Day?
I pull it open, ready to bitch out whoever’s on the other side, but stop short when I realize it’s Mrs. Pearson.
“Rutherford, sorry to bother you…”
I wait.
“Do you mind if I come in? It’s six degrees out here.”
“Oh, sure.” I step aside and let her in.
She pushes past me and then stops short as I close the door. “Oh, I just assumed you were alone last night. I only charged you for a single.”
“So bill me,” I reply dryly.
“No, no, that’s fine. You know we were all so disappointed when you never came for your father’s funeral. The whole village turned out. Everyone wanted to see you.”