Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  Hand in hand, we walked under the stained-glass image of Jesus and found a spot in the back row. Pastor Davies stepped behind the pulpit. His beard was longer, but well-kept. He dressed casually, welcoming even, in khaki slacks, a pale green button-down, and his signature black Chucks.

  Tito shot me a puzzled look. “That’s the minister?”

  “Pastor.”

  “Hmm,” was his only response.

  Tito barely moved for the next forty minutes, tension emanating off his body like a radiant heater. My heart broke, knowing my strong man, the man built of confidence and power, sat next to me, struggling, and out of sorts, in the one place I found comfort.

  When the sermon ended and the band took their place on stage, I nudged Tito and nodded toward the exit, hoping to avoid the after-service chaos. “Let’s go,” I whispered. “I’m starving. Can we grab something to eat before I head to work?”

  Without looking my way, Tito led me outside. It wasn’t until I snapped my seatbelt into place that he took a cleansing breath. I wondered if he’d ever shown his vulnerable side before. My chest constricted at the thought.

  “Thank you,” I blurted.

  With a huff, Tito roughed a hand through his hair and said, “You’re welcome.” Fiery eyes met mine. He opened his mouth to speak, then stared. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, frustrated, or relieved. I couldn’t read him at all. He then reached over and tangled his strong fingers in my hair, pulling tight at the nape, forcing me to keep eye contact.

  I couldn’t bear to look at him, yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the stormy man. He studied my face, caressed the bruise on my neck, then met my eyes.

  With a low, throaty gravel, he said, “You look beautiful today.” He released my hair, rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip, licked his own, and whispered, “So damn beautiful,” before starting the car, and pulling away.

  Actions speak louder than words.

  Heat splashed my cheeks. My stomach growled. Tito laughed. Loud and deep and genuine, decimating any lingering tension between us.

  “I’ll make you lunch at home.” His gaze raked the length of me, his dimple coming out to play. “Then I’m having you for dessert.”

  WARM LIPS AND A scratchy beard dragged across my abdomen, leaving prickly tingles before moving lower and lingering on the sweet spot between my thighs. A sharp nip forced a squeal from my lips. A deep chuckle rumbled from between my legs. The room was pitch black, but I could feel Tito’s hot breath on my bare skin, his strong hands on my hips.

  My entire body ached from exertion as well as lack of sleep. Tito had been insatiable since our tiff last Sunday. We hadn’t spoken about my outburst, how I’d pushed him, or the aftermath, but we’d communicated our apologies in other ways.

  Tito’s sex drive was voracious, but he was never selfish. What he took from my body, he gave back tenfold. And while I couldn’t get enough of him, night after night of mindless bliss had me worn. I had zero energy to spend. I squeezed my thighs together, tightening them around his solid shoulders. “Tito. I can’t. I’m so tired. Can we sleep a little longer, please?”

  “No more sleeping.” He kissed my thigh and pushed off the bed. “Don’t worry; I’m not ready for another go. My dick needs a break, you insatiable beast. Get up. We’re going for a run.”

  “Run? It’s still dark.” I wrestled a mess of hair off my face. “What time is it?”

  “Five.” He grabbed my big toe and gave it a tug. “Come on; you’ll thank me later.”

  I rolled over with a moan, my mind already halfway back to dreamland.

  A sharp sting bit my butt cheek. “You can get yourself up, or a cold shower can do the trick. Your choice.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I pushed off the mattress.

  Tito offered a hand to help me stand. “Your clothes are here.” He patted the end of the bed. “We’re leaving in five.”

  I slipped into the outfit he laid out for me, fumbling through the dark. I’d never bought workout clothes for myself, and I wondered when he’d had time to go shopping. He hadn’t left my side since the night of the attack.

  Lately, I’d find gifts hiding in plain sight. New clothes hanging in the closet. My favorite candy bars in the bottom of my purse. New perfume on the bathroom shelf. I’d thank him, and he would merely shrug. No big deal.

  When I made my way to the living room, Tito waited in his signature dark pants, black running shoes, and grim reaper hoodie. I looked down at myself and laughed. We matched.

  “Here, put this on. It’s chilly out.” He offered me a pullover hoodie, that surprise, surprise, was black like the one he wore.

  I pulled the cloak over my head and grumbled, “Okay, Grim. Let’s do this.”

  “Grim.” Laughing, he ducked to my level and planted a kiss on my dry, worn lips. “If you only knew.”

  When we stepped outside, the crisp morning air shocked the sleep haze from my system. We started at a slow pace, toward the city beach, then followed the running trail that stretched around the north side of Lake Willow and along the river toward Hollow Falls.

  I did my best to keep up but slowed to walk on several occasions. Walking, I could do. Lord knows I’d done plenty of hiking over the past months. Running, though? My legs were lead weights.

  Tito didn’t complain when I needed a break, didn’t chastise, only stayed by my side, reminding me to breathe, checking often to make sure I was okay.

  I wanted to be strong for him. I wanted to keep up, even though my insides felt like boiled pudding and my legs trembled like a toddler wearing her mama’s heels. We came around a bend alongside Ravendale Park and I cried for joy when Tito stopped at a bench that overlooked the river.

  We stretched for a minute, then he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned me to face the way we’d come. Blinding light peeked over the mountains in the distance. The scene was beautiful and breathtaking but had nothing on the intensity of the man standing next to me.

  I dropped to my butt on the damp running path and leaned back on my arms, taking in the bright blue sky, the green and golden hues of the landscape, and waited on the warm sun at my front to chase away the dark sky lingering at my back.

  Tito sat next to me, forearms resting on his bent knees. The world was quiet, aside from the rush of the river and the chatter of birds calling each other to rise. I watched Tito watching the sunrise. He gnawed on his lower lip, fists clenching and unclenching. I sensed a shift in his mood and my stomach lurched.

  I ached to know his thoughts.

  Drawn to him, I reached up and dusted a fingertip across the puckered skin on his face, tracing the length of his disfigurement. “Tell me about the fire.”

  His chest rose and fell. His gaze sliced toward me, never landing, and focused again on the newborn sunlight rolling toward us like a swelling wave.

  I dropped my arm and waited, chest concave, for an answer. When he didn’t speak, I swallowed my apprehension. “Why don’t you like going to church?”

  A huff. Tito dropped his head back on his shoulders, clearly frustrated.

  Again, my stomach lurched, then flipped.

  I shouldn’t have pushed. Eyes down, lips sealed. That’s how men liked their women. I shouldn’t have pushed, but I did.

  “Are you ever going to open up to me?”

  Silence.

  And in that quietude, I found anger, and courage, and clarity.

  “We’re never going to work if—”

  In a blur of heavy breath and angry eyes, I landed flat on my back, caged between a pair of trembling arms. “We’re never going to work if what? If I don’t tell you everything? Jesus Christ. Is this how it’s gonna be between us?”

  “No,” came a weak reply from a pathetic voice that couldn’t have been mine, so pitiful even Tito cringed.

  “You wanna know what keeps me awake at night?” His face softened. “I worry that we’ll never work if I do tell you everything. My secrets will hurt you. My truths will be the end of us. So,
tell me, what am I supposed to do?”

  “You’re supposed to trust me.” Her bottom lip quivered. Her gaze held steady. “I’m not a child, Tito. I can handle the truth. You should know that by now.”

  I did know. She’d proven her strength time and time again. “Tuuli. My past, my truths? They’ll weigh too heavy on your conscience.” She was light, where I was darkness. She valued forgiveness, where retribution was my sustenance. She was grace. I was…Grim. A reaper.

  I wanted her to know me. All the ugly. All the pain. But to share my stories would extinguish her light. Dull the shine in her eyes.

  Truth be told, I was afraid. Terrified of extinguishing her spark, of never enjoying the blush that dotted her cheeks when we touched, or never hearing that small gasp every time I pulled her close, or of never feeling her shudder beneath me.

  I was afraid.

  I was the weak link in our…our…fuck…relationship.

  I should have stayed away.

  Vulnerability was painful. Made a man weak.

  She lifted a hand, touched my face, smiled up at me. “Never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

  God. Now she was apologizing for my deficiencies. “I’m fucked up. I’m not a good person. I…”

  Murder people.

  “Your sins are no greater than mine. You saw past my wrongs. Why wouldn’t I do the same for you?”

  She waited for a response. I had nothing to give. Coward.

  “Okay.” She pushed at my chest. “Let me up.”

  Tuuli was shutting down.

  I pushed to my feet. Offered a hand to help her stand.

  “We should head back. I need to get to work.” She searched my face again, a small flicker of hope still in her eyes.

  Say something. Anything. Fucking coward.

  Her posture changed, making her smaller somehow. Tuuli turned and headed toward home. I followed two paces behind, my throat, my ticker, tightening with every inhale and exhale.

  In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four.

  My brave, angry girl ran all the way home, slowing only once.

  She showered. I fried eggs. She dressed. I buttered her toast. She fixed her hair. I set the table. The silence, the unspoken words, bounced off the walls, gaining speed, building, rolling, electrifying the air around us.

  I waited at the table. Tuuli emerged from the bathroom.

  “I made breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She headed for the door. I tossed her plate in the sink.

  “I’ll drive you down.”

  “Tango is waiting for me outside. He’ll drop me off.”

  Ouch.

  I watched, tongue-tied and dizzy, as she slipped into her Docs, then bent to tie her laces.

  True, her gaze hit—with laser precision—every point of her attention, avoiding me with steel-spined resolve, but never once did it drop to the floor in submission or fear. Not one time.

  As much as I wanted her eyes on me, as much as I needed her to cry, or scream, or yell, and tell me I was being a jackass, or to fall into my arms and tell me everything was going to be okay, I was proud of how far she’d come.

  She wasn’t only breaking free of her family binds. She was growing. The air around her shifted, crackling with energy, alive with the promise of an oncoming storm. I hated that she was pulling away. But I loved that she was finding her strength. Her voice. Her beast.

  The ache in my gut settled deeper.

  “Tuuli. I’m—”

  “Sorry.” She stood straight, arms at her sides, heel bouncing. “I know.”

  I stepped closer. She chewed her bottom lip.

  Closer still, her eyes found mine. I reached for her, she stiffened, sighed, then fell against me, mumbling into my shirt. “When are you moving into your condo?”

  Goddamn that hurt. “Are you eager to be rid of me?”

  “No. I just…”

  “Need space.” I squeezed her tight. “I get it. Space will be good.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

  “That’s not it. I just…I don’t know. It’s hard enough knowing you won’t be here. I want to get the leaving part over with.”

  Bullshit. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “It does. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  I understood. She needed things I couldn’t give. “I’ll have my shit out of here by this afternoon.”

  Her eyes liquefied. “I gotta go.”

  How could I let her go? She belonged right where she was. Against my chest. “Are we good?”

  Warm lips pressed against my neck. “We’re good.”

  “Can I pick you up after your shift?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “Good. So, it’s a date.”

  She tilted her head back to meet my gaze. “Yeah. I like that. A date.”

  I kissed her hard, our goodbye settling in my body like the early stages of the flu.

  I was moving out, but I wasn’t letting her go. I was merely stepping back, giving her room to grow. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Every second felt wrong. Every word, every action, off. Everything except for the kiss.

  She pulled away, and whispered, “See you tonight,” then forced a smile.

  I should’ve begged her to stay. I should’ve spilled my truths. Instead, I opened the door and moved aside. A coward.

  I let her walk away.

  I walked away, the weight of his stare a gale-force wind at my back.

  When I climbed into Tango’s Rover, Rocky shouted a hello from the back seat. I forced the emotion from my voice and turned to address the little lady-killer.

  “Good morning, Rocky. All ready for school?”

  He held a football in one hand and a juice box in the other. The boy was all green eyes and cheesy grin. “Yep,” he said, his legs kicking up and down. “We have a field trip today.”

  “Yeah? Where ya going?”

  “To see the fish hatch.”

  “The fish hatchery,” Tango chimed in.

  “We get to take the school bus and have a picnic.”

  “Wow. That’s so cool.”

  “I like fishing. I have two poles. Uncle Tuck taught me. Do you like fishing?”

  “I do like fishing. My brother taught me how when I was—”

  My throat clogged tight. My eyes burned, brimming with moisture. My head spun with a tidal wave of memories. Jonas had been decent, once upon a time. Like the summer he’d taught me to fish. We had spent most our days down by the dirty river, under the shade of the river birch trees. Jonas packed sandwiches, soda, and chips. I carried the backpack; he carried the poles. He mostly ignored me, but he would always let me listen to his iPod, and I used to think that was pretty awesome. He never told his friends about our secret fishing hole.

  One tear rolled down my face, then another, catching on my lip.

  Tango cleared his throat and said, “Hey Rockster, I don’t think Tuuli has heard you sing the ‘Nifty Fifty’ song yet,” effectively changing the subject.

  I wanted to hug him.

  From the back seat, Rocky belted out lyrics, “Fifty, nifty, United States, from the thirteen…”

  Tango offered me a sympathetic smile. I mouthed thank you to him and released a long breath, blinking the swelling tears from my eyes. Maybe I missed my brother after all. Parts of him, anyway.

  We reached The Stop minutes later. Rocky was still singing. I hopped out of the car, shouted a thank you to Tango, and waved goodbye to Rocky. “Have fun with the fish.”

  When I walked through the front door, Officer Caldwell stood at the counter, arms folded over his chest. “Morning, sunshine.”

  “Good morning, Roger.”

  He cleared his throat. “Can I have a minute?”

  “Sure. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Slade said we can use her office.”

  I followed him down the hall and into the private room.

  He closed the door behind us, hooked his thumbs in his belt, a
nd waited for me to sit.

  Roger was a good-looking man. Especially in uniform. Average height. Athletic physique. Clean cut. He wore his dark blond hair trimmed close to his scalp, and worry wrinkles framed a wise set of eyes.

  A freight train rumbled through my chest. “Did you find the men who killed my brother?”

  “No. But we will. I promise. And I’ve got everyone looking for Erik Meyer, too. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Two heavy steps and he was in front of me, squatting to meet me at eye level. “This is officially off the record. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “I need to know if Tito’s been acting out of character.”

  “Why?”

  “Considering the amount of money he’s paying the men to keep an eye on you, and the way he blew up the night Erik attacked you—”

  “Wait. What do you mean he blew up? What happened?”

  “Fuck.” His head dropped low, his hand lading on my thigh. “Fuck.” Roger stood and paced the room, arms crossed, scratching his jaw. “I just assumed you knew. God, I’m sorry.”

  “Knew what?”

  Roger stared at the floor, gnawing his bottom lip, contemplating his next move, no doubt.

  “Fuck it. You deserve to know,” he said, stopping again in front of me. “That night, Moretti had Tango and me meet him and Tucker here at the diner the second they got back to town. Wanted us to fill him in about what happened and explain how Erik was able to get anywhere near you. Guy goes ballistic. Starts tearing the place apart. Throwing shit. Breaking dishes. Took three of us to drag him out. Almost an hour to talk him down. He was rambling on about murdering Erik, going after your father.”

  Roger’s story made no sense. Tito had been so sweet and caring that night. “He was just upset. He wouldn’t…he’s not…” I couldn’t finish my thought. I remembered his words after I’d confessed what I knew about my father.

  I’m going to kill Jeremy Carver and burn that church to the ground.

  I blinked up at Roger.

  “Tuuli. I like you, and the last thing I want to do is interfere. It’s just…damn. He was lost in his own head. Scared the shit out of me, if I’m honest. Bothered me so much, I decided to research the guy.”