Keagan (This is Our Life Book 2)

by F. G. Adams

  I throw my bag on the ugly bedspread and unlock the door. Gunner is standing with his 9mm pointed my way.

  “What in the hell are you doing? Did you have a brain fart or something? Put the toy gun away before you hurt yourself.”

  “Gimme the keys to your truck. I don’t trust that you won’t leave me high and dry. Not gonna take the chance.”

  I give him my best you-are-going-to-regret-this look, then sigh. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Not gonna happen, fuckwipe.” I cross my arms, taking my stance.

  A startled expression passes on his face.

  “You’ve got one shot. You better make sure I’m dead, ‘cause I’m gonna make you wish you were six feet under if I’m not.”

  “You are one seriously fucked-up guy, Crash. You do realize I’ve got a loaded gun pointed at you, right?”

  I smirk. “You’ve been warned, Gunner.”

  His feet shuffle back and forth as an uneasy expression paints across his face. I patiently wait for him to make up his mind. He takes his eyes off me for a split second and I’m on him like white on rice. He misjudged my speed and agility based on my large frame and build. Too many have before.

  I quickly grab the wrist holding the 9mm, shoving him further into the tiny room, and inflict a steady stream of pain until he releases the gun. The gun lands gently on the mattress beside us. He grunts as I twist his arm behind his back and grab his neck with my forearm. I apply pressure to his windpipe, slowing his oxygen intake.

  “Listen here, you little assworm from New York, ‘cause I’m not gonna repeat myself again. Understand?”

  I ease up from strangling the life right out of him and he draws in air, nodding frantically as he does so.

  “I’m not your fucking enemy. I don’t plan on leaving your pathetic ass unless you give me a reason to. But if you ever draw your weapon on me again, prepare to meet your maker. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” he squeezes out.

  “Good.”

  I push him away from me and he stumbles to his knees gulping in air to his oxygen-deprived lungs. I reach for his gun and chuckle when I realize the safety is on. I release the magazine and slide the chamber back. Pocketing the bullets, I stride to my room without a backwards glance.

  “Get yourself cleaned up so we can eat. I’m hungry.”

  My dear friend from college, Katrina Perez is coming up from Tampa to spend the night. Rina, as I like to call her, is a Cuban American beauty. There’s a college reunion of sorts happening tonight and she wants us to go, a get-together for business majors who graduated with Rina. We’ve been planning it for months. It’s at a venue out in the middle of BFE on the outskirts of Gainesville, but I’m game. I haven’t seen her since last year’s girls’ weekend and I can’t wait.

  Although, with all of the weather alerts, I’m still a bit leery and unsure if it’s going to happen or not. No one’s called it off as of yet, so try we will.

  I enter the kitchen and start making lunch when the doorbell rings.

  “Just a minute,” I holler out.

  Opening the door, I’m greeted with a familiar, brilliant smile. Katrina is standing with a hand on her hip, cocky as ever, and a suitcase clutched in the other.

  “Buenas tardes, Jo!”

  Katrina lets go of the bag in her hand, which falls with a thud to the ground, and thrusts forward into my arms. She wraps me up so tight, I can’t breathe but manage a giggle of glee.

  “Hey, Rina. It’s so good to see you.”

  We go inside and Katrina fills me in on her latest conquest—and it’s not the finance kind.

  “I’ve missed you so much, niña,” she says, laughing, then jokes about me finding a hookup tonight at the party. She reminds me of the first time we met, my first year of college.

  Like usual, I was in my own world, studying in the library. I heard a shuffle and looked up to see a tall, lanky girl with long dark curly locks and eyes just as dark, smiling down at me.

  “You looked at me like, duh?? Jo, you really had no clue we had world civ together, did you? I still have a hard time believing that.”

  “Um … well, I admit that saying I didn’t pay much attention to the people in my classes sounded really bad. As in ‘I’m a geek bad’.”

  We both roar with laughter.

  “Oh, well, no matter, mi amiga,” Katrina shrugs, speaking in a heavy Spanish accent. “You called to me, señorita. When I saw you in class the day before, I knew we were going to be amigos. My sense told me. And then you were studying in the library all alone. It was a sign.”

  She smiles and her teeth appear fluorescent white against her tan skin. Katrina is really beautiful.

  That day began a friendship forged by many hours in the library along with lots of espresso from the coffeehouse located right outside the library doors. We became fast friends. I even got to practice my Spanish from time to time. Mr. Manford would be so proud.

  “You made me go everywhere you went, remember? You said I needed to get out and loosen up. I think you were right.”

  “Sí. You were so tenso. I had to do something to help, Jo.”

  “I was happy to do it. Besides, someone had to make sure nothing bad happened to you, and I was—and still am—the queen of designated drivers.” I laugh with fondness oozing from my voice.

  We decided to become roommates Katrina’s last year of college after the debacle with my ex. I hated to see her go after graduation when she landed a job at an accounting firm in Tampa. We’ve kept in touch at least once a month and on social media. Rina is a dear friend.

  Our career paths vary. Where I counsel children, Katrina uses her talents with numbers to advise in finances. She’s an awesome accountant. Her clients include team members of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, a few golf pros, and even a sprinkle of famous singers, all of whom she can’t disclose, of course. Her lineup is very impressive nonetheless.

  “It’s greatly appreciated, mi amiga.”

  “I’m so glad you pulled me out of my college coma, Rina. Now, do tell. Who is going to be at this reunion you so desperately want to go see?” I reply.

  “Ah, chica,” Katrina tsks. “Just someone I lost touch with a long time ago.”

  “Who?” I whisper.

  I’m not sure who she’s talking about. I know that Katrina played around a lot in college, at least from the time we met going forward. She never mentioned a boyfriend.

  “My old novio, Manuel Ortega. We had relations before you and I were friends, niña. Manny was my nemesis. We were fire and ice. He’s living in Atlanta now. He’s been on my mind lately, sí? I don’t know.” Katrina frowns and shakes her head, confused.

  Her comment stirs up a feeling of lost friendship for me too. I sigh.

  “Well, okay then, lady friend. Let’s do this.” I put on a determined grin. Who am I to stand in the way of lost love?

  For the next few hours, Katrina and I drink a few glasses of wine. I only drink one—designated driver and all—while Rina drinks three. She’s real nervous, which is not a trait I usually see in her. We dress in the sexiest garb we have.

  “Ooh-la-la, Rina. You look hot!” I comment on what Katrina is wearing. It’s a ruby red tube dress that flares right above the knees: elegant and sexy all in one. Her dark hair is ironed straight and falls just below her bra line.

  “These babies will pull it all together.” She slips into a pair of crisscross ankle-strap platform sandals. Katrina’s ready for a night of scandalous behavior for sure and hopefully to catch the eye of one Manuel Ortega.

  I watch the weather channel on and off while we get ready. Hurricane Georgia is approaching rapidly. It worries me.

  “You see the bad weather coming, Rina? I keep reminding myself that we should be back before the weather turns too bad, or we might need to cut the night short. I hate to think it, but it could happen.” I frown at her upturned smile.

  “Oh, sí, niña. We may have to. But we have some time. Let’s not waste un minu
to. Get dressed, chica. Vamonos.”

  Grabbing my favorite designer mini dress from the closet, I put it on quickly. The dramatic low neckline plunges to the empire waist. The coral colored fabric hugs delicately to my curves and lands right above my knees. I do love this dress. I place a single teardrop diamond necklace around my neck, along with my favorite bangle bracelets to add to the ensemble. Donning a pair of wedge platform sandals to finish off the carefree look I’m going for, I’m almost done.

  We dust our cheeks with a bit of glitter and sparkles, then paint our eyes and lashes to create the smokey look. Smoothing on lipstick, I opt for Vamptastic Plum and Katrina uses Black Cherry, dramatic yet alluring. Katrina and I look each other over in front of the mirror.

  “Damn we look good, niña.”

  “I believe we do, my friend. Let’s go.”

  We leave the house, ready to party. I notice as we leave the house that dark clouds ooze and billow throughout the sky, claiming the evening. It should still be light outside, but the dark blanket in the distance above doesn’t allow it. At first glance, it gives me pause. The wind begins whipping around us.

  “No worries, Jo. Vamonos!” Katrina grabs my hand, the storm forgotten, and we’re off on another adventure.

  “What road is it again?” I ask for the fifth time in an hour, alarm lacing my voice.

  “It’s Stratton Drive, mi amiga. Sí?” Katrina sounds just as worried.

  “I can’t see anything around me, Rina, with all the rain and the roads being so dark. There aren’t any streetlights anywhere.” As I speak, the rain is pelting hard against the windshield and I’m realizing this was a bad idea. “I’ve got to get us turned around quick or we’re in big trouble.”

  “Turning around is a bad idea, chica. The last place we saw was over thirty minutes behind us. We have to pull over, Jo. Let’s stop at the next place we see, bueno? I still don’t have a signal.”

  I nod in concession. “I agree, Rina. This storm is getting worse. I’m not sure if it’s from the storm or that the cell service sucks out in the middle of nowhere, but we can’t call anyone to come help us or direct us to a shelter. I guess the only option we have is to keep going until we find a place to stop and take shelter.”

  Georgia picked up speed in the last hour. According to the broadcast over the radio, it’s projected to make landfall on the coast in the early morning. The frightful weather stems from the bands of circular arms coming off of the storm over the water, which is pounding all over us right now. It’s the worst part. Really scary weather.

  Up ahead I see bright lights, too big and vast to be headlights.

  “Do you see them? Up there? Should we stop?”

  “Sí. Let’s stop and take shelter. It looks like a roadhouse or something like that.”

  I’m cinched up tight, hands at two and ten on the steering wheel, as I struggle to see through the monsoon wreaking havoc on the windshield. I turn on my blinker out of habit because there’s no one behind me on the deserted road. No one is crazy enough to be out in this terrible weather—except, of course, us!

  As we pull off the road, I notice the vacancy sign is lit brightly underneath Grady’s Pit-Stop. I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe there’s room for us. From the outside, Grady’s looks to be a motel and restaurant. From what I can tell through the downpour, it’s decent. It’s not at all upscale and kinda has a serial killer vibe, but it’ll have to do in a pinch. Upon closer inspection, I see a gas station off to the side. There are cars, trucks, and big rigs all scattering the parking lot. It seems packed and I begin to worry there won’t be any room for us.

  “Let’s go see if there’s somewhere we can wait out the storm. I don’t think we can go anywhere else.”

  “Sí, Jo. Está bien. Can you believe this? This totally sucks monkey toes.”

  We both roll in laughter, feeling delirious, but we don’t have much of a choice.

  I grab my overnight bag and Katrina clutches hers too.

  “Good thing we brought these,” I say, holding up my bag, “just in case we decided to stay overnight. So, thankful we thought about it.”

  “Me too, amiga. Now let’s run fast.”

  Katrina opens the door and dashes to the front door.

  We run frantically from the car, making it to the overhang outside the lobby door just before another gust of wind almost blows us over. I slip and almost fall when my ankle gives way in my platform shoes from the slippery mud that has collected around the front doorway in a big puddle. Totally not dressed for a rain storm.

  Drenched from head to toe, I glance into the glass window and huff in displeasure. Katrina mimics my sentiment. Another round of giggles travel through us both.

  “This night is so messed up. We look like drowned rats. No, not rats, cats. No, wait. Miss Kitty would look better than us. We’re a hot mess.”

  “Sí. We look bad, niña. So true.”

  I open the door to enter and Katrina follows. I’m dripping wet from head to toe, my shoes squeaking as I walk on the concrete tiles. Fantastic. Humiliated from the way my dress clings tightly around me, I approach the front desk.

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  “Hello.” I wait.

  Ding. Ding.

  “Hola. We need a room,” Katrina adds her two cents.

  “I’m comin’. Hang on a minute,” a voice comes from the doorway behind the desk. A huge titan of a man walks in. Tattoos cover every available space visible, except his face. Serial killer vibe enters my mind again. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. I’m confused by the voice I heard and the man standing in front of me. He’s a walking enigma.

  “Hey there, ladies. Umm.” The man stops in his tracks and looks us up and down. I’m sure he’s laughing so hard on the inside at both of our untamed corkscrew curls and dripping clothes. A grin erupts across his unshaven jaw. “Wow, you two are a sight for sore eyes. Got drenched out there, huh? How can I help ya?”

  He pauses to wait for an answer. I muster up the courage to speak.

  “Uh. Ahem. Excuse me. Well, sir, you see, we got lost out there tonight.” Gulp. “We can’t go back out there, at least not until the storm blows through.” I point over to the glass door. I’m panting and shivering from the wetness. My nerves are adding to the shaking in my body. This is the only option. He seems nice enough. Katrina’s eyes are round and bright. She doesn’t seem frightened like me, but intrigued.

  “What’s takin’ so long? Did you run off the guests, hon, or do we have more for the night?” A small slip of a girl walks up behind the man and wraps her arms around his waist, the top of her head touching just even with the giant's pecs. Her smile is stretched across a lovely face and adoration fills her eyes.

  “Do you, ah, have somewhere we can stay until then? Let us borrow a towel or two? It might be morning or after before we can leave.”

  I notice Katrina is shivering in her spot as well.

  “Ya ain't kidding, miss. It’s gotten pretty nasty out there. Lucky for y'all, I’ve got one room left. It’s yours if ya want it. It’s only got one bed, but it’s big enough for both of ya.”

  He hugs the woman back and leans down to give her a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

  “You all can get dried up and changed. You’ll miss dinner by the time you get settled, but the bar’s open and there’s finger foods on the menu, at least until we lose power.” He appears to ponder his outburst. “Don’t worry too much, though; I’ve got some backup generators that’ll kick on. I think Kendall here can make y’all a plate, though, from the leftovers. You can put it under the warmers. Right, darlin’?”

  “I sure can, baby. I’ll get on it right now. Welcome to the Pit-Stop.”

  She’s gone as fast as she came. I’m left perplexed that a woman like that could tame a man like him. I direct my attention back to the tattooed man and what he’s saying.

  “Just find me or Kendall in the common room when you’re ready. It’s the room we use for the restaurant and bar. All paths
lead to it, through that door there.” He leans over the desk and points to a door just down from the lobby desk.

  “Wow, thank you so much, sir. We really appreciate the hospitality.”

  My teeth are chattering as I hand over my driver’s license and credit card, then fill out the necessary forms.

  “Sí. Thanks, senor.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’m a sucker for helping out the ladies.” He smiles warmly and I calm a little more. “Here’s the key to Room 10. And your credit card and license. Oh, and if you need extra linens, let me know. My lady Kendall will take care of you. Should be enough in there for both of you, but if ya need extras.” He holds his hand out for me to shake. “Name’s Grady. Welcome to the Pit-Stop.”

  “Nice to meet you, Grady. Jocelyn Blackwood, and this is my friend Katrina Perez. Thanks again.”

  “Y’all get on now. You might catch a cold if ya stay wet too long. I’ll catch ya later.”

  He winks and turns to walk through the door just where he entered, but at the last minute, he turns and shuts off the switch labeled “vacancy light”. Whew, we did luck out.

  My nervousness lessens as Katrina and I head down the hallway to find our room. We’re counting as we go like little girls playing a game. “Six, seven, eight, nine … and here we are! Home sweet home, Room 10. At least for tonight.”

  I hand over the key so she can open the door.

  “Okay, niña. Let me see. Ooph. The key seems a little stuck. Hang on, there it is.” Katrina flashes a smile, proud for her suave actions of opening the door.

  “Holy moly, mother of pearl, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The smells of mothballs assault my nose. As we enter the room, I’m thrust back into the 70s where free love and disco ruled the world. The green shag carpet, mirrored furniture, along with the psychedelic bedspread screams hipster. The dark shades of purple and green splash along all four walls.

  “Ah, niña. We’ve gone back in time.”

  “Oh my goodness. Most definitely.” I laugh. “It’s like turning back the hands of time. Or Back to the Future.”