Brightest As We Fall

by Cleo Peitsche

  Nodding, I allow him to lead me outside. Jason’s warning—because it wasn’t a tender pep talk—keeps me moving, keeps my lips glued together and my fingers clenched. Because if I let anything slip, even for a second, I’m going to scream and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop.

  Chapter 21

  The motor lodge Jason picks is fifteen minutes off the highway. We drove past dozens of equally crappy motels before he decided on this one.

  It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about that headline. I’m doing my best to keep from thinking about it. Not easy; I’m currently waiting in the car while Jason checks in, so there’s not much in the way of distraction.

  “Why’s this place better than the others?” I ask when he returns from the office with a pair of scratched metal keys.

  “Didn’t you read the sign? They have ten cable channels.”

  “Seriously, why?”

  “They charge by the hour.”

  It takes me a second. “Gross!”

  “Practical. I figured they wouldn’t give me a hard time about showing identification, and I was right.” He parks in front of a row of weatherbeaten wooden doors.

  He climbs out of the car. I stare at the doors and wonder if the maids change the sheets between guests.

  Jason opens the back door, and that gets me moving. I gingerly get out—ouch—and reach into the back to snag the gold duffel bag. I already split the money, half into the new duffel bag.

  “Let me,” Jason says.

  I hitch the bag higher on my shoulder, which is sore. “I’m tired and hurt, but I’m not a sucker.”

  “If I wanted to take the money and dump you somewhere, I’d have done it already.”

  “Oh, so you trust me to carry them?”

  His gaze wanders down to my feet, and one corner of his mouth lifts. Right, I think. You run a one-minute mile.

  “You can get the shopping bags.” It comes out snooty, and I’m glad.

  Jason still reaches the motel door before me. He unlocks it and allows me to enter first. I’m actually not worried about him running off. He’s so exhausted, I might be able to catch him. We’re a pathetic pair.

  “Flip the switch,” he tells me.

  Spotted light flickers on. I look up. Dozens of fly corpses litter the bowl ceiling fixture.

  After closing the curtains so that only a thin frame of light seeps through, Jason jerks the comforter off the bed and throws it over one of the sparsely upholstered chairs.

  Then he rips off the top sheet and spreads it on the floor, like he’s preparing for a picnic.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Taking a nap.” He slings the bag of money toward the wall, then stretches out beside it.

  “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  He stares up at me for a second, but then his eyes shut.

  Now I look around the room. There’s the bed with requisite bedside tables topped by ugly porcelain lamps, two crappy chairs, and a dresser that doubles as a TV stand. The clock sitting next to the TV claims it’s two thirty in the afternoon, which sounds about right.

  I don’t have to guess when Jason has fallen asleep; the muffled snores make that abundantly clear.

  As for me, I want a shower, but I can’t chance Jason sneaking out of the room the second I close the bathroom door.

  What I can do is relieve him of the car keys. That way, he can’t drive off.

  It’s easier in theory… They’re in his pocket, and I don’t even have to touch him to know his jeans are tight.

  I could just wake him up…

  Or I could take my shower with the door open, so I can keep an eye on him. With that in mind, I enter the bathroom and check it out. But the angles aren’t great. Even if I could see the whole room, Jason would be fast.

  Would I really run naked and wet into the parking lot after him? And then what?

  For several minutes, I go back and forth, weighing my shitty options.

  “Screw it,” I mutter. Yesterday morning, I was prepared to fuck men for money. Or I think I was. Surely I can reach into a sexy guy’s pocket and pull out the keys.

  I try to think of it as a 1.5-million-dollar hand job, one I won’t even have to finish.

  I slowly approach Jason.

  He’s dead to the world.

  It’s tempting to stare at his handsome face. So tempting that I indulge for a moment. His features are strong and masculine. The dark stubble is unbelievably hot. I bet he’s an amazing kisser.

  Assuming he makes half an effort, I bet he’s good in bed. Wrapping my legs around his muscular body, having him slide that huge cock—

  Don’t think about it.

  This is getting ridiculous. I could have finished my shower twice in the time I’ve wasted being a wimp.

  I force myself to slide two fingers into Jason’s front pocket.

  His eyes fly open.

  I would stumble back, but my fingers are stuck in his jeans. He catches my wrist in an unforgiving grip.

  “What the fuck. Are you trying to steal the keys?”

  “I want to hold them,” I say.

  Jason frowns. “You’re so paranoid about me double-crossing you, I have to assume you’re planning to double-cross me.”

  “That’s pretty self-serving. Imagine a cat saying that to a mouse. ‘You’re so paranoid about me eating you, I can only conclude you want to eat me.’ Nonsense.”

  His frown turns into a glower. “Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to knock you out?”

  Uneasiness settles over the room.

  He didn’t point out that he could easily kill me, but now we’re both thinking it. He could have already abandoned me. Hurt me. Disposed of my body.

  At some point, either I have to trust him, or I have to make my own plans. There’s no choice: right now, I need him. I wouldn’t know how to find a shady car dealership, how to negotiate buying a car without insurance. Maybe I could hire a cab to drive me to the other side of the country and pay in cash. And then what? I don’t know the first thing about getting a new identity made.

  “I just want a shower,” I say, not expecting him to understand, but Jason nods and releases my arm, then relaxes back onto his makeshift bed.

  “Go ahead and get them.” His smile is lazily seductive.

  “Your pants are too tight.”

  He lifts his hips slightly. “Try now.”

  Rolling my eyes, I squeeze my hand into his pocket, snag the keyring, and tug it out. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you.” He gives me a lascivious grin and my face flushes hot.

  He raises his arms to lace his fingers behind his head. The muscles of his chest flare wide, and I try not to stare. I can tell he’s starting to drift off again, so I’m surprised when he says, “Did you know that I can hot-wire a car in under a minute?”

  “It’s the middle of the day. You’ll be seen.”

  “Wanna find out?”

  My mouth opens, then closes. Now I’ve got a dilemma.

  Jason yawns and says, “I don’t have the energy for that. But I can sleep on the bathroom floor if it makes you feel safer.”

  Hm. Weighed against all that money, my modesty hardly matters. But I’m not about to allow him into the bathroom with me.

  “Not necessary,” I say. “I’ll take the cash with me.”

  His eyes open, then drift closed again. “Is there a window?”

  “A tiny one. I couldn’t fit through it—”

  “Doesn’t matter. This dump won’t have a good exhaust system. If that cash gets damp, gets moldy, we’ll have a problem.” He attempts a smile but settles for a raised eyebrow and a slight upturn of his lips that makes him look almost happy.

  When he’s not actively breaking the law, he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy. But I know better.

  I walk into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I can only see part of Jason’s lower body, but it’s enough.

  Except… I have to pee.
/>   So I shut the door, then yank it back open the second I’m off the toilet.

  My heart skips a beat; I don’t see Jason’s legs.

  Panicked, I rush out of the bathroom and discover that Jason has rolled onto his side and pulled his legs up a little.

  He’s still there, fast asleep.

  I’m overcome with the weirdest, most inexplicable desire to protect him. It doesn’t make any sense at all. Jason is more than able to take care of himself, as he’s proven several times.

  I guess what I want is for him to have a life where he doesn’t have to do illegal things. It’s a ridiculous thought. I’m probably too tired, or maybe the smell of my own sweat has given me brain damage.

  Even though standing in the shower stall makes my feet hurt, my shower takes longer than it should. I have to keep scrubbing and scrubbing to really feel clean. If Jason’s going to leave, there’s nothing I can do about it, whether I’m in the shower or not.

  I feel I’ve been split in half. My life before yesterday is a dream, fading fast after an abrupt awakening: the shootout; the farmer with his gun; the Jack Rebels in the darkness. I thought I would die several times, and frankly, numbness is a blessing.

  Because I want to live.

  And so I stay under the water and think about how goddamn lucky I am to be alive, to have survived any of that. This other half of me is a DeeAnn I never knew existed. She’s a survivor. I guess people really don’t know what they’re made of until they’ve been tested.

  When I finally finish my shower, I feel like I’ve been reborn.

  I towel off, brush my wet hair and leave it damp, to dry in whatever wavy mess it wants, and pull on the pajamas I bought: a pair of pink shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, both covered in cartoon ice cream cones.

  Finally, I inspect my injuries. I probe my ankle. It’s not swollen, and it only hurts when I put weight on it. The wounds on my feet look much better than this morning, and I’m sure it helps that they’re properly clean now. I apply the antibiotic ointment but decide against socks. Dad always said that wounds need air to heal.

  In the bedroom, I discover Jason awake, sitting in a chair.

  He looks up from his phone. “Done in there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting.”

  “I wasn’t. I took a nap, but I know I’ll sleep better after a shower… Nice outfit.”

  “Thanks.” I brush my palms on the soft flannel. “If our plans don’t work out, I can use this at my next job.”

  He stares at me blankly.

  “As a hooker,” I say.

  “Yeah, I got the joke.” He’s not smiling. “I don’t think you’re cut out for that line of work.”

  Irritation flashes through me. I already admitted to him that I don’t want to be a prostitute, but I really resent being told that I can’t do it.

  “Oh?” I say sweetly. “Because I’m a brittle doll, in need of protecting? Well, this brittle doll saved your ass last night.”

  “You saved me from a long and annoying walk back to the highway.” He stares at me hard. “Yes, you are in need of protecting. It’s not my job, but if you were my sister, I’d lock you in a room until you came to your senses. Turning tricks is dangerous. Some customers are lonely and searching for human contact, and some are just horny, but a lot of them are creeps. And you, DeeAnn, can’t tell the difference. You know how I know?”

  I glare at him. He’s probably right, but I’m insulted by the way he’s hammering this home.

  “Because I can’t always tell the difference, and reading people is what I’m good at. So, if you’re smart, you’ll stay away from all of them.” He stands.

  “You’re a dick.”

  “Fine, DeeAnn. Fine. You’re a badass, and you can make yourself do anything you want. You can be the best little whore in the world.”

  I’m about to tell him to fuck off when he pulls his shirt over his head.

  Holy. Shit.

  Muscles widen, tighten, bunch. He’s got the hardest, tightest, most sculpted torso I’ve ever seen. The dusting of dark hair on his lower abdomen leads my gaze down, to the waistband of his jeans.

  My thoughts continue even lower.

  He catches me staring but doesn’t acknowledge it. I guess he knows he’s got a nice body. Maybe it would be weirder for him if I didn’t stare.

  There’s one more tattoo, not nearly as faded as those on his arms. It’s some kind of furious ocean monster, the tentacles stretching across Jason’s broad chest to wrap around an old ship.

  “Do your tattoos mean something?” I ask. They don’t seem particularly personal, but I have to make an excuse for gawking.

  He yawns. “Only that I have a friend with a tattoo parlor.” He disappears into the bathroom—no tattoos on his back—and shuts the door. A moment later, the shower kicks on, making the pipes thump and bang. No wonder Jason didn’t sleep well.

  “Damn it,” he yells after a moment. “You had to use all the hot water!”

  “I didn’t,” I yell back. It was still lukewarm when I got out, and he’s the one who picked this dump, so I don’t feel bad.

  Well, maybe a tiny bit bad.

  I grab the bag from the drugstore we stopped at and carry it to the chair where Jason was sitting. The lip balm is all the way at the bottom, of course. When I set the bag aside, I notice the keys on the nightstand.

  Jason didn’t take them into the bathroom with him.

  He must be really tired.

  My pulse accelerates. If I wanted, I could take it all right now.

  I don’t have connections, but for the full three million, I’m pretty sure I could disappear. The secret, which I’m learning from spending time with Jason, is to keep a low profile. Don’t take up residence in the nicest hotel or buy a Lamborghini.

  Tempting.

  Oh, hell. I’ve got enough bad people looking for me without adding Jason to the list.

  The bed is big enough for two—even if we’re not touching. There’s no reason for Jason to sleep on the floor. I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to control himself around me.

  Or not.

  Contemplating that, I gather up the covers and remake the bed. It’s not professional looking, but it’s neat enough. I also stow my duffel of money under my side of the bed.

  Jason’s duffel is still sitting near the wall.

  I carry it to the bed and sit, stretching my legs out so I won’t smear ointment all over the sheets. I dip my hand into the duffel and fish out one of the stacks.

  The bills are stiff, and when I run my thumbnail over the edges, they make a satisfying snapping sound. Before, I only ever did this with Monopoly money.

  Ten thousand dollars in my hand.

  I balance the dense stack on my palm, heft it, toss it from hand to hand. Ten thousand dollars. This alone is life-changing money.

  Someone in the next room slams a door, and I startle, like I’ve been caught doing something naughty.

  The bathroom door flies open.

  I jump to my feet. My eyes widen in alarm but also because my ankle really didn’t appreciate that.

  And also because…

  Jason is buck naked and dripping water.

  I notice his long cock—how could I not—but it’s his eyes that I’m focused on. He looks like an angry mountain hermit.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

  “Nothing,” he says gruffly. He seems mad about something, but I don’t know what.

  He retreats into the bathroom, slamming the door.

  Ok, so that was weird.

  Jason took the fun out of playing with the money. I close up the bag and slide it under the bed, next to mine.

  Exhausted, I burrow under the covers, bunch the pillow under my head, and fall asleep to the soundtrack of water glugging and choking through old pipes.

  Chapter 22

  Jason battled the urge to end his shower immediately.

  He was still riled up, but it was hard to pinpoint the so
urce of his frustration.

  DeeAnn was the obvious answer, but the truth was she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Since Jason was the only other person in the motel room, then by all rights, he should have been mad at himself.

  For trusting her?

  But she hadn’t betrayed his trust.

  For not trusting her?

  What the hell was he supposed to think when he heard that door closing?

  It had occurred to him too late that anyone sneaking out would have been much quieter about it. Exhaustion was frying his brain circuits, making him slow.

  He finished up his shower and went into the bedroom, a thin towel around his waist.

  DeeAnn was in bed, curled up and fast asleep, looking so peaceful, like she’d posed for a photo.

  He remembered the expression on her face when he’d charged out of the shower. Her eyes had gone right to his cock, just as she’d stared at his chest when he’d taken off his shirt.

  There was no doubt in his mind that if he wanted her, he could fuck her.

  It would make things easier. Right now, they were dancing around issues of trust. DeeAnn wouldn’t have gotten far if she’d tried to run. The next stop off the highway was forty miles, and DeeAnn would never go over the speed limit. Jason would though, especially in a freshly stolen car.

  If she had taken off, he would have considered himself entitled to all the money when he caught her…

  Maybe that was why he was angry. Deep down, he’d been hoping she would try to cheat him.

  Now, if he tried to cheat her, it would mean he was an asshole.

  He stared at the outline of her hip and the smooth curve to her waist. Fucking her would solve a few problems.

  But he didn’t want to seduce her, he realized. Not after giving that noble little lecture about untrustworthy men.

  And where the hell had that come from, anyway? He’d only intended to share an observation, but then DeeAnn had gotten that stubborn look on her face.