by Susannah Nix
There was a small cargo space in the cab of the tow truck, behind the seats. It was just big enough to fit their suitcases. The tow truck only had two seats, but the console lifted up to provide an uncomfortable-looking platform for a third person to sit.
As the smallest, Olivia assumed the middle seat would fall to her, and she resigned herself to spending the drive pressed up against their wrecker driver, Wes. But Adam stopped her when she tried to climb into the cab ahead of him, and took the uncomfortable middle seat for himself.
She felt guilty as she watched him try to fold his long legs into the cramped space under the dash, but also grateful. Wes seemed perfectly nice, albeit in a part-time motorcycle gang member sort of way, but as a rule, Olivia didn’t love being pressed up against strange men in tight quarters.
It was chivalrous of Adam to take the hit for her. More than chivalrous. It showed a greater degree of empathy and concern for her comfort than she’d known he was capable of.
Once he’d gotten himself settled in the middle seat, Olivia climbed in and fastened her seat belt, trying very hard not to touch Adam’s butt in the process. Which turned out to be completely impossible, since her seat belt was basically under his butt.
“Sorry,” she said, flinching like she’d been shocked when the back of her hand grazed his haunch.
“Here, let me help.”
Adam wrapped his hand around hers and guided her seat belt into the latch wedged between them.
Dirty thoughts flitted through her mind as the two pieces clicked together. Never mind that they were in a tow truck that smelled like Funyuns and motor oil, while a guy in dirty coveralls winched up their poor Honda Fit behind them. Suddenly she was thinking about seat belt latches as a metaphor for male and female sexual organs, and how Adam’s hand was so big it completely covered hers, and what that might say about the size of other parts of his anatomy.
It was a relief when Wes finally climbed in the truck, distracting her from her dirty train of thought. Wes was in no way a small man, and his presence made things even more cramped. Adam was forced to lean toward Olivia in order to give Wes room to work the gearshift.
Adam was tilted at almost a twenty-degree angle, his shoulder crushed up against hers and their heads practically touching. It probably would have been easier and more comfortable for both of them if he’d just put his arm around her, but no way in fresh hell was she going to suggest it.
Country music poured out of the speakers when Wes started up the engine, and she saw Adam wince. Without thinking, she put her hand on his thigh to give him a sympathetic pat.
In her defense, his leg was pressed up against her leg, and her hand had already been resting on her own thigh, only a couple inches from his, so it wasn’t like it had far to go.
Adam’s gaze slid over to her, his brows slightly raised in amusement, and she snatched her hand back in embarrassment.
After that, Olivia kept her hands clasped in her lap like a prim schoolgirl for the remainder of the ride.
Wes dropped them off at the nearest motel, which was just down the road from the auto shop where he was taking their car. When the garage opened in the morning, they’d be able to walk there to pick up their car after the tire had been replaced.
The Budget Motel was a dreary-looking place sandwiched between an RV park and a medical supply store. It reminded Olivia a little too much of the Bates Motel for her comfort. The parking lot was poorly lit and mostly empty except for a few eighteen-wheelers and pickup trucks.
The inside of the motel wasn’t much more reassuring. The walls were covered in fake wood paneling, the carpet was stained, and the ceiling was discolored from old water damage.
“How many rooms?” the desk attendant asked. He couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, but he had wispy, thinning hair and a leathery look about him, like bacon that had been left in the skillet too long.
“Two,” she and Adam both answered at once.
The attendant’s eyes shifted to Olivia, lingering on her for an uncomfortably long time before returning to his computer screen. Everything about him looked vaguely greasy. Greasy scalp, greasy beard, greasy clothes. He looked as if he’d smell like the inside of a deep fryer if you got close enough to smell him—which she planned to avoid at all costs.
She crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled closer to Adam, suddenly reminded of an old episode of Criminal Minds where the creepy hotel proprietor had let himself into female guests’ rooms in the middle of the night as they slept. “Preferably adjoining rooms,” she added. “If you have them.”
Adam gave her an odd look but said nothing.
The attendant finished checking them in and gave them their keys, his eyes slithering over Olivia once more as he slid the plastic cards across the counter. Adam held the door for her as they exited the lobby, and she felt his hand lightly brush the small of her back as she stepped past him.
She wondered if he’d sensed her unease or noticed the attendant leering at her. Had he been trying to comfort her or warn the other guy off?
The rooms they’d been given were side by side, on the front of the building facing the highway. There was indeed a connecting door between them Olivia discovered after she bid Adam goodnight and let herself inside.
The single queen bed was shrouded in a hideous polyester spread that matched the hideous orange carpet. She could hear the sound of a TV coming through the wall from the room beyond hers, and the window rattled every time a truck blew past on the highway outside. Despite all that, it looked decently clean, although she wouldn’t want to go over the place with a black light.
She engaged both the deadbolt and the safety latch on her door before stripping out of her still-damp clothes and washing her face. While she was digging through her suitcase for dry pajamas, there was a knock on the door.
Panic clogged her throat for a second before she realized it had come from the adjoining door to Adam’s room and not the outer door.
“Hang on,” she called out, hurrying to pull on a black T-shirt and pair of pajama pants before opening the door.
Adam had changed too, into gray sweatpants and a plain white undershirt that was so thin she could actually see his chest hair through it. The dark hair grew in two small tufts around his nipples, and in a thin trail down the middle of his abdomen. Was it her imagination, or was that the contours of an actual six-pack beneath the fabric? She’d thought only actors and bodybuilders had six-packs, yet here was one in the flesh, and almost close enough to touch.
“You look different,” Adam said.
Olivia dragged her eyes away from his torso and reached up to touch her face. “I took off my makeup.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “Thanks?”
“No, I mean…” He shook his head, grimacing. “I like your face without makeup.”
“Oh.” She was so stunned all she could do was blink as he shifted from one foot to the other.
“I’m starving,” he admitted sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you have any food in your Bag of Holding you’d be willing to share?”
“Sure,” she said, grateful for something to focus on other than the fact that he’d just said he liked her face. “Come in.” She left the door open and crossed to the table where she’d set her purse down.
Adam padded into the room behind her. “You can say it if you want.”
Her fingers stilled inside her purse. “Say what?”
“You were right. I should have bought more food at the truck stop.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding and went back to laying out the food in her purse. “Can I get you to repeat that so I can document it for the record? ‘Adam Cortinas officially concedes that Olivia Woerner was right.’”
He let out a low, husky laugh as he surveyed the selection of granola bars, nuts, chips, cookies, and beef jerky she’d arrayed on the table. “Sure, if I can take a picture to documen
t this bag-lady food stash. Were you seriously carrying all that in your purse?”
“Yes.” She’d bought snacks to last the whole week, in case there wasn’t an opportunity to replenish her supply after they started working.
“Why are you like this?” he asked as he chose a granola bar.
“I just am. This is the personality I was born with.”
He shook his head as he tore open the wrapper. “There has to be a reason you are the person you are. Something in your past that informed your hoarder tendencies.”
“No there doesn’t. Some of us just came from the factory broken.”
“I don’t think you’re broken.”
Once again, she found herself flummoxed because he’d said something nice to her. She chose the path of least resistance by ignoring it completely. “Not everyone has some deep, dark personal tragedy lurking in their past that molded them.”
He stopped chewing for a second. “Must be nice.”
Her eyebrows raised, along with her curiosity. “Do you have a tragedy in your past?”
“No,” he answered way too fast.
“Now who's lying? You know what I think? I think it's easy for you to tell the truth when it's about someone else, but it's another matter when it's your feelings on the chopping block.”
She could tell she'd scored a point, because his face looked like a door that had been slammed shut. But instead of feeling smug she felt bad. Whatever painful experience had made him into the person he was today obviously wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.
“Never mind,” she said. “I didn't mean to push.”
“Yes you did.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “No, and that's the truth. I wouldn't have brought it up if I'd realized there was really something there. It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable.”
He nodded, seeming to accept this. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Okay.” She was certain he was lying again.
“I’m not. I’m…” He trailed off, frowning.
“What?”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“That’s okay too.”
He shoved the last bite of granola bar in his mouth and carried the wadded-up wrapper over to the trash. “It’s not really a tragedy. Not like you’re thinking. No one died.”
“Okay,” she said simply. She gestured at the table. “You want something else?”
He selected another granola bar, shrugging as he unwrapped it. “It was just your standard-issue, run-of-the-mill heartbreak. The kind of thing that happens to people every day.”
The tautness in his expression caused a surge of protective feeling in her chest. “There’s nothing run-of-the-mill about having your heart broken.”
“No, I guess not.” He bit into his granola bar and swallowed with a grimace.
She sat down on the foot of the bed but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t push him to talk about something that was obviously painful. If he wanted to tell her more, it was up to him.
He walked over to the window and pushed aside the blackout liner to peer into the darkness. “It’s raining again.”
“It rains a lot here this time of year. Except when it doesn’t. It’s always either flooding or a drought.”
They both fell silent.
“I had a girlfriend,” he volunteered finally, still staring out the window. “A serious one. We worked together at my last job and dated for almost two years. I was going to propose.” He fell silent again, although that clearly wasn’t the end of the story.
“What happened?” Olivia asked when he didn’t say anything more.
He turned around, but kept his eyes on the floor. “I found out she was sleeping with my best friend.”
“Motherfucker.”
He was so startled by her language he almost smiled. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, it really does.” He sat down heavily on the bed beside her. His weight dipped the mattress, tipping her toward him so their shoulders touched.
Instead of scooting away, he stared at the remains of the granola bar in his hand, almost but not quite leaning against her. “It’s one thing to be betrayed by the person you think is the love of your life. It happens, you know?”
Olivia didn’t know, not firsthand, but she nodded sympathetically.
“But Jeff and I had been best friends since our freshman year of college,” Adam went on. “I’d told him I was going to propose to Hailey. Shit, we’d even talked about what kind of fucking ring I should buy her. And the whole time he was banging her behind my back.” His eyes met Olivia’s. “Can you believe that?”
“No. I can’t even imagine. What a festering shitbag.”
She’d never loved anyone enough to get married, but she had a best friend. It was unthinkable that Penny could ever do something like that to her. If she did—Olivia didn’t even know what she’d do.
“I lost both my best friends in one fell swoop,” Adam said. “And I had to change jobs, because I couldn’t go to work every day and face her. It was almost like I lost my whole life.” His face looked vacant, like he’d gone wandering through dusty memories and gotten lost.
Olivia wanted to take his hand, but instead she pushed herself off the bed. “This calls for chocolate.”
He dropped back into the present with a jolt, giving her a questioning look. “You had chocolate in your bag this whole time and you weren’t going to offer me any?”
“It’s for emergencies,” she said as she dug into her purse.
“What, like late night motel confessionals?”
She tore open a bag of mini peanut butter cups with her teeth. “Exactly like that. I always carry emergency chocolate with me.”
He smiled. “Just like Remus Lupin.”
Sitting back down on the bed, she passed him the open bag of candy. “Hey, you never know when you’re gonna run into a Dementor.”
He popped a peanut butter cup into his mouth and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “I never told anyone all of that before.”
She blinked at him. “Seriously?”
“I told people we broke up, obviously. But I never told anyone why. I guess some of our friends must have put it together after, but I don’t see any of them anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were Jeff and Hailey’s friends too.”
“You don’t think they’d be on your side?”
“It’s not about sides,” he said, shaking his head. “They reminded me too much of what I’d lost—of the life I thought I had that was all a lie. I didn’t want to see them anymore. I didn’t want to see anyone.” Two spots of color bloomed on his cheeks. He was embarrassed.
“So you just cut everyone out of your life?” Olivia asked, starting to understand why he was so detached and standoffish at work. He’d been so damaged by this one betrayal that he’d turned himself into a hermit.
“Not everyone. I still see my family.”
“But you didn’t tell them what happened?”
He stared at the floor, miserable. “Not all of it. I was…ashamed, I guess. I felt like a fool, and I didn’t want my family to see me that way. It’s easier if people think things just didn’t work out. Irreconcilable differences or whatever.”
She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to keep all that betrayal bottled up inside. To hide it from the people you cared about the most, and push everyone else away. Isolating himself like that meant he’d never had a chance to work through it and lance the poison in the wound.
He looked so broken, she wanted to say something to repay the trust he’d shown by confiding in her. But everything she could think to say sounded trite and hollow. So instead she laid her head on his shoulder, hoping he would understand what she meant, but couldn’t find the words to express.
When he didn’t seem to mind that, she worked up the courage to take his hand. She pressed her soft
palm against his rough one and twined their fingers together. His hand was warm and hers was cold, she realized when she felt his body heat soaking into her skin. It traveled up her arm and radiated through her whole body before settling in her chest.
They sat there together, holding hands in silence. Keeping each other company and giving each other space at the same time. Olivia didn’t even know how much time they spent that way before Adam cleared his throat with a sound like a rusty chainsaw.
She lifted her head and her eyes met his.
Oh man, those eyes.
She was in no way prepared to stare directly into those eyes of his. Especially the way they were looking at her now, deeper and darker than she’d ever seen.
For a moment Olivia was paralyzed, unable to look away even though looking was almost more than she could stand.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow,” Adam said.
It took her incapacitated brain a second to register the meaning behind his words.
His hand slipped out of hers and he stood up. “We should get an early start in the morning. Like, crack of dawn early.”
Jesus everloving Christ, did he think she was coming on to him? Was that how it had seemed? Because that was not how she’d meant it.
Not that she was disinterested, necessarily.
To be honest, she was having trouble parsing how she felt about him. It seemed to change from moment to moment. One second she wanted to sock him in his annoying, sexy mouth, and the next she was imagining what it would be like to kiss him. It was starting to give her whiplash, all this pinging from one extreme to the other.
And now she’d accidentally given him the impression she was coming on to him, when she was just trying to be a friend.
Fine. Whatever. She couldn’t be held responsible for his misapprehensions.
“Do we know what time the auto shop opens?” she asked, trying to play it cool as he backed away from her.
“Seven, I think.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
“Well, goodnight. And thanks for—” He waved his hand at the snacks on the table, but she suspected he was talking about more than just the food.