“You’ve caused enough trouble on this road trip,” I reply lightly.
“And you love it.”
I chuckle, but don’t explain the real reason I turned down all her offers to take a turn behind the wheel. The truth is, I neededthe focus. Because the moment I have to sit with nothing but my thoughts, all the guilt and feelings about my mom and her death start creeping in, and I don’t know how to begin processing them. I don’t know how I feel. Only that I’m not ready for it.
We exit the highway and wind our way through the edge of a town that feels quiet and small. The horizon is flat, framed by telephone wires and the sprawl of one-story buildings. Without the Denver foothills and the Rockies, the sky feels too open, too vast. The Lake View Inn is a three-story hotel with a half-empty lot. I kill the engine and climb out from the truck, rolling back my shoulders. There’s no sign of a lake, but I can smell the metallic tang of water in the air.
Inside, the lobby is small but clean with faux-wood floors, small potted ferns, and red velvet armchairs positioned around a coffee table and a roaring fire. The woman at the check-in desk is in her fifties, wearing a plain white blouse and a kind smile. Her name badge reads “Helen.” There’s a strange pang in my gut at the sight of her. A reminder that normally when I see women that age, passing on the street, or in the crowds, a part of me always wonders if they could be Leanna. And how I wouldn’t know if they were. But now my mom is dead, and this is just a woman who works nights at a hotel.
I must be spaced out from the hours behind the wheel because it takes me a moment to register that Serena is talking to Helen, answering questions, checking us in.
“And how many rooms would you like?” Helen asks.
There’s a moment of silence. Serena hesitates, her eyes flicking to me.
“One double please,” I reply for both of us. I shoot Serena a look. If she thinks after what she did to me in my truck back there I’m gonna let her sleep anywhere but beside me, she’s wrong.
Our eyes meet and linger. Even through the exhaustion and the shadows I’ve been dragging behind me all day, heat rises to the surface. A low thrum of want that feels like thirst and hunger and need, curling low in my gut and anchoring me to the moment. I can see it in her eyes too—the way the blue in them has darkened.
Helen taps away at her keyboard, humming to herself as she fills in her forms. “The bar and restaurant are closed now, but you can order room service until midnight.”
We say our thanks, and I let Serena take the key as I grab our bags. In the elevator, I rub a hand over the back of my neck. The quiet hum of the lift feels charged, like static in the air. Serena leans close, brushing against me, and my senses fill with the sweet blossom of her perfume. I’m hard in seconds.
She smiles, coy and teasing. “I need to get one thing straight before we go into that hotel room together.”
I raise an eyebrow in question.
“I’m starving, Sullivan. And you must be too, so the first thing we’re gonna do is shower and eat and watch a movie.”
A laugh breaks out of me. I move toward her until she’s up against the elevator mirror, my straining cock pressing against her through my jeans. I dip my head, brushing my mouth near her ear. “Whatever you say, Hayes. But let me get one thing straight too—when we’ve showered and eaten and watched your movie, I’m going to make you forget every rule you ever tried to set.”
Her breath catches, and even though she rolls her eyes like I’m impossible, her body shifts the tiniest bit closer to mine. “In that case, I’ll even let you choose the movie.”
“I can promise right now, it’s gonna have zero plot and a hell of a lot of explosions.”
“Can’t wait,” she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm but there’s a softness in her tone too, like she doesn’t want to beanywhere else but here beside me. I know we need to talk about what this is between us. Even with the weight of why we’re on this road trip together, I can feel the questions humming beneath the surface.
The elevator opens onto a corridor with soft lighting and big room numbers on the doors. Serena opens the door to our room. It’s simple, with a king-sized bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a sliding glass door that leads to a balcony. Beyond the glass, outdoor lights illuminate a walkway down to a lake, stretching out into a darkness as black as the sky.
I have a sudden stab of longing for Oakwood Ranch, for Mama and Dylan and Jake and the noise and distraction of my family. A lump hits my throat. I don’t owe my mom anything, so why am I suddenly wondering how many people she had in her life? How much time she spent alone. Whether she had anyone to laugh with and watch trashy movies with. If anyone is grieving her the way we all grieved for my dad when he died.
“I’m gonna take that shower,” I say, grabbing a clean tee and my basketball shorts from my bag and disappearing into the bathroom before I can choke up. A minute later, I’m stepping under the spray, hoping the heat will wash away the ache inside me.
I didn’t know her.
She didn’t know me.
She never came for me. Never tried. Not once in the twenty-six years since she left me at the ranch. And still, there’s a strange, jagged pain that doesn’t make sense. How can I feel anything for someone I have no memories of? No connection to. Just blood. Just genetics. But somehow that’s enough to leave me hollowed out.
I scrub my hand over my face and turn off the water. Too tired to think anymore. By the time I step back into the room, Serena is sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing one ofmy sweatshirts, the sleeves bunched at her wrists. One of my favorite action movies is paused and ready to play and a tray of fries and cheeseburgers sits in front of her.
Her face breaks into a smile when she sees me. And God, I don’t deserve her.
“Do not eat all my fries while I grab a quick shower,” she says, jumping up.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” I reply, stealing a fry from her plate as she swats at my hand.
“You picked the perfect movie,” I say five minutes later as she steps out of the bathroom and moves to sit on the bed beside me, her long legs bare. I agreed to a shower, food, and a movie first, but now all I can think about is those legs and what she’s wearing beneath my sweatshirt. I didn’t know it was possible to be jealous of a piece of clothing until now.