Page 15 of One Pucking Wish

She turns to me, blinking a few times before stating, “Maybe we can find someone to drive us to another town where we can find a vacancy?”

Frank chimes in. “No one out there is going to drive in this, and even if there were, any place within driving distance would be full. All the sane folk hunkered down hours ago.”

“I don’t know what to do.” There’s a quiver in Penny’s voice that I haven’t heard before, and that uneasy feeling in my chest grows stronger.

Frank releases a sigh. “Well, the wife and I own a small motel a few miles out. It’s nothing fancy, and all the normal rooms are booked up. However, we do have a room that we use for storage—you know, boxes of paper towels, toilet paper, and new towels, stuff like that. So besides the floor-to-ceiling boxes, it’s just like our other rooms. It’s not ideal, but you’ll have a place to sleep, and you’ll be warm.”

Penny stands from the stool. “We’ll take it! Oh my gosh, thank you, Frank. You’re a lifesaver.”

He chuckles. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the place.”

“It doesn’t matter, I guarantee it’s better than sleeping in feet of snow,” she says.

“Well, that’s true.” He grins. “Let me call the wife and have her change the linens and move the boxes up against the wall to give you a little space. Then we’ll head out.”

Penny turns toward me. “You better not so much as speak to me all night. If the team wouldn’t suffer without you, I’d take the room for myself and leave you out in the cold to freeze.”

“You’re too kind,” I scoff. “Believe me, sleeping in the same room as you isn’t high on my list either, Princess.”

“Just don’t say a word. In fact, it’s fine with me if we never speak again.”

The odd feeling in my chest from moments ago has been replaced with a very familiar one—disdain. This hot mess of a woman across from me is the bane of my existence, and I have to be stuck in a room with her all night. While I’d never admit it to her, this is all my fault. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate myself a little too.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

PENELOPE

Ihave lost count of how many times I thought I was going to die today. The third drive from hell wasn’t any less stressful. Different driver, same insanity. While the journey was difficult, I have to give it to Frank. He got us here. Barely. But we’re here nonetheless.

He was correct in his description of his motel. It’s nothing special. But compared to sleeping out in the cold, it’s the flipping Ritz.

We trudge through the calf-high snow. I hold my hand out in front of my face to block the pelts of wetness hitting my skin as Frank leads us to our room. Stopping in front of a door, he hands us two keys, and I thank him again.

“No problem. Have a good night.” He nods before hurrying off to no doubt see his family. He’s been anxious to get back to them, an endeavor that took longer than it should have because of his willingness to help Gunner and me.

Gunner hasn’t said a word since we left the bar, and while it’s exactly what I asked him to do, it’s annoying at the same time. I don’t know what I expect, but I want something. An apology, maybe? That’s not his style, so I’m not holding my breath for one. I’m just so angry, and now I have to share a room with the asshole, which makes me even more furious. I want to yell and scream, but that’s hard to do with someone who isn’t speaking to you. Without his rebuttal, I’m just a crazy person screaming to myself.

With a sigh, I swipe the key card across the reader above the handle, and when the green light flashes, I push the door open. Frank wasn’t lying when he said this room was being used for storage. Boxes are stacked to the ceiling along every wall, making a weird paper product fort around the bed. The one bed. My heart drops into my stomach.

“There’s only one bed,” I cry, looking around the room to make sure I didn’t miss the other one. But no—there’s probably eight trees worth of boxed toilet paper but not another bed.

Heart beating wildly, I scan the space. It is literally, a bed, boxes, and a door in the corner that leads to what I assume is the bathroom. That’s it. There’s no chair or TV or anything to do or anywhere to sit. Sure, it’s a step up from dying out in the freezing snow but not a very big one.

Unwelcomed tears fill my eyes as I stand motionless.

A husky voice breaks my trance. “Go take a shower. You’re a fucking mess.”

His words shock me out of my state. “And you’re an ass.”

I head to the bathroom anyway because it seems like the only course of action. When my mother came home a drunken mess, I would always put her in the shower. I don’t know if there’s any solid fact behind it, but it sure feels like a shower makes everything better. Mom always emerged from the shower a little more coherent.

It’s been a long, hard day, so a shower can’t hurt. Maybe it will even make my current situation seem more tolerable. My stare darts to the singular bed, and I shudder.

Somehow.

It surely can’t get any worse.

---