Page 63 of Creed

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter 24

Collins

An hour later we’re piled into Riley’s Jeep—Creed pouting in the back seat—and headed towards my place. We’re minutes out and my stomach twists when I think about these two seeing where I’ve been living for two years. I found this motel in a moment of desperation because I couldn’t handle sleeping on a park bench for a third night in a row.

The weekly rent is super cheap, and the room itself is an outdated studio room that has a twin bed, a kitchenette—if you can even call it that, considering it’s a microwave, a mini fridge, and a plug-in burner for cooking—and a bathroom with just a toilet and sink. All showers were located in the main office or I would wait and shower at Viper if I knew Jett would be working.

I told myself I would only stay long enough to save up for a real apartment. Let’s all laugh together now.

When it became clear that I wasn’t going to make enough to even cover utilities of a one bedroom apartment, I decided to make the best of what I had. I kept my room clean, but that didn’t stop the leaky pipes from staining the ceilings or the stains in the carpet from previous renters. The musty smell of the dated space was hard to mask, but scrubbing my room top to bottom four days a week definitely helped, even if a little.

Still, it’s nothing compared to the lavish life that Creed has been living. His bathroom alone was nearly the size of my room. I don’t have much to my name, so it shouldn’t take long for me to pack, and I’m hoping I can convince Creed and Riley to wait in the car. I only own a few pairs of jean shorts and leggings, some second-hand vintage shirts, two pairs of shoes, my makeup bag, and my costumes for work.

I point to the intersection where Riley needs to turn and stare out the side window. While I won’t miss working at Viper, I will miss the aerial performances. I fucking hate Tank and his sick, perverted clients, having to give private dances to those scumbags was enough to make me physically sick to my stomach. But on the nights where it was just me and the big stage, I lived to perform my aerial routines. Nothing compares to the power I felt. Not only in my performances, but just how strong my body really is. How strong I could be. I felt untouchable while spinning and flipping and falling through the air. To know that I was in total control. I hate to give up that feeling. Though, Creed did mention taking me to studios to perform if I wanted. He’s tipping the scale of pros and cons with that promise.

The thought makes me feel lighter and a small dose of happiness blooms in my chest.

It withers though, when I see the familiar faded salmon pink painted building come into view.

“Right up there on the right,” I point at the ramshackle motel with a faded sign still in use from the 70’s by the road. “The Dreamland Motel.” I sing-song, mocking the name and flaring and wiggling my fingers like I have jazz hands.

Riley snorts and shakes his head as he turns into the parking lot.

“The fuck,” I hear Creed whisper from the backseat and I expel a defeated sigh because I fucking know. I go to sleep thinking the same thing when I’m here.

Not responding to his comment, I point again. “Room eight, over there in the corner,” I mumble under my breath. Creed unbuckles from his seat and pokes his head through the middle, between Riley and me. His delicious scent washes over me and all it does is dredge up memories of last night when we were pressed so closely together. I give my head a small shake to rid myself of the lusty thoughts that threaten to distract me.

Riley pulls into a parking spot in front of my room. I sit there for a second, watching the two out of the side of my eye. I see Creed’s jaw working from side to side as he takes in the ugly pink building; chipped and cracked stucco on the walls, trash littered all over the ground that’s been there so long that I’m certain that it’s part of the pavement now, and yep, the dude with a hairy beer belly hanging out of his open robe, his thinning hair sticking out at all sides, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in another is my neighbor.

That’s just par for the course for the people who stay here. People aren’t meant to stay here longer than a few days, but here I am, two years later because California is fucking expensive. The only reason I found myself on a flight to this ridiculous state was for the mentality of knowing I was that much closer to the two men who cared for me and raised me.

I fight the shudder creeping up the base of my spine at the sight of open-robe-guy. Men like him who have no problem lingering outside of motel rooms are what make me jam a chair underneath the handle of the door for extra security while I sleep. He’s never tried anything but it doesn’t stop me from protecting myself.

“Wait here, I’ll just be a minute.” I say, reaching for the door handle.

The second I push it open, I hear Riley and Creed’s doors open as well. “Like fuck,” Creed growls, his eyes still on the guy who’s hovering awfully close to my door. I’ve seen him a few times before, but I’ve never spoken to him. Aside from his day drinking and lack of couth, I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. Maybe.

I roll my eyes but secretly relish the fact that they’re both being so protective. Still, a little shame sits low in my gut when I pull my key from my backpack and unlock the door. I really hate that they’re seeing that I’ve lived like the poor woman I am for this long.

You did what you had to do to survive.

I push the door open and walk in, going straight for the duffel bag I keep stored under my bed and start stuffing my minuscule clothing inside. Like I said, it only takes me a few minutes to load everything I own into the bag and I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.

I turn to see Creed and Riley frozen in the doorway, their eyes sweeping over the closet-sized room.

Riley’s eyes meet mine first. “You live here?”

His tone doesn’t sound judgmental, but there is a stack of confusion on top of concern, on top of trepidation in his voice. I nod and look around to do a double check that I didn’t leave anything behind.

I grab my phone charger from the wall behind the bed. “How long have you lived here?” Riley asks. I walk toward them, ready to shut the door and lock it. They both back up, allowing me to secure the door behind me.

“Two years.” I say, looking at Creed. It isn’t an accusation, but my tone is a bit more clipped than intended. My ire at the situation misplaced as I continue to look at him causing him to wince. His eyes flash with regret and hurt and I instantly feel like shit for my unintentional accusatory tone.

I open my mouth to apologize but he cuts me off with just a single shake of his head.

He lifts his hand toward me, palm up. “Give me the key, Collins.”

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