Page 19 of My Damaged Protector

“Thanks for doing this,” he says as I start the car's engine and pull out of the hospital lot.

“It's nothing,” I murmur.

I don't have to ask him where his motel is because there's only one motel in Glazer Ville. And although it may be the cheapest accommodation around here, it's the closest place you'll feel to home. The staff members are very warm and friendly. There's also the fact that they provide their customers meals, good meals.

Throughout the drive, my mind wonders about the possibility of tonight's events not just being mere coincidences.

What are the odds that one person would put himself in a life-threatening situation twice in one night?

What is going on with Ian, and what does that have to do with his presence in this town?

Last I knew, he was successful at his job in New Jersey. I even found out that he was second-in-command now. While I don't make it a habit to keep tabs on him, once every two or three years, I find myself looking him up on social media platforms, wanting to see if he is happy in life.

He chose a path that didn't lead to me many years ago, and I wonder if there's ever been a time he’s regretted that decision.

I haven't found any information about his family. Sometimes I go as far as checking on some of his friends’ profiles to see if I can get more information, but nothing ever pans out.

If Ian was married, I never was able to find out.

But now he's suddenly back in my life after all these years, and he doesn't look like a man who's happy or married. There's no ring on his finger, nor is there any indent to indicate he recently removed one.

If anything, Ian looks like a man who's unhappy, like a man on the run from something or toward something.

Or maybe I'm just overthinking all this. I've been told I have an overactive imagination, which has honestly helped me in my journey as a writer. All I need is one thought, just one. Leave me to it for a few hours, and you'll come back to find me halfway through building a whole new plot.

Soon, we're at the motel. I park my car properly and unlock the door.

“I can't thank you enough for doing this,” Ian says, his voice quiet as he starts to build up a goodbye speech.

I give him a sideway glance before I start to get out of the car. Once I'm out, I give him a determined look.

“I'm coming in with you,” I inform him.

His lips turn in disapproval, but he doesn't refuse me. He just opens his door and gets out of the car. I wait for him to close the door from his side before I do the same from my end, then I ensure the car is properly locked.

When I'm done, I face him, and he shakes his head in exasperation.

“This way,” he says

I follow him inside. As soon as he gets to the reception desk, he is hounded by a very concerned Susie.

She expresses her apology to him on the motel's behalf. The way Ian brushes it off so easily helps me come to one conclusion: he did this on purpose.

As we walk toward his room, I don't take my eyes off him, something I'm doing on purpose so he knows I'm onto him.

When we're inside, he goes to sit on the bed, offering me the lone chair in the room.

“Please.” He motions towards the chair. I sit.

“I'm not sure what to offer you by this time of the night,” he explains, skeptically looking around the room that he and I are aware hosts no refreshments.

How bad are things with him financially?

I should have seen the signs earlier.

First, he was at a local bar, then he was getting more drunk than he usually did back in the days. Now, I find out he's staying in a motel and got in a fight all in one night?

“Why are you trying to kill yourself, Ian?”

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