Page 2 of The Storm Within

“Credit card.”

“Only take cash.”

Then why did he ask? With a grunt, Ryker stripped off his gloves and fished some bills out of his wallet. Otis snatched the money quickly, as though the snow would miraculously clear and he’d lose his “guest.”

After stuffing the bills into an ancient cash register, he turned and grabbed a key off the wall then slapped it down with a thud that rattled everything on the counter.

“Room seven.”

When Ryker cast a dubious look at the snow beyond the window, Otis gestured to a door and added, “Interior hall. Room in the middle. You need anything, don’t ask.”

He must be Ebenezer Scrooge.

The key was a tarnished piece of brass attached to a bright green keychain. Classy. After offering the old man a tight nod, Ryker snagged the key, muttering a quick thanks before heading away.

The hallway was dim, the lighting weak and flickering, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Ryker’s boots echoed on the thin carpet, the scent of mildew thick in the air.

Each door had a tarnished number nailed to it, some hanging by a single screw, others barely readable. When he reached his room, he shoved the key into the lock and twisted, hearing a reluctant click before he swung open the door.

The smell hit him first, a mixture of stale air, old cigarettes, and something that might’ve been pine-scented cleaner once upon a time. With his heightened senses, the smell was far worse. Wrinkling his nose, he prayed he didn’t need to stay longer than necessary. His bear grunted in agreement.

The room was surprisingly large, with dark wood paneling that gave it the aesthetic of a poorly maintained hunting cabin. A single bed stood against the far wall, covered with a patterned bedspread that looked scratchy even from a distance.

Next to the bed was a tiny nightstand with a lamp that had seen better years, its shade slightly askew, and to the right stood a TV that probably weighed as much as he did. There was also a small table with a single wooden chair tucked under its scratched surface, and a large, cracked mirror hanging on the wall above it.

Ryker set his bag down on the floor, letting the door creak shut behind him, the sound echoing eerily through the empty room.

“Home sweet home,” he mumbled, stripping off his gloves and tossing them onto the bed. Then he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a rusted hook by the door, and pulled off his wet boots.

The cold still clung to him despite the faint warmth seeping from an ancient radiator tucked beneath the window. It let out a low groan, sputtering as if it resented the effort of actually producing heat.

Ryker rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for good measure while he walked to the window. Tugging the frayed curtain aside, he peered out at the storm. The conditions had only gotten worse. A solid wall of white blocked any view beyond the glass. Ryker couldn’t even see his light-colored SUV. It had been swallowed by the storm.

Perfect. Stranded in a cut-rate motel with questionable heating. Not exactly how he’d pictured this day going. Sighing in resignation, he let the curtain fall back into place before turning around.

“This is the saddest, most dilapidated motel room I’ve ever seen.”

The bed gave a miserable creak as he sat down, springs groaning under his weight, causing him to pray it didn’t collapse under him. That would be just his luck.

Ryker’s frustrations mounted when he pulled out his phone to call his dad. The screen lit up to reveal the “No Service” message plastered across the top.

“Just fucking great.” He dropped his head back and let out a loud groan. “All right, universe. I get it. I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his voice echoing off the empty walls. “You can stop rubbing it in now.”

The room responded with silence, a reminder that he was very much alone. What else is new?

Flopping back onto the bed, Ryker stared up at the water-stained ceiling, his gaze tracing the patterns the damp had created—vague shapes that could’ve been clouds, or bunnies, or maybe just his imagination trying to entertain itself. He could feel the cold creeping in from the window, the draft seeping through cracks in the wall, allowing it to pass unchallenged.

Anxiety tried to take hold, nibbling at the fringes of his mind, but Ryker pushed it away.

This was just another challenge.

A minor inconvenience.

A gift wasn’t worth getting stranded in a snowstorm, and yet…Ethan’s smile when he opened it on Christmas morning would make this all worthwhile. Or at least, Ryker kept telling himself that.

A thud from the room next door, followed by muffled voices, pulled him from his thoughts. Turning his head, Ryker listened for a moment, hearing snippets—an argument, possibly—though the words were too faint to make out.

With a groan, he lay down and pressed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. For two days straight he’d let the stress of the holidays keep him awake. Although he’d never suffered from anxiety before, the thought of watching the happy couples unwrap their gifts while he sat alone fucked with him more than he’d realized.

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