Page 70 of Burn

When her hand softly lands on mine, I force myself to remain relaxed. Every fiber of my being wants to stiffen. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, and she looks so worn out. Her cheeks look hollow, and the shadows under her eyes are a deep blue, amplified by the dimly lit interior of our rental. I’ve seen her angry, annoyed, and scared. This is different. She seems broken. I’d give anything to see the fire that lights her eyes when she’s ready for a fight. She exhales a sigh. It’s shaky, and I flip my hand, clasping hers and threading our fingers together.

“Well,” I say, trying to sound playful. “Looks like we’ve arrived at the Serial Killer Inn.” A small smile spreads across her face, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. I pull into a parking space, shift the car into park, and turn to face her. “You good?”

She pulls her hand away and quickly nods, eyes still trained ahead. “Yep.”

I reach for her chin, urging her to look at me. When we finally make eye contact, I lose my train of thought. Whateverwords I had planned to say are lost in the depths of her stormy eyes, so instead I brush my thumb across her soft bottom lip. She nuzzles into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When they open, they’re glossy and full of pleading.

“Adrian,” her voice is a raspy and unsteady whisper. “Can we pretend, just for this weekend, that everything is simple?”

I can’t help the half smile when I ask, “What does simple mean?”

“Like we haven’t spent the last however long in this weird tug of war, battle of the wits game that does so much more harm than good.”

“Oh, simple like that,” I consider what she’s asking. “What simple role do you want me to play? Just so there’s no confusion between us. No tug of war. No games.”

She’s silent for a moment, her eyes bouncing between mine. I think she might end the discussion here, but she finally says, “You be Adrian — the guy who saves people for a living, plays hockey, and sings while he makes breakfast. I’ll be Lex — the girl who just wants to kiss you in the morning and hear you sing. Just for this weekend. Does that work?”

“And what happens when we go home?”

Her smile is soft. Sad. “Then you can go back to hating me.”

I don’t answer her. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how to tell this girl that hate is the farthest from how I feel about her, and I know whatever I say will sound so damn trite. So instead, I pull her forward, allowing our lips to touch. It’s brief, intimate, and when I pull away, I can see that her cheeks are a rosy, pink color that lessens the harshness of the circles under her eyes.

I take the keys from the ignition, step out, and grab our bags from the trunk before stepping to the passenger side and opening her door. She looks up at me through thick lashes withthe faintest hint of hope on her pretty face. Even in scattered pieces, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She stays close as we walk inside, her hand holding on to my jacket sleeve.

The lobby interior is equally as rundown as the exterior of the building. The smell of mold lingers under the overpowering scent of lemon cleaner and burnt coffee. It’s not until I step up to the front desk that I spot the older woman seated low in a chair, feet up, watching old sitcoms. She’s so absorbed in the show that she doesn’t notice us, so I clear my throat, and she jumps so high she nearly hits the ceiling, and cries, “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“Reservation is under Liberty,” I say without waiting for her to catch her breath.

She approaches the counter with her hand pressed to her chest. She pauses when her gaze lands on me, scanning from head to toe. As she reaches for a printout on the desk, she comments, “Not sure you’ll fit in our beds.” I chuckle, and when Lex steps up next to me, I feel her go stiff. The eyes of the woman behind the counter, Sharon, as her name tag says, go wide, and she reaches for her glasses. “Well, my goodness. Morgan Donnelly! How are you, my dear?”

Lex is quiet and reserved when she replies, “Hi, Sharon. It’s nice to see you.”

The short woman with dark blonde hair littered with grays rushes out and up to Lex, wrapping her in a hug. When she releases her, she holds Lex at arm’s length, her eyes softening, and a wide, genuine smile plastered on her face. “I haven’t seen you in years, girl! How’ve you been? What brings you to town?” She fully releases Lex and walks back around the desk, continuing to bombard Lex with questions. “How’s your dad? Are you here for Blake and Charlie’s wedding? Yes, that must be it. How long are you here for?” Lex has started to laugh,unable to get a single answer in, until Sharon asks, “How’s your mother doing these days? Is she still in Eastwood?”

I go rigid at the mention of her mother, and Lex’s expression drops. She stumbles over a response, and I pull my wallet from my pocket, holding out a credit card. Sharon’s eyes stay on Lex, and when she manages to say, “I’m not sure. I haven’t…” I decide that enough is enough.

“Sharon, we’ve had a long trip. Think we could get that room?”

She waves her hands, laughing, completely unaware of the effect her questions had on the brunette next to me. “Oh, of course. You must be exhausted. I’m going to give you my employee discount and let you into your room early. Our check-in time is usually 3 P.M.,” she winks at me as she speaks. “You’re in room two-oh-three. Up the stairs, second door on the left.” She holds out a key — not one of those electronic swipe cards, but an actual metal key.

I take it and stare at it for a moment before looking back at Sharon, attempting to smile, and saying, “Thanks.”

Lex reaches for her bag, but I brush her hand out of the way and collect both hers and mine. We make our way up the dark stairwell, and I bite back the urge to make another comment about this motel being the perfect place for Norman Bates. My willpower evades me when we reach the door to our room, and I pull out the key. “Yeah, this is totally safe. I bet no one has made a copy of this key.” She chuckles quietly and slaps my arm, and despite knowing just being in this town is fucking with her, I love the sound.

I push the door open and step inside, and I don’t even get a chance to make a sarcastic comment. Lex beats me to it. “I wonder if we missed the Crime Scene Investigators by minutes, or…”

The room is abysmal — I mean, it’s really bad. The brown carpeted floor is covered in splotchy stains. The walls are styled with wallpaper that must have been installed sometime in the mid-seventies. It’s tattered and stained yellow from the obvious years of cigarettes smoked in here. I scrub my hands down my face and turn to look at Lex, completely taken aback when I see she’s holding her hands over her mouth, trying to hold back laughter.

“What do you think?” I ask. “Bed bugs, athlete’s foot, cockroaches, or all the above? What are we leaving with?” I’ve barely finished the question when she laughs. It starts as a snort, then bubbles out of her, light and wild. She presses her hands into her thighs, doubling over as her body shakes. It’s so unexpected that I stare at her, wonder clearly evident on my face.

The sound bounces off the walls, echoing through the tiny, filthy room. She gasps for breath between giggles, wiping at her eyes. “Holy fuck, this place is — this place is a lawsuit waiting to happen!”

She steps up to the bed and flops backward onto it, continuing to giggle, her hand on her stomach. She props herself onto her elbows, her eyes bright, and says, “Oh god, Adrian. What the hell were we thinking?”

My mouth hangs open, completely stunned, and after another minute, I start to laugh. Not because this is particularly funny. It’s really not — it’s improbable we’re leaving here without at least one or two stowaways — I laugh because this is the first time I’ve ever seen this girl like this. I’ve never seen her smile, not like this. Her tone is so playful, and she continues to giggle. The sound is so foreign, reckless, and raw. It’s joy, and it slams into my chest, taking my breath away.

I scan my memory, but I’ve never seen her like this.

---