Page 8 of The Potter

As for me, though, I’ve never been an actress or a starving artist. My ex took that dream from me long ago.

Now, I’m one step closer to living the life I’ve always wanted by renting a room in a shitty motel near the bus stop that probably should have been condemned a decade ago.

“The weekly rate is three hundred bucks.” Clyde, as the sticker on his shirt says, slides over a brass key, completely ignoring the fishbowl in my hands.

I slap down some of the cash that I had tried giving Dr. Potter. “That won’t be a problem.”

I don’t ask about the pet policy. If Clyde feels compelled to ignore Oscar, then I’m taking it as a green light that Oscar can stay. It’s not like the motel has crystal wall sconces or a grand staircase leading to the elevator banks where the guests would be horrified by seeing a girl and her fish on the way up to her room.

Clyde’s Motel is a one-level, L-shaped property, sitting off the main highway that leads into the city. What makes Clyde’s charming, though, is the thin curtains and suspicious burn marks on the faded burgundy bedspreads. (The pictures on their website are of great quality.)

The point is, Clyde’s has character.

“Your room is the last one on the right. We don’t have breakfast or laundry services, so don’t ask.”

Clyde’s blunt statement and immediate disappearance back into his office is amusing. I don’t expect four-star customer service. I just need a place to stay while I figure out this whole Dr. Potter situation.

Grabbing my purse off the counter, Oscar and I head back outside, locating the last room at the end of the building.

It’s a little sketchier than I thought it would be.

But I’m fine. I can handle a little dirt and danger.

“Let me guess, you’re lost and bunking in this shithole for the night?”

The dark chuckle has me whipping my head around, finding a teenage boy who can’t be any older than seventeen, lounging against the brick hotel. A cigarette hangs from his mouth, reminding me of one of those old cigarette cowboys.

“Should you be smoking?” I ask, tamping down my real question. What on earth is a teenager doing at a hotel that clearly is rented more by the hour than the week?

The boy flashes me a devilish grin. “You’re definitely lost. Youandyour fish.” He eyes Oscar like he’s the stupidest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m not lost,” I assure him. At least not in a geographical sense.

Personally, though? The FBI wouldn’t be able to locate my sanity right now.

Ever since Dr. Potter dismissed me from his practice a week ago, I’ve sat alone in the hotel I rented until I could figure things out. Which hasn’t gone so well. So far, the only thing I’ve figured out was that my checking account balance was dwindling by the day.

I couldn’t keep staying in Texas with no job—surgery or no surgery. Either I go back home to my old life and admit that I failed in getting on Dr. Potter’s schedule, or I stay in Texas and figure out what to do next.

The fact that I’m now moving into a hotel three times cheaper than the last one should tell you I’m not yet ready to admit defeat. I may not know what my next step is, but I know I’m not ready to give up a four-year dream just because Dr. Potter has been in a bad mood for 365 days.

“You need some help with your bags then?”

I eye the kid, who has now put out his cigarette on the wall, leaving a black smudge. “That’s okay, I can manage.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Tipping my chin, I grin, grabbing my bag from the ground. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Sure.”

Sure. It’s not a get out of my office or a call to security. I guess I should be grateful. So far, my encounter with Texan men hasn’t been all that great.

Hoisting the bag over my shoulder, I smother a groan from its weight and struggle to keep Oscar steady as I unlock the door. When it doesn’t budge, I give it a shove with my hip, which is a terrible mistake as a zing of pain races up my side and sends me to the ground with a cry. In doing so, the bowl that housed my best friend smashes into pieces, leaving Oscar suffocating on the concrete.

The boy is in my face in an instant, an angry expression settling in his features. “What are you doing?”

I take a minute to regulate my breathing, pulling air in through my nose and out through my mouth, waiting for the pain to lessen. The pain isn’t new, unfortunately. “I’m okay. Get my fish!” I wave my angry neighbor away, but it only makes him scoff while he scoops Oscar into his hand.

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