Page 25 of The Prodigal

I take one more peek out the window and notice a cigarette still burning in Remington’s hand. If his head wasn’t drooping forward, I wouldn’t be as concerned, but I’ve heard horror stories of people burning to death from falling asleep with a lit cigarette. Hopefully, he’s just resting his eyes and will wake up any second and put it out.

But he doesn’t.

At least not after the minute I give him to do so.

Screw it.

I’m going out there. He may yell at me, but at least he won’t be yelling at me with third-degree burns. It’s the least I can do after his help today.

Grabbing a blanket from the back, I hustle down the sidewalk and approach the self-proclaimed villain. He doesn’t stir at my presence, so I lean down and slide the cigarette from his fingers and put it out on the concrete. I don’t know if I should wake him or just leave him be. He’s awful moody about, well, everything. Who knows what he would prefer in this situation.

But I remember the dark circles under his eyes today. He was tired, yet he stayed awake to help me—to make sure Gerald didn’t come back and hurt me. He’d deny it if I asked him about it tomorrow. But I know I’m the reason Remington is out here asleep in a cheap plastic chair.

So, instead of waking him and making him yell, I drape the blanket over his legs and walk back to the lobby. I’ll watch over him tonight, just like he did me, and if he doesn’t wake up in an hour, I’ll go back and shoo him inside.

At least, I thought I would.

But when I get back to the lobby and lock the door behind me, I notice Remington and the blanket are gone.

Remington

Icouldn’t sleep last night—which isn’t all that uncommon.

But I blame Eden.

If she hadn’t tossed that fucking blanket on me like I was a stray cat, I wouldn’t have lain awake, noticing that I couldn’t escape the smell of her. There hadn’t been enough fresh air or cigarette smoke to mute the sweet scent clinging to my clothes. It annoyed the fuck out of me. If I wanted to smell like a kept man, I would have stolen Vance’s soap. And if I wanted an extra blanket, I would have stayed at a different hotel where my last name would score me the softest blanket they had.

But I didn’t.

I checked into the shitty Midnight Gardens Motel with the nosiest employee in the universe. Why did I tell her about Stetson? About seeking my revenge? And why, for fuck’s sake, did I not know her mother and stepfather tried to kill her when she was young?

My stomach clenches at the thought of someone trying to hurt her.

How long was she in the car, struggling to breathe? Did they sedate her, or did they pick the hottest day in the summer to strap her in and walk away?

I don’t know, but I intend to find out.

I didn’t come to Georgia to let Congressman Albrecht escape punishment.

He’s ruined enough lives, including his own daughter’s.

But does she know that?

Something tells me she doesn’t, and that fucks my plans all to hell.

I want the girl who’s an opportunist and a liar, just like her father. Not someone who suffered and still took care of a stranger.

Fuck!

I toss the rubber ball I found at Vance’s after showering this morning into the air. I might be used to roughing it, but after living with Vance for so long, I’m now spoiled with certain luxuries, like a rainfall showerhead and decent coffee.

“I thought you had class this morning.” Vance walks past me, ignoring the fact I’m lying on his kitchen island, and heads straight to the coffee pot.

“It was canceled.” I ignore Vance’s suspicious glare. He knows I showed up at six this morning and let myself in.

“Why was it canceled?”

I grin. “Probably the same reason your therapy appointment was ‘canceled’ yesterday.” I cut him a look that asksdo you really want to do this today?I might not be his assistant anymore, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t keep up with his therapy. Someone has to make sure he takes care of himself. Halle needs someone—other than me—to harass.

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