Page 25 of Halfway to Hell
“You and me both, Doll. You and me both.” Rolling onto his side, Texas checked the time and frowned, it was later than he’d planned to be up.
He’d wanted to hit the road early, not mid-morning. “We should get up. Need to get on the road soon.”
“Do I have time for a shower?” Sunday asked. She’d slept in her clothes, too afraid to change in case she had to run again. The baggy jeans and shirt had twisted and bunched uncomfortably all night.
A hot shower would wash away the dream’s memories—and ease his aching muscles. He wasn’t used to sleeping with someone else. Especially in a single bed. “Yeah, I need one too.”
“I think I remember where the bathroom is. Do you think the coast is clear?”
“Let me get my pants on, then I’ll go with you. We can both shower.”
Sunday almost protested but caught herself, remembering the bathroom had multiple shower stalls. She could trust Texas; he hadn’t made a single move while she’d slept beside him.
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.
Texas sat up, pulling the covers over his lower half. “You should call Monday. Let her know we’re headed that way today.”
Sunday didn’t want Texas to see her as anything more than a girl needing help, but did he have to say her sister’s name with suchlonging? Just like at the diner, she wondered how long they’d known each other. Were they… more than friends?
Texas wasn’t exactly Monday’s type, but then again, what did Sunday really know? They hadn’t seen each other in more than four years. They spoke every month—that was it.
Their sister, Friday, refused to acknowledge either of them. Ten years older and a raging bitch, Sunday thought. Their mother was to blame, Sunshine Mornin was a quirky, free-spirited hippie from the sixties. She’d had a string of long-term relationships that resulted in four kids.
Sunday and Monday shared the same father. Friday had a different dad. So did their brother, who had died before Sunday or Monday were even born. They didn’t even know his name; Sunshine never spoke about him.
What Sunday did know was her mother blamed Friday for their brother’s death.
Sunshine had raised them in a commune until Monday turned eighteen, then Monday left. Sunday followed the next year, moving closer to Monday and leaving their mother to live her life however she wanted.
Noticing Texas had gotten up and pulled on a pair of jeans, Sunday eased off the bed, tugging at her crumpled, twisted clothes. Picking up her bag, she followed Texas out of the room and down the hall.
Halfway to the bathroom, Texas stopped. “Sunday, go on ahead. I forgot something in the garage.”
She glanced nervously up and down the hall.
“If anyone comes in and makes you uncomfortable,” he said, “just tell them you’re my Ol’ lady.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that something important around here?”
Texas smiled faintly. “Around here? It’s one of the most important things you can say.”
Reluctantly, Sunday agreed and headed toward the shower. Texas waited until the door clicked shut before hustling back to their room. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out the jeans and top he’d snagged earlier.
Opening Sunday’s bag, he saw how hastily she’d thrown everything inside. Carefully, he rolled up her clothes and tucked them back into the pack, then returned it to its place.
Satisfied, Texas headed to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He needed to wash away the memories of the dream—and try to clear his head.
Chapter Ten
After sayingtheir goodbyes to the North Bay Chapter, Texas and Sunday climbed onto his Harley and headed farther down the road with Eros right behind them.
The first place they saw serving breakfast, they pulled in. Sitting in a corner booth, the conversation stayed easy. Neither man noticed the dark, heavy clouds rolling in overhead.
Storms weren’t unusual. Hell, weather in Canada was unpredictable on a good day.
As they finished their coffee, Eros caught the bill, nodding to Texas. “Leave the tip.”
Outside, the sky told a different story.
