Page 8 of Can't Stop
Now I just have to hope I don’t regret this.
Chapter Four
Rayna
We’re almost through South Carolina by the time we stop for the night. The leisurely route we’d planned—stopping by various oddity markets and mom-and-pop shops—has evaporated. Dalton seems more than eager to make it to Oak Hollow by the Funeral Celebration now.
I think this has something to do with our new friend. Well, my new friend. Dalton looks ready to claw out his eyeballs whenever he opens his mouth to speak.
If he’s jealous, he has no reason to be. Despite crushing our baby under the brake pedal, Dalton is still the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No one can hold a candle to him, even if they’re a six-foot-seven male model who happens to love taxidermy.
We grab our things from the car and head into the motel lobby. Like me, Samuel travels with little more than a backpack. Meanwhile, Dalton struggles to haul his two suitcases from the trunk. A nomadic life hasn’t exactly been easy for him.
“Need some help?” Samuel asks him. He steps forward and reaches for the larger bag, but Dalton pulls it closer to his legs and shakes his head. Samuel lifts his hands and smiles. “Suit yourself.”
Knowing he absolutely does need help, I grab the smaller bag, and we start inside.
The lobby is dark, and the color brown is the only way to describe it. Walls, carpet, desk, chairs—everything is some shade of diarrhea brown. Stale cigarette smoke clings to everything in sight, despite the large sign on the lobby desk stating that ciggies are off-limits. When the older woman behind the desk smiles, I can easily figure out who the culprit is by looking at her yellow-stained smile.
“Oh, are we having a fun little party tonight?” she says with a wiggle of her shoulders. Her smile falls when she looks at Samuel. “Sorry, honey. No pets.”
“Not even dead ones?” He wiggles the raccoon, and the woman realizes her mistake.
“Goodness, why?” she asks as her hand flies to her chest.
My hand flies to my chest, and I look at her with a straight face as I say, “Goodness, why not?”
The woman purses her lips and clears her throat before pulling her chair a bit closer to the desk and banging on the noisy keyboard. “What sort of room do you need? Single? Double?”
“Two rooms, please,” Dalton says, and he even holds up his fingers to make sure she gets the memo. When he tries to pay with cash, however, things go a bit south.
“We require a credit card in case our patrons decide to trash our rooms. An insurance policy, if you will.” She glances around the dark space. “It isn’t exactly cheap to replace things which have been ruined by rowdy guests.”
Could have fooled me. You could easily replace any of this shit with something you’d find at a local flea market. Bonus points if the items wear a cloak of cigarette smoke.
“We don’t carry a card,” I say. “Perhaps we could throw a little on top as an insurance policy?”
She places her hand to her chest again, this time mocking me the way I mocked her. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”
Before I can launch myself over the lip of the desk and rip out her eyeballs, Samuel steps forward and pushes a credit card across the sticky wooden surface. The woman snatches up the rectangle of plastic, giving Dalton and me no room to argue. She’s swiped it and printed two receipts faster than we can take our next breath.
On the way outside, Dalton tries to give Samuel the cash, but Samuel shrugs him off.
“You guys are hauling me across the country. The least I can do is spot you for the night.”
Dalton opens his mouth to argue, but I grab his arm and pull him through the lobby door and into the chill fall air. If he wants to be jealous, that’s fine, but I draw the line at sabotaging a chance to save some cash. He needs to keep his pride to himself.
We part ways with Samuel as we reach the rusty stairs on the side of the building. He gives us a smile and heads down the row toward his lower-level room, and we head up the dangerous tetanus steps. Dalton doesn’t return Samuel’s smile, but I do. It’s just good manners.
The air in the motel room is stale, but at least it doesn’t smell like the desk lady’s lair. I sit on the edge of the bed. I’m disappointed when it’s like sitting on a wooden box instead of a cloud. Disappointed, but not surprised. We don’t exactly have the funds to stay at the Hilton.
Van Gogh will stay in my bag for the night. I hate the thought of him in that dark space, all cooped up without any fresh air, but I’m scared to death the rip in his side might spread. Plus, seeing that gash makes me uncomfortable. It was an accident, so I’m not angry with Dalton, but it still makes me sick.
“Nice to finally be alone,” Dalton says as he drops the bag on the floor and flops beside me on the bed. He rolls onto his side and traces the floral print on the comforter with his extended finger. “You feeling kind of tired, or . . . ?”
I grab his hand and place it on my thigh. “I’m tired, but I could use a little stress relief to help take the edge off of today.”
“Mmm, say less.” Dalton inches closer and nips my inner thigh. “You wanna play with Raul? He didn’t get his moment, thanks to the train.”
