Page 26 of Not Another Yesterday
Shane wanders over to our table with a smile. “Hey, guys,” he says, then kisses Tori’s head.
“Shane, what the hell is up with Ran driving to Tennessee to meet up with his ex?” Vada asks.
Shane frowns. “Woah, why the hell are you so aggressive?”
“Because I find it weird that he’s still in contact with this chick.” Vada crosses her arms in front of her chest.
Shane narrows his eyes at her. “Are you sure you want to be starting shit again? I very vividly remember the fight you and Steve got into earlier this year after you told Cat that Ran’s ex is easy.”
“Seriously, nobody thinks this is weird?” Vada asks, looking around the table.
“No,” Shane says. “Because we all know Ran. We all know that he wouldn’t do what you seem to think he’s capable of doing. Youreally need to consider your audience and who the fuck you’re talking about here, Vada. Fuck, I mean, Ran worships the ground Cat walks on. Don’t tell me you seriously think he’d cheat on her.”
“Well, no, but…”
“But what?” Shane dares her to continue.
“But we don’t know anything about his ex. Why the hell would she call Ran? Why not someone else?”
“Because she doesn’t have anyone else,” I say. As far as I know none of my friends know about Miranda’s history or her strained relationship with her dad. Ronan is an exceptionally private person—he barely talks about his own shit, and definitely won’t gossip or talk about other people’s private details.
Vada exhales a noisy huff through her nose. “Okay, well, if you’re all okay with this, then I’ll just shut up and mind my own business.”
“That seems like a viable strategy.” Shane gives a single nod before turning his attention to me. “Cat, Ran was super forthcoming with me this morning. I could tell he’s just concerned about helping out a friend. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“I know. I trust him.”
If only I trusted Miranda with him.
Ronan
The sun has long set when I finally pull into the small parking lot of Miranda’s motel in Pikeville. The town itself doesn’t strike me as much larger than Redtail Ridge—the small town closest to my grandparents’ ranch in Montana—and traffic was virtually nonexistent the last twenty minutes of my drive.
I briefly look around for the familiar baby-blue ’88 Chevy Silverado—Randi’s truck—until I remember it was taken by “him.”
The parking lot is empty except for a beat-up white Ram truck parked in front of what must be the lobby, and I pull into a spot rightnext to it. I clamber out of my Mustang, then stretch my legs. My back and neck crack as though sighing with relief.
I look around briefly, noting not a single soul, then lock my car and walk into the small office of the L-shaped motel. The moment the door’s creak announces my arrival, a heavy-set, older gentleman looks up at me.
“Checking in?” he drawls, giving me a skeptical once-over.
“No. I’m meeting a friend who’s staying here. Miranda Jackson.” I come to a stop in front of his counter. “Can you please call her room and let her know I’m here? My name is Ronan.”
The guy raises an eyebrow, looking me up and down. He’s probably wondering what my business is with Miranda, but he picks up the phone and dials a number.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he says into the receiver. “There’s a young man here asking for you. He said his name is…” He looks at me expectantly; he obviously already forgot my name.
“Ronan.”
He repeats my name. “Would you like to meet him here or should I send him to your room?” The man nods. “No problem. Have a nice night.”
He hangs up, taking his sweet time before looking back at me. “Ms. Jackson is in room seventeen. Across the parking lot, second-to-last door on the right.” He points in the direction of Miranda’s room. His face makes me think he suspects my motives aren’t necessarily PG, especially if he saw her arrive with someone else. Judging by the condition of this lobby and the motel’s exterior, I bet he sees his fair share of guests paying by the hour. It’s probably on the tip of his tongue to tell me that this is a respectable family business, but he just sizes me up with a disapproving scowl.
Then again, maybe that’s just his face and the dude couldn’t give a rat’s ass why I’m here. I nod curtly, then stride back outside and down the narrow walkway, past a number of doors and my car.
I stop in front of a white door with the number seventeen in large numerals and knock twice.
“Oh god, Rony!” Miranda opens the door, throws her arms around my neck, and buries her face against my chest.
