Page 31 of Truck Stop Titan

Killed me, that look of defeat on her face.

“Hell, she did great.”

“She talked.”

“Seems so.”

She traced a pattern in the wood’s grain. “Why to Rocky, and not us?”

“Don’t know.” I shoved another forkful into my mouth. Chewed. Shrugged. “But progress is progress.”

Moriah looked over her shoulder, then back to me, and whispered, “I want so badly to curl up next to her. Hold her in my arms. It’s killing me not to touch her.”

It was killing me not to pull that woman into my lap, kiss those fucking freckles, hell, kiss every inch until her troubles were forgotten. “She’ll come around.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

She looked so torn, so lost, and she stared at me like I had the answers to life’s problems. I didn’t have answers. I didn’t have a fucking clue.

And because I hated being so helpless in the situation, and there was nothing I hated more than being helpless, I lashed out at the underserving woman. “I look like a God damn shrink?” I whisper growled. “What the fuck do I know?”

That pretty face reddened, eyes narrowed, shooting daggers straight through me. I half-expected a slap across the face. Hell, I hoped for a cold-cock, just so I could feel something other than useless.

She dropped her gaze to the table, shook her head, then swiped underneath her eyes.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, shoving a roll between my lips.

The door was little more than five strides from the table. I could go. Just get up. Walk out. Never come back. I had zero responsibility in the situation. No ties to the strangers sharing my space. Stand. Walk. Disappear.

Hell, I was halfway gone, until her voice broke my musings.

“Don’t worry about it.” Moriah dropped her feet to the floor and leaned closer. Then she grabbed my fork and dragged the tines through my mashed potatoes before stabbing a slab of roast and shoving the damn thing into her mouth. She chewed. Swallowed. Handed my utensil back, then shrugged. “It’s obvious you care about her as much as I do, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Neither one of us expected to be in this situation. I’ve never been around kids. You have kids?” she asked.

I shook my head no.

“So, we are the least qualified people to take care of that little angel.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, gesturing toward Mim. “I’ve considered slipping away in the night at least fifty times since I’ve met her. I mean, seriously, what do I know about raising a child?”

Huh. Hadn’t expected that reaction.

Moriah picked at her nails. I finished my dinner.

When I mopped up the last of the scraps on my plate, Moriah grabbed my dirty dishes and headed to the sink. She returned with two beers, slapped one into my palm, then made herself comfortable on the couch.

I kicked off my boots and settled on the bed, back against the headboard, legs stretched in front of me. Mim wasted no time burrowing into to my side.

“When do you have to go back?”

Moriah shot a glance my way, then settled those weary eyes on Mim. “One week.”

Silence fell like a wet wool blanket, suffocating us in the heavy, scratchy truth. Seven days was not enough time. Mim would not be ready by then.

Little One and I zoned out to the big screen while Moriah seemed content watching the two of us. I didn’t mind her staring so much.

Before long, Mim was asleep at my side, and Moriah snored on the couch, her legs tucked to her chest, her head at an awkward angle on the armrest. I should’ve carried Mim to her room, but then I’d risk waking the little thing, and then I wouldn’t have reason to keep Moriah in my sights. So, I lay quiet and still, and wondered if the pressure in my chest would ever abate.

# # #

Dawn stretched hazy rays through the open window. A heavy weight blanketed my chest. I lifted my chin, wincing through the pain in my neck, to find two legs draped over me, dead weight. Mim, out cold, arms spread across the mattress, hair everywhere, drool wetting her cheek and blanket under her head.

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