Page 39 of Truck Stop Tempest

“Grim? What the hell kind of nickname is that?”

“Seriously?” Slade pointed to the window. I looked, catching my reflection. Black sweatshirt. Black hood covering my head. Scary fuckin’ mug. Okay, Grim made sense. The only thing missing was a scythe.

“You could at least take that cloak off when you sit down to eat. You scare my customers.”

I looked around the busy dining room. Not a single soul was looking my way. One fucker, seated two tables over, was mentally undressing Slade, though. Couldn’t blame him, the girl was every man’s wet dream come to life. Regardless, I rapped my knuckles on the table to catch his attention. One look was all it took. The guy blanched, turned in his seat, then pretended to be busy with his cell.

My stomach chose that moment to grumble. I wasn’t wholly convinced it was from hunger, though. “You gonna take my breakfast order or what?”

“No.” She smiled.

I wanted to scream or throw the sugar jar through the window. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to drive by Tuuli’s house and make sure she’s okay. It was strange the way she ran out of here yesterday.”

My rage turned to worry. “What do you mean?”

“She was fine when she clocked-in, then out of the blue, she tells Charlie she has the flu. Trust me, that girl did not have the flu. Take it from a mom who’s experienced the horrors firsthand.”

Fuck. Even if I wanted to argue, I couldn’t, because my gut told me something was up.

I took a sip of my coffee, set down the mug, then leaned over the table and kissed Slade on her forehead. “Fine. I’ll check on her.”

“Good boy,” Slade said, flashing her famous smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, making my way to the exit.

Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the door of Tuuli’s house. I pushed the doorbell button. Waited. Pushed it again. I slipped my hood off my head, then pounded on the door. I tried to look in the windows, but the curtains were all drawn. “Can I help you?” a frail voice said from behind me. I turned to find a small woman wearing gardening gloves, rubber shoes, and a green flannel jacket. White hair popped out from under her wide-brimmed hat. Tuuli had never mentioned a grandmother.

“Hey. Hi. …I…Um…I’m looking for Tuuli.”

“Tuuli?” she asked, brushing a clump of mud off her left knee.

“Yeah. She, um, didn’t show up for work today. Thought I’d come by to make sure she was okay.”

“There’s no Tuuli here, son.”

I rubbed at the pain gripping the back of my neck. My insides twisted something fierce. “You mean she’s not home?”

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong house.” The woman’s concerned expression held no similarities to my bunny.

“I don’t understand. I drop her off here every night after work.”

The woman looked over her shoulder at my Mustang. “I recognize the car. Thought it was odd you’d drop off a young girl then drive away.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still confused. She gave me this address. Told me she lives here.”

“No.” The woman raised her arm and pointed east. “She always walks that way after you leave. Sorry I can’t be more help.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, holding back a chorus of profanities and jogging down the porch steps.

The woman offered a sympathetic grin as I passed, her gaze darting from my eyes to my scar, and back again. She still watched as I opened my door.

“Have a nice day,” I said before dropping back into my seat.

Could I be any more of a fucking chump?

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I yelled, pounding my steering wheel.

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