Page 3 of Speeding Hearts

Maybe it was the reality of seeing that dirt track. Maybe it was exhaustion from the drive. Or maybe it was the flip side of taking the biggest leap I’d ever taken in my whole damn life.

It’s not too late to go home.

That little voice in the back of my head was like a fly that had been buzzing around me the whole drive over.

But that fly was trying to keep me down. To play it safe. To forget about my dreams.

In my mind, Dean’s face flashed before me, grinning his wide grin as he folded his arms on the edge of a truck’s engine. He knew I’d jump at this job.

I shook off the thought that Dean’s face was the one that popped up when I thought of my dreams. He was my best friend—that was all. Besides, Dean wouldn’t be scared off by a seedy looking motel. Neither would I. I was a grown woman, goddamn it. I could do this. Besides, how bad could it be?

I’d stay one night. If it was really that bad, I’d look into getting a room somewhere else—even if that involved calling Dean for help.

* * *

Turns out,it was pretty bad. The lobby reeked of decades of cigarette smoke. The wood-paneled walls sagged, the ancient tweed sofa and chair looking as if they might collapse under the weight of an actual person, and the lone picture—a print of a forest that was so faded the trees were gray—hung askew. I had to bang the bell on the desk a half dozen times to get the guy to come out, and when he did, it looked like I’d awoken him from a deep sleep.

“I have a reservation,” I said when he stood there blinking at me. “Stella Archer.”

He didn’t even check the ledger in front of him—nor the computer, which looked to be from the 1990s and I’d hazard wasn’t even plugged in. He slapped a key on a plastic keyring on the counter with barely a word, not even blinking when somewhere above us there was a loud thud, as if someone had fallen off a bed, followed by yelling.

“Check-out’s noon,” he said.

“I’m staying here…” I cut myself off. Somehow, I didn’t want to utter the words, ‘I’m staying here for three months,’ lest I make them true. “Thanks,” I said instead.

When I opened the door of my room, it took me a minute for my eyes to adjust. It smelled even worse than the lobby. Like stale cigarettes mixed with something wet. Clothes left too long in a washer. But the bed was made, and there were functioning curtains. The big old TV on the peeling pressboard dresser worked when I turned it on. There was even cable.

I took a deep breath. This was fine. I could do this.

I spent the next hour unpacking my things and trying to make the place as homey as possible, while trying to ignore the yelling fight next door on the one side and the blaring television on the other. I had a shower in the yellow tub, vowing to get to the store tomorrow for some cleaning supplies.

By the time I sat down on the bed in my pajamas, it was only eight o’clock. I considered heading into town to get something to eat, but I was suddenly exhausted. Plus, I still had half a sandwich and a can of soda in the little cooler I’d packed for the drive.

It was Saturday, and I didn’t start work until Monday. All I needed to do now was chill out. I turned on the TV and wouldn’t you know it, an old racing movie was on TV. Another sign. I grinned, and then, even though I’d promised myself I’d give him space, I picked up the phone and texted Dean.

“I’m here,” I tapped in. “Start work on Monday. Maybe see you around :)”

Then I deleted the last part, ending on the work part. I leaned back on my pillow and didn’t think about another thing but sleep.

Chapter 2

Dean

For a long time,I thought the most awkward moment of my life happened was when I was eight years old. I didn’t latch the fitting room door closed properly when my mom took me to buy new jeans for back to school. While she was helping me pull on a particularly snug pair, she had bumped against it and it flung open, exposing me to the whole damn department store. My mom. Helping me. In my underwear.

Turns out, it might have been right now, when I got a text from a woman who inexplicably made my stomach feel like actual butterflies had taken up residence there… while considering how to break up once and for all with my high school sweetheart.

Who I wasn’t even together with.

What a fucking mess.

“Sorry about that,” I said, pressing the button on the side of the phone to lock it. But not before seeing what it said.

I’m here.

Stella Archer, the most… complex woman I’d ever met. My best friend.

The woman I thought I’d never see again when I’d first gotten the call from my mom.Your dad’s in the hospital. He needs help.

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