Page 8 of Hideaway Whirlwind
Even with the heat turned up as high as it will go in the room—which is to say, not very high—Teagan’s teeth chatter with the cold and her damp hair, dressed only in another pair of thin black leggings and an oversized black T-shirt. She mouths an apology and silently asks if she should take Kendall, but I shrug. Hesitantly, she nods, then digs through her garbage bag of clothes.
“Crap, I think I left my jacket at the apartment,” she says with goosebumps pricking her arms. She upends the bag, separating the kids’ clean clothes from hers, but only comes up with another of her T-shirts, a pair of ripped black jeans, and platform combat boots. It’s not enough.
I stand and step through the side door hangingoff its hinges, then return with one of my black and gray flannels. I hold it out to her without saying a word, strangely nervous about whether or not she’ll accept my offering.
“Are you sure?” she asks, chewing the skin on the edge of her thumbnail.
“It’s clean,” is all I say, leaving the flannel on the console and moving back to my chair, looking down at Kendall instead of Teagan. I’m all too aware, now, that I hadn’t thought to put on a shirt myself, since I run hot anywhere I go at my size, and wonder if I’m making anyone uncomfortable.
Damnit. I probably am with my belly hanging out. Old and fat, and most importantly,a strange man covered in some seriously dark tattoos from my collar to my wrists and ankles, holding her daughter on my knee. It looks bad. Abruptly, I stand and pass Kendall to Dustin, who is now explaining the differences between Motocross and Supercross and how badly he wants a dirt bike when he’s older.
Staring at the carpet, I go back to my room to pull on a white T-shirt, socks, and my running shoes. Swinging the motel key around on my finger after shoving my billfold in my pocket, I yell to Teagan over my shoulder, “Ice.” I squint in the early afternoon sun, which does nothing to battle the cold front that’s blown in across the lower half of the country. My breath produces visible clouds in the bitter cold air that I welcome as I make my way to the motel’s lobby for a bucket of ice.
The bored receptionist hasn’t once looked up from endlessly scrolling his phone, not even when I overpaid to book our rooms in cash so I wouldn’t have to use my card or ID, which would be used to track us if anyone is looking. When he tells me that the ice machine is broken, I make the best of it, sprinting to the closest convenience store. The four-and-a-half-mileround trip carrying the five-pound bag of ice plus more snacks isn’t easy, but at least it’s rejuvenating in a way, even if I am gasping for air when I make it back, beads of sweat running down my temples and neck.
After checking that my truck is still secured, back in the motel room, I continue staring at the carpet when I dump the snacks and bottles of apple juice for the kids on Teagan’s desk so I can fill one of the plastic grocery bags with ice for Sydney’s head and the other for Teagan’s foot. I linger at the adjoining door and grunt a goodnight when Teagan finally looks up at me with golden, amber eyes, then prop the door closed as much as I can, shedding everything but my sweatpants since I’m overheated.
The workout did the trick, and so even with the kids making a racket when they argue over who gets which candy, and the sun’s rays shine through the pitifully thin, bright orange drapes, I’m able to shut my eyes and rest for a few hours. I so fervently wish I didn’t have to sleep alone that my stomach aches, as if a little bird’s sharp, amber colored talons have carved out my desecrated insides.
Chapter 5
Teagan
Cuddling Kendall in bed with the covers pulled up to our necks, I press my nose into my shoulder. I still can’t place the laundry detergent scent on Elliott’s warm flannel, but once I do figure it out, I’ll be switching to it as soon as I get on my feet in Texas and we move out of Marigold’s place into our own.
It’s only been a few hours since Elliott fell asleep, yet he sits up within two seconds of the alarm chiming on his phone, which Sydney and Dustin are watching on my other side. If I lean over at just the right angle, I can see him cracking his neck from side to side, rolling his big, round shoulders that are twice the width of mine, then stretching his long arms high above his head. Bracing his hands on his knees, he stands and hikes his waistband up that had fallen dangerously low on his hips, then scratches his strong chest adorned with a huge three-headed hellhound tattoo.
For some reason, at his age, I hadn’t expected him to have tattoos, let alone that he would be covered so completely that he doesn’t have any blank skin other than his hands, feet, neck, and face. And the tattoos themselves…I shudder, thinking of the fractured skull with its jaw open wide in horror as a raven plucks one of its bloody eyes out with its beak on his back. Even though Elliott isn’tbadto look at, his powerful, intimidating size and blank expression screambad newsall on their own. Add to that, the tattoos screamwalking nightmare, and I worry what I’ve gotten my kids and myself into, traveling with and relying on a man like him.
It won’t be for long, though. At least there’s that.
Elliott snaps his dark blue gaze up suddenly, as if he can feel me watching and judging him, and I immediately look away, pretending one of the kids is trying to get my attention.
He pushes open the door to poke his head into my room, staring at the wall above my head with his brows pulled low. “Quick shower, then we gotta go.”
He’s gone before I can respond.
* * *
Four hours later, Elliott switches lanes to take an off-ramp. I lean in between the front seats and tap his arm. “Why are we getting off the highway?”
“Need to gas up and put something with more sustenance in their bellies.” He pauses with a grimace before mumbling, “Mine too.”
I slink back to sit on my heels. “Sorry.” The kids have torn through most of the food Elliott had stocked in his mini fridge and cabinet, leaving not much else for him and me.
“Don’t be,” he says with a tone as if he’s offended as he steers into a truck stop, the roof above the gas pumps tall enough to accommodate his truck. “They need it more than I do.”
I turn my head away, shame once again threatening to swallow me whole. If I were the kind of mother they need, I would have been able to keep our refrigerator and pantry full to the brim so they could eat as much as they wanted instead of having to be so, so careful with our food budget in Vegas.
“Teagan,” Elliott says after parking his truck and swiveling in his seat. It’s hard to meet his eyes. “Because they’re still growing and I’m not. That’s all I meant. Ok?”
I nod, though nothing about this isok.
Elliott squares his jaw and stares hard at me for a moment, then finally exits the truck, leaving me to my self-loathing in private. After filling the tank, Elliott backs the truck into one of the slanted parking spots between two parked, darkened rigs.
“Pretty impressive, backing this thing up without crashing into anything,” I say while unbuckling the kids and helping them to stand and stretch. The tips of Elliott’s ears turn red—flushing, I realize, with my compliment. So I decide to give him another when he helps me out of the cab by way of asking, “You work out a lot?” Yes, he has a belly he apparently isn’t fond of, but having been half naked at the motel, I’ve seen the evidence of his hard muscles beneath his thick, black and gray tattooed exterior.
Elliott grunts a confirmation, ducking his head shyly, the red bleeding across his cheeks above his beard.
