Page 90 of Broken Trails
In minutes, the rain thickens. Not a light drizzle, but sheets of it, hammering against the glass, and visibility goes to hell.
Zoe shifts in her seat. “Michael—”
“I know. I need to pull over. Can you check if there’s a servo or motel near here?”
Her fingers move fast. “There’s something two Ks up. Says it’s a roadhouse with fuel and a few rooms.”
“Good. Hold on.” I flick on the hazard lights and ease off the accelerator.
Without thinking, my hand drops to her thigh. Just meant to calm her, to steady her when the car jolts over a dip in the road—but the contact sends a jolt through me instead. Heat shoots up my arm, settling heavy in my chest. Her muscles tighten under my palm, and for a second, I wonder if I should pull away. But I don’t. I can’t. My grip stays firm, steady, like maybe I can ground us both through the storm outside and the storm inside me. The shitty tyres hiss against the wet asphalt as I guide the car off the main stretch, following the vague shape of the road through the blur. She’s gripping her seat now, knuckles pale, jaw tight as she stares straight ahead. I stay quiet and just keep driving.
The sign flickers through the greyness as we pull in. Driftwood Inn. The ‘D’, however, blinks twice before dying entirely, leaving riftwood Inn pulsing in pale yellow above the rain-slicked car park. I ease into a spot near the front, rain still slamming down hard enough to drown out every thought in my head. Zoe’s already unclipping her belt.
“This is it?” she asks, peering through the windshield, unimpressed.
“You got any other roadside spas you wanna recommend?”
She exhales through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite an agreement. We sit in silence for a second, both staring at the wall of water outside.
“On three?” I say.
She nods. “You count.”
“One… two…”
We both throw our doors open and make a run for it. The rain is cold and fast, slicing through my jumper and soaking my jeans in seconds. Zoe’s shrieking something behind me, but I can’t hear a thing over the downpour. We hit the entrance right as thunder splits the air. She bursts through the door, soaked to the bone and breathless, rainwater glinting off her skin. I haveno idea how she managed to sprint through a downpour like that in those heels—and I’m not asking.
Honestly? It’s hot as hell.
Inside, it’s dead quiet. Smells faintly of dust and something deep-fried a decade ago.
An old man sits behind the counter, newspaper stretched between his hands, glasses sliding low on his nose. Doesn’t even look up.
Zoe steps forward, wringing out the ends of her hair. “Hi. Do you have a room we can use? Just to freshen up, change clothes?”
“Overnight,” I add, swiping water off my face.
She turns to me, brows lifted. “We’re staying? It’ll pass. We’ll wait it out and then go.”
I nod toward the window behind us, where rain streaks in sheets across the glass. “Freckles, that’s not easing up in the next hour or two. Already checked the weather app. It’s gonna keep pissing down till morning.”
She crosses her arms. “Yeah, well, those apps are always wrong.”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I’m not taking my chances. Not in that car.”
Her eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they come back down again. She turns back to the man. “Fine. Two rooms, please.”
He peeks over his paper, gives us a look that says he’s two minutes from retirement and not paid enough to care, then slides a single key across the desk.
“Only one room.”
Zoe blinks rapidly. “You serious?”
His newspaper goes back up. I stare at the key for a second, then pick it up, hiding the grin already tugging at my mouth. This day’s been long as hell, and she’s been wound so tight since the second she stepped out of that office.
But right now? Watching her storm off with wet shoes and a muttered curse? I’ll admit it—I like the idea of being stuck in one room with her way more than I probably should. I follow, all sopping wet with a smug grin.
The room’s a shoebox. Which I expected for a place like this.
