Page 110 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

“I can drive if you want,” he offers. He turns back to face Kane and Jess. “Laine’s been going all day, so it’s probably my turn.”

“Nah.” Kane nods toward the parking lot. Or more accurately, to the horror movie motor inn on the opposite side of the freeway. “We’re stopping for the night. It’s been a big day, so we’re calling it. We’ll start early tomorrow, and if we get going before the sun, we’ll get to the coast by bedtime.”

“Ah…” Ang’s eyes flick from me to the windows. “Okay… The Cherry Drop Inn… Are you sure? The girls don’t want something a little fancier?”

“Girls are fine,” Kane answers for us.I know what he’s doing. I know what he’s going to do.“Jessie’s beat, so we’re getting takeout and crashing.”I hate him.“You can keep an eye on Laine, right?”

“Umm…”

I hate Kane Bishop. I hate him with my whole black heart,especiallywhen he pushes Jess out of the booth and stands to leave.

“Sure,” Ang hedges. “I got it. Where’s everyone sleeping?”

“I’m taking Jessie to our room at the Cherry Drop, then I’m locking the door until oh-five-hundred. I’d be more worried about Laine, but you’re here and I know you won’t leave her out in the cold.” He allows a long pause to sit heavily on our group. “Right?”

“Right.” Ang clears his throat. “I’ll keep an eye out. But, like…” He peeks at me, then back to Kane. “The girls bunking, or…?”

“Nope. I’m bunking with Jess.WithJess.OnJess.UnderJess.BehindJess.”

“Dude! Fuck.”

“InsideJess…”

Snickering, Jess winks when she catches my eye. “Baby, what do you wanna do? I promised I wouldn’t leave until you were ready. I can bunk with you if you want.”

I feel like the ugly step-child. The unwanted addition.

Jess wants to be with Kane. Kane definitely wants to be with Jess. And Angelo wants to run away.

“I’ll stay on my own, it’s cool.”

“Not staying on your own,” Kane huffs. He shoots a dangerous glare at Ang. “You manning up and taking care of the Twink? Or do I get them both?”

Jess elbows him in the ribs. “You’re laying it on thick, Bishop. Throttle it back.”

“What? I’m on vacation. I wanna spend time with my ‘vacation eyes’ girl. How’m I the bad guy here?”

“Forget it.” I push on Ang’s shoulder until he takes a hint and scoots out of the booth. Standing, I take my purse and keys and turn away. “I’m a big girl, and a year ago, none of you would be fighting over who has to babysit. I’m not suicidal anymore, so you can chill out.”

I walk toward the long counter not at all like Dolly’s truck stop. I’m not hungry, but in theory, Ishouldbe, so I’m going to order something oily and delicious, and I’m going to put some fat on my bones.

No need to eat healthy and workout; my three dozen cats won’t care what I look like.

“Can I get a piece of the fried chicken?” I glance over my shoulder and sigh when I find Kane and Ang practically wrestling in the booth. “And some fries. Lots of ketchup. Actually, gravy. Just pour the gravy in till I die of a heart attack.”

The lady behind the counter doesn’t care that I’m attempting suicide by fat consumption. She doesn’t think I’m funny, nor does she give a damn about the two large men fighting in her section twenty feet away. She doesn’t even notice my twin sister standing within kicking distance and lining her foot up.

She simply pops her gum and takes my cash, and five minutes later, delivers a styrofoam container filled to the brim with slopping gravy.

I don’t go back to my table, I don’t even wait for my friends. Instead, I walk outside and climb into the Buick, carefully setting my gravy dinner on the floor, lest it spill and I want to go on a rampage for ruining my seats. I start the car and pull onto the semi-busy freeway, before pulling into the parking lot of the shitty Cherry Drop Inn.

They can share, and I’ll hang out on my own.

The bell rings over my head when I walk into the air-conditioned office with my backpack and dinner. The office is straight out of the eighties, as in, nothing has been changed since then. The cat ornaments hold forty-year-old dust, and the box TV plays infomercials that I wonder if the Cherry Drop specifically recorded just to show on loop in here. I don’t understand what they’re going for. I don’t understand why they’re purposely forgetting that it’s the twenty first century, but whatever. I just want a bed. And privacy.

A long shower and lots of soap.

Fuck.

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