“Swear it to me, Rowe.”
I don’t hesitate. “I swear.”
“Okay. I can’t see that man again. If you’re going to talk to him, I don’t want to be close enough that I can hear his voice.”
“I’m not talking to him. His horse isn’t coming back here. There’s no reason to waste my time.”
“You’ll still help him, right? The rest of them too?”
The desperation in her voice ruins me. In a blink, I’m a sixteen-year-old boy again. I’ve got Diesel saddled up beneath me as we run down the edge of the highway to the campground, a bag of my mom’s pumpkin muffins tucked between my legs, and the knowledge that she was in her room crying over some asshole with a lifted single cab. They were her favourite, and fuck—the only kind I ever told my mom to make.
I’ve always hated the taste of pumpkin, but Tilly’s had an obsession with it since she was nine.
“He’s already starting to see Painted Sky as home. I’m not taking him anywhere else,” I say.
She nods, letting her breath out. “Okay.”
“Let’s go. I’ve got to make a couple of calls.”
There’s no fight left in her right now. The comedown from the hurricane of emotions she was just overcome with has left her silent and uncharacteristically accepting of help. It’s as rare as it is worrying. My protective instincts are going haywire with the need to get her away from this place.
She lets me take her hand as we leave the stable, following our earlier path through the dead grass. I try to focus on anything but the feeling of her fingers pressed to mine. They’re so small and soft, yet calloused on the undersides the same way mine are. I could squeeze too hard and break them. My grip loosens slightly.
On high alert, I move Tilly in front of me, guarding her with my body as we pass the house. She doesn’t argue, and my chesttightens at her lack of fiery words. Under normal circumstances, she’d be spouting off about not needing my protection.
I open the door for her and release her hand, using my palm to tap her back instead. “Get in.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” she snaps weakly.
I’m a glutton for punishment. My mouth twists at the corner.
Once she’s inside, I close the door and look back at the house. The porch is empty, Walt nowhere to be found. I don’t linger, knowing better than to trust myself right now.
It’s only when I’ve started the truck and take a last look past Tilly to the house that he comes rushing outside. His lips form words that I don’t give enough of a shit about to try and understand. I put the truck in Drive and press the gas pedal so hard the tires nearly spin on the gravel road.
What a sight it would have been to see a rock hit him in the head.
The motel’s shit.
It’s a two-level building with rusting metal staircases and a front desk worker who didn’t know how to listen when I asked for a room with two beds.
I hold our bags in my hands, hesitating to drop them anywhere out of fear we’ll go back home with bed bugs. The single double bed in the centre of the room is dressed in brown florals that match the carpet and armchair beneath the window. I eye the long dresser across from the bed and the lack of TV atop it. There’s no artwork on the walls, only peeling paint and something that looks a lot like a burn mark from a cigarette.
“You’re checking the bed. I dibs out.”
I tighten my hold on our bags. “What are you, twelve?”
Tilly walks inside the room ahead of me and dips her head into the bathroom, flicking the light on. With her face hidden, all I have to go off is the groan that comes a beat later.
“I’ve seen bed bugs once, and I couldn’t sleep comfortably for a week afterward. If they’re here, I don’t want to see them,” she explains, pulling away from the bathroom. “It’s just as bad in here, in case you were curious.”
“We can go back to Painted Sky tonight, and I’ll come up tomorrow to get the horses.”
She shakes her head and peels open the thin brown curtains, looking out at the parking lot. “Not a chance. We’re already here. I get why you wanted to take a breather, so just make your calls. I’ll order food.”
I let it go. Making the three-hour drive an extra time isn’t appealing to me. Not when I’m already fucking exhausted from this shitshow day.
Tilly stays at the window, and I shift both bags into one hand and rip the sheets back on the bed to check the mattress. It’s free of tiny black bugs, so I put our shit down. She doesn’t look back at me once, either distracted by something or ignoring me. I don’t spend time thinking which one it is before pulling my phone out and exiting the room.
