“I need your help. Write down this number for me,” Rowan says, handing Griffin his phone.
“Shit, is there something to write with anywhere?” Griffin says, scrambling to find something to write with.
“Check the glove compartment,” I say, nodding to Mirabelle.
“Glove compartment?” She asks, blinking at me in confusion.
Damn. Sometimes I forget the fact she was raised in a fucking facility. Of course she wouldn’t know what a glove compartment is.
“It’s that compartment in front of you, there should be a latch under the dashboard,” I say, pointing to it.
I manage to keep my voice surprisingly even. Good. She shouldn’t have to feel bad for not knowing something. Hell, I didn’t know how to turn this fucking car on until Griffin mentioned the button to start it up.
She nods dutifully, reaching for the glove compartment and digging around.
“Found something!” She says, pulling out a ballpoint pen with some logo on it and an old receipt. “Here you go!”
“Thanks, Sweetheart,” Griffin says. He scrawls something on the piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Looks like a phone number,” Griffin says.
“The doc’s. We’ll need it,” Rowan says, before rolling down the window and chucking the phone out.
“Whoa, man! What the hell was that for?” Griffin tugs the kid back down.
“He’s smart,” I nod. “Wouldn’t want to be tracked. And he’s the most traceable. Pretty sure the world wrote the rest of us off as lost causes.”
“Oh, I’m sure the world probably thinks of me that way too,” Rowan says, letting out a bitter huff of laughter. “But you’re right. The police are going to find my brother’s dead body there. If I were them, I’d look for any remaining family or whatever.”
“We should ditch the car too, then,” I add. “Since it’s under his name and shit.”
A bright neon sign catches my eye.Sleep E-Z Lodge.
“Found where we’re staying for the night,” I say, turning into their lot.
It’s a run down place with an ugly orange-looking paint that’s peeling. Not sure whether it looks orange because it is orange or because the fluorescent lights are so old they’re casting everything in an orangish glow.
“Any complaints?”
“This looks perfect,” Griffin nods.
“We’ve just got a little problem,” I huff under my breath.
“Problem?” Mirabelle asks, her eyes wide as she looks around the place.
It looks like she’s soaking everything in like she’s never seen anything like it before. Probably because she never has.
“The only one of us wearing any actual clothes has a hole in his leg,” I say.
The rest of us, including Mirabelle, aren’t dressed to book us an actual room.
Well, I guess Mirabelle could try. They’d probably think she’s some sort of prostitute, considering the thin robe and lingerie she’s wearing.
The thought of Mirabelle going out without any of us there to protect her, probably for some sleazy man at the counter to ogle her has a growl rising in my chest.
I meet Griffin’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and he seems to follow my train of thought.
