I saw the lights through the bar windows in the distance, and my pace quickened. Erich was outside—a lucky break that I’d found him after he’d disappeared all night. The group he was with was gathered, smoking on the front steps. I arrived just as they were snuffing out their cigarettes, about to head back in for more gambling at the pool table. I stopped to watch, knowing I didn’t want them to see me.
I needed to get Erich’s attention.
As they turned toward the door, I crossed the lot. “Erich.”
It barely came out—a broken whisper.
He turned.
The others didn’t notice me, but he did. Even in the dim light, I saw it—shock, then something darker. I couldn’t tell if it was my appearance or the fact I’d come to him at all.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “What the fuck did you do to yourself? Where did you go?”
I didn’t know if he was angry.
I couldn’t handle it if he was.
I broke. Tears came hard as I raised my bloodied hands to my face, smearing it worse. “He’s dead,” I sobbed. “What if they think I killed him?”
The way I said that would have been comical without the trauma of seeing Thomas’s intestines in the branches of the tree, but it wasn’t the time to point out the irony and hilarity in that. I knew the gravity of it in my impaired state.
“What?” His voice dropped. “Who’s dead?”
I sniffled, stumbling up against the wall. The wall was much closer than I originally thought, and I almost fell flat on my bottom. Erich came closer, his firm hand gripped me by the arm to hold me up. He smelled like Jim Beam and cigarette smoke, the faint smell I could only put my finger on as belonging to him covered by it. The same outdoorsy smell I caught when we first met.
It was a brief salvation from my panic and guilt.
“I met this guy,” I choked, trying to wipe my eyes before stopping at the sight of my hands. “We were going back… to the room… he was driving…”
Erich pulled me in.
My face pressed into his shoulder, stinging as it did. His hand settled at the small of my back, steadying me.
The first time he’d ever held me.
“Where did it happen?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “We hit a tree. No one was around… just down the road.” I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. My blood soaked into his jacket, but he didn’t react.
“What am I going to do?” I whispered.
His hand moved to my hair, smoothing it down. “I’ll figure something out,” he said. “But you need to be sure—no one saw you. You have to tell me you were the only one there.”
I stayed quiet, focusing on where his hands rested—and how wrong it was to feel so complete, so aware of his touch. What was wrong with me? Moments earlier, I had watched a man I fully intended to sleep with get thrown through a windshield, and now, wrapped in Erich’s arms, none of it seemed to matter.
“I don’t think anyone saw us leave,” I murmured, calmed by the steady rhythm of his hand in my hair and the warmth of the other against my back. “His friends left hours ago.”
Erich was already working through a plan, even as he absently played with my hair—smoothing it, threading his fingers through it. I leaned into it despite everything. It felt… safe. Like the way I imagined small children felt when their mothers tucked them in at night.
He pulled away, some idea forming. Using the sleeve of his jacket, he gently wiped the smeared blood from my face.
“Let’s get in the car,” he said softly. “We can come in through the back entrance at the motel—avoid the front desk. But we’ll have to make sure no one sees you like this.”
I nodded. In the moonlight, his hair shone almost silver. I had the sudden urge to run my fingers through it, the way he had just done to mine.
He slipped off his jacket—revealing the black T-shirt I’d found for him at the same thrift store where I bought my MassArt sweater—and draped it over my shoulders. A full-circle moment. I’d still be going back to the motel in a man’s jacket—just not the one I’d planned.
It was still warm from him. The same faint scent clung to it, and a delayed shiver ran through me as my body remembered the cold.
