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She slams her elbow back into my ribs as I lock her between the handlebars and my frame. Apparently, she’s unhappy. “Let me go, Tex! You’re insane! Someone is going to see this and call the cops. You know that, right?”
I ignore her pleas and rev the engine, tucking what I can of the white dress between us. “I’m surprised you picked something so… puffy. It’s not your style.”
This only angers her further. “Not my style? What do you know about my style, Brad Bently?” She knows I hate being called Brad. The name is after my father and that man didn’t deserve children named after him. Hell, he didn’t deserve a dog named after him. Though, Johnathan would’ve been a good fit. He and my father are adulterer assholes.
I lift my feet from the ground and take off down the paved path toward the highway. “It’s going to be a long ride if you question everything I say, little mama.”
She huffs. “You’re insane. What’s your plan here, anyway? You going to kidnap me and make me fall in love with you?”
I laugh. “You say it enough times, maybe it’ll come true.”
She shakes her head as I pick up speed. “What?” Wind blows through her blonde hair, sweeping it against my face. Maybe I’ve missed it there, maybe I haven’t. None of that matters because I didn’t kidnap Sierra to fall in love. Love is the furthest thing from my mind. Love is what people search for when they have nothing left to live for. Love is a poor man’s riches. I’m not a poor man.
“What? I’m not here to fall in love with you.” I quip the words, hoping they sound more convincing than they do. They satisfy her for the time being. Though she might be talking, I can’t hear her through the wind and thoughts rattling through my head.
I don’t want to scare her. I also don’t want her with‘the asshole.’Times are tough. Decisions are hard. I’ll have to think of a way to explain it later.
Amarillo, Texas to Rugged Mountain, Colorado is about a nine-hour drive. If I were alone, I’d shotgun the whole thing, like I did on my way here, but we’re only an hour past Albuquerque when Sierra starts complaining.
“I have to piss, I’m starving, and everything about this dress is hurting.” She’s hollering back in the wind as she speaks and her words are distorted, but I get the point. As hell bent as I am about getting back to my mountain, I’m not interested in getting pissed all over. I wouldn’t put it above her. I once watched as she relieved herself on a houseplant. Granted, the toilet was broken, and we’d been drinking seltzers for hours.
I laugh to myself at the memory. Nothing about Sierra makes sense with Johnathan. He’s rigid and over-calculated. She’s always been happier around people less…like him.The kind of people that’ll piss on a houseplant in a pinch.
“You sure you want to stop here? Doesn’t look like they have the best accommodations.” We’re somewhere outside the city in a dusty town where the brightest color is a blue post box that’s sitting crooked on the side of the road. The last gas station we drove by looked to be owned by extraterrestrials, given the spaceship flags flying out front. The motel a few yards away isn’t any different. There’s a green alien lit up on the roof. He’s waving, so …friendly.
“I don’t care where we are. I have to piss right now!”
Grinning, I pull down into the little motel that’s flashing neon. There’s nothing surrounding the place but arid desert hills and the dark flash of eyes in the night. I think it’s the free-range cattle, but I wouldn’t doubt a few coyotes were out there as well. Inside there’s a vending machine with snacks, and though the water stains and dim lighting don’t scream five star accommodations, surely their rooms have toilets. It’ll do for tonight.
“We’ll take one room.”
“One room?”Sierra steps forward, brandishing that high octane attitude that I used to love annoying me.
I glance back at her with a smile. “She’s a joker, my bride.” I grip her hand in mine and heat passes through my fingertips as my brain recalls what used to be. Back to when she needed me. Back to whenIwas the one she ran to when life was swallowing her up. I drop her hand as fast as I’d gripped it. I can’t go there.
Clearing my throat, I twist back toward the attendant at the desk. The man is older and wearing striped pajamas. A few strands of hair cover his bald head and his hand shakes as he takes my cash and gives me a key to the room. “You’re our only guests tonight. You can have the honeymoon suite.” He chuckles. “It’sout of this world.”When we don’t laugh, he starts to nod slightly. “You know, because of the aliens…out of this world.”
I glance back toward Sierra, waiting for her to respond, but she’s crossed her legs, and she’s bouncing in place as though she’s headed for that plant in the corner any second now.
“Thanks for your help. We’re looking forward to seeing the room.” I grab the key from the man’s hand, and we make our way down the outside corridor toward the honeymoon suite.
“I hope you know I’m only going along with this because we’re literally in the middle of nowhere, and I havenothing. No food, no money, no phone. I couldn’t even dial Johnathan if I wanted to. I don’t remember his number. So when we end up murdered in the shower tonight, it’s your fault.”
“I love that even in your murder fantasy, we’re in the shower together.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a movie, dumbass.Psycho.You know,” she makes a stabbing motion with her hand, “Alfred Hitchcock. You’re old enough to know that reference.”
I ignore her dig at my age and slide the key into the door before twisting the knob. When we were together a year and a half ago, age was a huge issue. I’m twenty years older than her and I couldn’t see past that.
What would a twenty-five-year-old woman want with a forty-five-year-old man? She had her whole life to make sense of yet, and I wasn’t in a place to make things better for her.
The motel door creaks open. Immediately we’re slapped in the face with a scent of mildew and cigarette smoke. I’m not sure how the driest place on Earth smells like mildew, but here we are.
Sierra runs toward the bathroom, and I stare at the mural of the moon and wide-eyed aliens. It’s not an awful painting if you’re into art painted by eight-year-olds. The colors are neon, and the shapes are wide and exaggerated. It reminds me of that starry night painting, minus the talent.
At the front of the room, a television from thirty years ago sits on the floor. I’m pretty sure it’s chained to the wall. I can’t figure what makes this the honeymoon suite aside from the large space and king-sized bed. Then again, maybe every room isn’t adorned with such delightful spaceship lampshades.
The toilet flushes and Sierra steps out, relief on her face. “The bathroom is bright green and there’s a vinyl shower curtain with aliens riding dinosaurs hanging up. Please tell me I fell and hit my head. Please tell me this isn’t my wedding night.”
