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BLAZE
I knew wishingfor no more surprises could be a bad omen, and I fully blamed myself when thick white flakes began falling on the road ahead. Despite traffic from the detour, we had made good time to Denver, with the weather staying gray and cold until we reached the city limits. That’s when flurries started, remaining periodic until we passed through Denver. Then the snow steadily intensified.
With the city at least an hour behind us now, the conditions had worsened enough to make me anxious as a passenger. I tried concealing my nerves, but Trisha was extremely perceptive.
“Are you okay?”
The friendly vibes we’d had from the start led me to tell her the honest truth.
“My parents died in a car crash.” Saying those words still twisted my heart, though the sharp pain had faded over time.
“Oh shit, fuck. I’m so sorry, Blaze.” Trisha took a hand off the wheel to reach for me, but stopped. She correctly sensed I needed to see her hands on the wheel more than a touch.
“I’m usually fine in cars,” I went on. “Since I wasn’t with them when it happened, most days I don’t think about it. But bad weather can make me anxious sometimes.”
“Like now,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“Would driving help you feel better?”
I looked through the windshield. My heart pounded as the visibility worsened.
“Let’s stop here,” Trisha said. “I know it’ll add time to our trip, but?—”
“Better safe than sorry,” I cut in. “Is there anywhere for us to stop?”
“I saw a sign for some lodging at the next exit.”
As Trisha exited the highway, we slowed to a crawl and headed for the soft pink glow the GPS said was a motel.
We found a parking spot, and even though the snow was so thick, we couldn’t see if there were lines. We grabbed our bags and headed inside, glancing at the TV as we walked to the desk. Unsurprisingly, a winter storm advisory was displayed, with details scrolling across the bottom.
I was relieved to see that the snow was supposed to stop soon after midnight and that road crews would have the roads cleared before morning, but we would definitely have to stay the night.
The desk clerk, a disinterested twenty-something, announced we had no rooms before Trisha or I could even speak.
“Not a single one?” Trisha’s shoulders sagged.
“Sorry.” Her tone lacked sincerity.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I pleaded.
She looked up. “There’s one, but the TV’s broken, and only the bathroom light works.”
“We don’t mind,” Trisha insisted. “We just need somewhere to stay until the storm passes.”
“I could get in trouble,” the clerk hesitated, “especially if you stumbled in the dark...”
“How much?” I interjected, noticing a hint of opportunism in her eyes. “Twice the room rate?”
“This isn’t the Hilton,” she retorted. “Eighty dollars isn’t enough for me to risk it.”
Biting back a sigh, I took out my wallet and laid out three hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “Will this work?”
“Blaze,” Trisha tugged at my arm. “That’s three hundred dollars! I can’t let you cover all that.”
Trisha wasn’t aware of a significant fact about the McCrae-Carideo-Gracen family: we were all exceedingly wealthy.
