Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Stud owns a hot rod shop and the man seriously loves a custom build. This time was no different for him, but for us, if we get pulled and the cops see what we have going on, there could be questions.
Questions I don’t want to answer.
As the miles pass on in the cab of this truck, I feel restless. Ever since Cambria and I connected.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her. The sound of her voice. The way she said “I don’t know” like it was the first time she’d admitted weakness in years. The moment I saw her crouched on the asphalt, picking up nickels like they were gold coins. There was something there—something raw. Real.
It stuck with me and I can’t shake it.
We pull off at the dusty little motel on the edge of a nothing town. One gas station. One diner. A boarded-up church. And the kind of motel that’s seen more crime scenes than honeymoons. The motel that is her home.
Toon mutters, “meet is seven am, let’s shower, crash, and roll out as soon as we finish with the Saint’s. Or you gonna be tied up with the hot piece.”
I want to punch him, my best friend, for calling her a hot piece. “One night. Then we roll. What I do during that night isn’t your business.”
The lady at the front desk doesn’t even look up from her soap opera as she slides us a room key.
Room 6. Two beds. Smells like mildew and regret.
We toss our gear inside and step out to smoke. The air is cooler now, the kind of stillness that comes just before the sky splits open with summer rain. I light a cigarette and lean against the railing, watching the parking lot.
And that’s when I see her.
At first, I think I’m imagining things. I thought she would be at work. Instead she’s in front of me like an angel calling me to Heaven.
She’s bent over near the vending machines, picking something up off the pavement—change, maybe. Her hoodie’s too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her jeans are torn at the knees. And even from a distance, I can tell she hasn’t eaten right in days.
It’s her.
Cambria.
I don’t know what the hell made me look out at that exact second. Maybe fate. Maybe dumb luck. But once I see her, I can’t look away.
“Yo,” Toon says, nudging me. “You can’t eat her up from this far away.”
I let out a half-hearted laugh.
He follows my gaze again. “You know her?”
“Kind of.”
He gives me a look. “That means either you screwed her, or you want to.”
I smirk. “Neither. Yet.”
He laughs and walks off, giving me the space.
I flick the cigarette, grab the room key, and head down the stairs. She doesn’t notice me until I’m right beside her.
“You always dig through parking lots, or is this just a Tuesday thing?” I ask.
She startles, straightens fast, her face pale under the motel’s yellow light.
“You,” she says. “You’re here.”
“Me. And I’m here.”
She glances around nervously then back at me. She looks like she wants to run. Or maybe cry. Or maybe both.
“You always show up when I’m at my worst?”
I tilt my head. “What if this is your best?”
She snorts, the sound bitter. “Then that’s real fucking sad.”
“Thought you had to work.”
She shakes her head, “Gary sent me home as soon as I got there. Said it was slow and he needed to cut the payroll.”
“Been on the road all damn day. Need to clean up.”
She gives me a soft smile and before we can talk more, a woman opens the door from her room and begins yelling her name.
The woman is clearly strung out and struggling.
“I’m sorry, Drew, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
Later that night, I can’t sleep. I don’t know if it’s anticipating her call, wanting her to call, or just generalized worry for her after seeing her mother’s state.
Toon’s out like a light, snoring on the bed closest to the door, one boot still on and a half-empty beer bottle on the nightstand. I lie flat on my back, staring at the water-stained ceiling, my mind stuck on one thing: Cambria.
There’s something about her I can’t shake. Not just the way she looks at me like I am a lifeline—but the way I see myself in her. Same grit. Same hunger. Same sense that the world has screwed her over more times than she could count, and she is still standing anyway.
I roll over and grab my phone. I scroll. Her number isn’t saved, but I know it’s there. Still sitting in my recent calls. I hit dial.
It rings three times before she picks up. Her voice is groggy. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
There’s a pause. “Drew?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. Then, “You always call people in the middle of the night?”
“Only the ones I’m thinking about.”
She snorts softly. “That’s a line.”