“You’re just going to run away? Without hearing me out?”
I stop short, turning to face him. “You lied to me!” I shout, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Not only did you rob my family and hurt my father, but you lied about it. You let me trust you.” I hate my voice for cracking on the last sentence. “You made a fool of me.”
Sebastian’s hand finds the back of my head, gripping a handful of wet hair. He pulls me close, drops of rain hanging off his thick, black lashes making his green eyes look almost supernatural. The rain streaks down his face, hugging the hollows of his cheeks and sharp line of his jaw. Even soaking wet, he’s disturbingly beautiful. “I didn’t fucking do it, Evan,” he grits out. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”
I search his eyes for any sign of deception, finding none. And that’s the problem. I have no way to tell if he’s being honest, but how can I look at the evidence in front of me and believe him? I shake my head, peeling his hand from my hair, and turn away from him, walking in the direction of the hotel. I feel something warm land against my shoulders and realize Sebastian’s put his leather jacket over me. I don’t want to accept it, but the warmth it provides has me swallowing my pride, slipping my arms inside. The rest of the walk is spent in silence—the only sound is the rain hitting the asphalt.
Finally, we come up to a rusted, peeling, teal sign that reads Mystic Motel with a flashing vacancy sign underneath. I deflate at the dilapidated appearance, but anything is better than being out in the pouring rain. Sebastian walks ahead, opening the door. A lady with red hair and blue eye shadow greets us from behind the counter, peering at us over her reading glasses.
“Oh my,” she remarks, taking in our soaked appearance. She immediately starts tapping away on her computer. “Let’s get you a room,” she says before we even speak. “Earl! Grab some towels,” she tosses over her shoulder. An old man wearing a tan and red flannel and a baseball hat slowly makes his way out, tipping his head to us in greeting as he passes by.
“How many nights?” she asks.
“Just the one.” Sebastian’s tone is clipped.
“Our truck broke down about a mile back,” I explain, and she flashes me a sympathetic look.
“It’ll be eighty-eight sixty-four,” she informs us. “I’ll just need identification and a credit card.”
Sebastian digs out his wallet from his wet back pocket, shaking it off before opening it and handing them over. Earl comes back around, handing us both a towel. I thank him, wrapping the towel around me while Sebastian opts for running it through his inky, wet hair.
“Room sixteen. Out the door and to your right,” she explains, sliding a key across the counter—and I mean a real key—not a plastic card. This place is old school. “We have breakfast from six to nine right over there,” she says, pointing to a set of double doors.
“Thanks,” I say, snatching the key off the counter. I head for the door, Sebastian prowling after me. When I find our room, I put the key into the doorknob and twist, pushing the door open to reveal a small room with carpet that matches the sign outside, walls made of wood paneling, a dresser with an ancient television, and…one bed.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say, walking through the musty room, heading straight for the bathroom. I stop short when I remember I don’t have any clothes to change into.
Sebastian closes the door behind him, smirking at me like he knows what just occurred to me. Bending over to the heating unit next to the door, he turns the dial then peels off his wet shirt, placing it on top of the vent to dry. “Give me your clothes,” he says, his voice taunting. He thinks I’ll say no. His eyes dare me to do the opposite.
Looking him dead in the eye, I hold my chin high and walk toward him. He crosses his arms, giving me an impassive stare. Coming to a stop in front of him, I shrug his jacket off, dropping it at my feet. I curl my fingers around the hem of my wet gray T-shirt next, pulling it over my head. My nipples strain against the thin fabric of my bra and his
jaw ticks, but he still says nothing. I kick off my shoes and pop the button of my jeans next, peeling them off my legs. Goosebumps coat my skin, but my pride keeps me rooted to this spot.
Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra, letting it slide off my arms and fall to floor to join the rest of the pile. Sebastian’s nostrils flare, but his eyes don’t stray from mine. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my white thong before pushing it down my legs. Fully naked, I stand before him, my wet hair dripping water down my breasts and stomach. Then I turn around, swaying my hips as I walk to the bathroom without a backward glance.
I flip the lock, heart pounding. I catch my reflection in the mirror, trying to see what he sees, but all I see is a lost girl, stripped bare, literally and figuratively. No makeup, no clothes, nothing left to hide behind. I take a frustrated swipe at the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles on the sink, scooping them up, then step into the shower. I want so badly to take a steaming, hot bath, but there’s no way I’m lying down in this dingy tub. Twisting the faucet, I stand back, waiting for the water to get hot.
I lean against the cold tile wall, thinking back on Sebastian’s words. I want to believe him. If I don’t, that means everything has been a lie. Every single thing. Every single night spent in his bunk. How can I live with myself if I willingly fall for the man who’s responsible for my family’s downfall?
I slip under the stream of water and close my eyes, loving the way it burns my skin. I stand like this for long minutes before I finally cave and sit on the bathtub floor, resting my head on my knees, arms wrapped around my shins as the water pounds down onto my back. I suddenly feel tired. So fucking tired. Tired of pretending I don’t care when people fuck me over. Tired of acting like I don’t feel. Tired of this constant push and pull with Sebastian.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here when Sebastian pounds on the door. “Evan,” he shouts. I don’t answer. Less than a minute later, the door swings open and my head snaps up to see Sebastian standing there in only his boxers, concern painting his features. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he sees me.
“What are you doing?”
“You didn’t answer me.” He walks toward me, and I hug my knees tighter, my toes curling into the textured floor of the tub. Standing at the edge of the tub, we lock eyes, neither of us speaking. After a minute, he steps into the shower with me, not bothering to take his boxers off.
I stand, ready to step out, but he grabs my wrist. “Tell me you believe me.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re a liar,” he accuses. “I can see it in your eyes. You believe me, but you’re scared.”
“Scared of what?” I snap.
“Trusting me. But you wouldn’t be here if you thought for one second that I was there that night.”
“You’re capable of it,” I argue.