CHAPTER 3
LIAM
I rode at night to avoid people following me. I slept during the day and made it home in seventy-two hours.
Home.
What a strange word. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in a hotel. They’re easy, peaceful with top notch security. I never have to leave if I don’t want to. I have someone that does my grocery shopping and laundry. When something breaks, someone's there to fix it and my guests are screened.
The weather is colder than I remember. I hope my maid packed me the appropriate clothes. Sam is having a new suit sent to my hotel. She wanted to come with me for moral support, but I declined. I don’t need her. I don’t want her here. Just in and out I told her. Except I left a few days earlier than scheduled because I need time to see her.
Even if it’s just to look at her from across the street, I need the extra time to remind myself why I gave up college and her dreams to spend countless days in a cramped studio and sleepless nights traveling in a bus across the country. I need the vision of her to drive the point home that I made the right decision for me, regardless of how much I hurt her.
I need to know if she’s moved on, I hope that she has. How many kids does she have and what does her husband do for a living? I only hope he treats her better than I ever did because she deserves it and so much more.
Pulling into the Holiday Inn just outside of Beaumont, I shut off my bike before the manager comes out to tell me I’m disturbing the peace. With the kickstand down and my helmet off, I slip on a pair of fake eyeglasses and pull a baseball cap down low. I know word will spread once I step foot into Beaumont, but for a few days I’d like to be anonymous. I slide my arms into my weather proof guitar case and unhook my bag from the back of my bike.
The walk to the lobby is painstakingly long. This hotel isn’t far off the highway and the noise is very present. This is most unassuming hotel and one people wouldn’t think to look for me. I remember when I told Sam to book my room here I thought I killed her with just the words of a three star Notel Motel. Yet here I am walking into a commoner lobby with the TV blaring and stale coffee sitting in the pot next to this morning’s donuts.
“How can I help you?” The clerk is speaking even before I’m in the door. Her voice is high-pitched and annoying; a sharp and painful reminder of nails across the blackboard. Her hair is pulled back so tight that her face has no option but to smile. Her lips are painted Hollywood red. I want to hand her a Kleenex and tell her that guys in Hollywood really don’t go for the whole lipstick thing because it’s evidence.
But I don’t. I don’t say hi or even smile at her. I just want to get to my room and maybe sleep a little. “I need to check in,” I tell her. I hand her my driver’s license and wait. My fingers start tapping on the counter as she types my name into the computer. Each time she looks up at me and smiles, I want to step back. Someone ought to tell her that she wears too much make-up and if she pulls her hair any tighter she’ll be bald.
“Is Mr. Westbury your dad? He’s the professor for my poli-sci class,” she asks with a hopeful gleam in her eye. I shake my head no even though the answer is probably yes. I wouldn’t know since he hasn’t spoken to me since I dropped out of college.
“Oh, well that’s too bad. He’s a really great professor.”
“Lucky you,” I say. Her face deadpans at my lack of enthusiasm.
“If there's anything I can do for you just let me know,” she says back in her high-pitched annoying and very childish voice. She sets the keycards down on the counter and asks me to fill out the car registration slip. I write down only the pertinent information, avoiding the make and model of my bike. They don’t need to know.
I pick up the key cards and head to the elevator. When I step in, I look at the card and sigh. I’m on the sixth floor, the highest one they have, but not high enough for me. This will have to do and it’s only short term. I’m just here to say goodbye to Mason and stare at her for a bit before returning to my life.
The hallway reeks. That is the first thing I notice when I step out of the elevator. That and the ugly ass carpet lining the halls. I despise the smell of stale smoke. I push into my room, dropping my bag onto one of the double beds. I walk over to the sliding glass door, throw open the thick dark curtains and stare out at the lights of Beaumont. I flick the latch and open the door, stepping out into the chilled air.
The sound of breaking glass causes me to look left. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t because just off in the distance is the water tower Mason and I, along with a few others, used to climb after our games. We’d take a case of beer up there, leave the girls down at the bottom and see who could hit the bed of my truck with their empty bottles.
“Looks like someone is carrying on our tradition,” I say to no one.
“Mase, come down here. I’m lonely,” Katelyn yells up at him.
The laughter between us and the girls is just enough to keep a constant flow of noise in the air.
“I love you baby,” Mason yells through cupped hands.
“I’m going to marry that girl and make beautiful babies with her.” We start laughing, but I know it’s true. Katelyn walks on water where Mason is concerned. I know the feeling. I look down and see the silhouette of my girl standing by my truck, my letterman jacket making me jealous because it’s wrapped around her. But this is tradition.
“I know man,” I say, patting him on the back.
“Double wedding,” he shouts as I spew my beer out into the open air.
“Dude, you’re a dude. You aren’t supposed to talking about weddin’s and shit.” Jerad says before chugging his beer.
Mason shrugs. “When you love someone, you just know.”
Nothing is the same and everything could’ve been just like it was planned out. Mason’s not supposed to be gone. If anything, it should be me. I screwed up the plan.
I step back into the room, closing the door and pulling the curtains closed. When I look at the bed, it’s mocking me, telling me I’m uninvited. It doesn’t want me as much as I don’t want it.
I can’t stay here. This room is going to suffocate me. I get rid of my disguise and grab my jacket and helmet. Maybe riding will clear my head, but then again, maybe not. The last time I went on an unplanned road trip I made a life-altering decision.
The red exit sign above the staircase is more inviting than the elevator. I slam my shoulder into the door and rush down the stairs, sliding down the railing just like I did when I was younger, something I haven’t done in a long time.
My helmet is on before I reach the lobby. The last thing I want is the receptionist tart getting any ideas about who I am. My luck, she’d let herself into my room, lie on the bug infested bedspread and wait for me to claim her.
I’ll pass.
“Do you need a wake-up call?” she asks as I rush through the lobby. Is she serious? I pull out my phone and look at the time, it’s after midnight.
I shake my head. “I’m good,” I say as I throw open the door and head for my bike.
There is nothing like the roar of an engine. The vibration alone comforts me. I spin the throttle before kicking my bike into gear and tear out of the parking lot. I can feel her watching me, I’d bet anything she’s licking her lips with excitement.
With no destination in mind I stick to the back roads. The less traffic the better. Just me and the road and the looming sun threatening to rears its ugly head for yet another day of bullshit.
I’m shocked when I hit the Beaumont line. Well, not really. I’ve been thinking about this town non-stop since I learned about Mason. The town is quiet, wrought iron lights lighting the path through the streets.
Nothing has changed.
I slow down as I make my way through town. Turn left, turn right and end up on the street I grew up on. When I stop in front of my childhood home, one light on outside and one on inside, I know my dad’s awake.
Nothing has changed.
The two-story white house with the red door is the same. No cars in the driveway, lawn manicured to perfection. My room is dark and I wonder what they did with it. Are my pictures still lining the hallway or did those come down when I betrayed them in the worse way? What will they say when their defiant son knocks on the door and wants to stay for dinner?
I drive two blocks down and one over and stop in front of the Preston house. I’m not a fool to think she still lives here, but I know she wouldn’t miss this unless she and Katelyn are no longer friends.
The porch light flips on and the door opens. Mr. Preston, the man who was to be my father-in-law, steps out onto the porch. I know he can’t see me through my darkened helmet, but maybe he’s wondering.
He stands there and stares at me and I at him. He’s aged, just like I’m assuming my father has. He steps down onto the grass and that’s my cue to go. I hit the throttle and take off down the street, leaving Mr. Preston in his yard wondering.