You don’t see bones, and those are the things that really matter.
Kind of that way with people too. It’s what’s inside that tells you everything you need to know about who a person truly is.
That house has a story behind it, and growing up, there was always a story being told. That it was haunted, that someone had been killed there, that there was a family of squatters living inside.
Nothing remotely close to the truth. It was abandoned after Dr. Jacobson lost his wife and then died of a broken heart.
It’s a sad story, but when they showed me the house, Dr. Jacobson’s son, Brent, told me to try and see all of the happiness that this house used to carry. To try and remember all of the laughter and the love that lived here before it became what it was later.
I’m not a sentimental kind of guy, but I was halfway sold when I heard that story, and the house itself did the rest.
I’m proud of all the work I’ve put in on it over the last couple of years.
“Can you please change it? I hate this song,” Snowflake mumbles from the passenger seat. Her voice is so low that I can hardly hear it over the sound of the radio and the heater.
Snorting, I reach for the dial.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She huffs before she speaks. “Obviously something since you’re… snorting like something’s funny.”
“You just seem like the kind of girl who wouldn’t like George Straight.”
“Just not my vibe. I was actually hoping to maybe turn it off so I could go over the list for the party? I just feel like I’m forgetting something.” She rubs her fingers along her temples and sighs heavily.
Maybe I’ve been too busy trying to get a rise out of her to see how stressed she is, but I can feel it right now.
And apparently, I now give a shit about how Emma feels because I suddenly feel a little guilty for adding more to her plate.
“Hey, we’ll get it figured out, alright? Don’t stress over it,” I say. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. This is both of our punishment, not just yours.”
I think that’s the first time either of us has admitted that we were both at fault, not solely placing blame on the other.
She glances toward me, her lip between her teeth, and nods. “Thank you. I’m just… I’m feeling a lot of pressure to make sure everything goes according to plan. My parents are already disappointed, and I just don’t want to let them down again. My dad is also still recovering from last year’s… antics.”
Damn, I didn’t realize this party was that important to her. I mean, yeah, the feud has always been a thing, but judging simply by the expression on her face, I can tell that this is more to her than just a party. More than just not having charges pressed or a criminal record.
“I understand. Trust me, I get it. Don’t worry, Snowflake.”
“Thank you.” Glancing down at her phone in her lap, she chews at her painted nail as her eyes scan the screen. “Shit. Can you call the hotel and let them know we might miss check-in by a little? I think this storm actually might be getting worse based on the radar. Roads could be more hazardous than anticipated.”
“Uh… what hotel?”
Emma’s head whips up, her blue eyes shooting to mine. “Uh, the hotel that you were supposed to book? The one I told you to book when we were at Town Hall.”
For a second, I rack my brain from the other day when we were together, and I’m coming up short. Fuck, I was exhausted that day, and quite frankly, the only thing I remember is Emma hovering over me, her plump pink lips just above mine after the ladder incident.
“Please,” she starts, exhaling a deep breath. “Please tell me you did not forget to book the hotel, Jackson.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, thank God. I was about t—” she says, but my words cut her off.
“Okay, I didn’t book it, but in my defense, I didn’t hear you even ask me to in the first place, so I technically didn’t forget.”
She groans next to me, and I feel her head hit the headrest of the old bench seat behind her. “This is a disaster. An absolute, complete freakin’ disaster.”
Keeping my eyes on the road, I tell her, “It’s okay. Surely, we’ll find something once we get into town. We’ll just wing it.”
I turn my wipers up. The snow is falling more heavily, and it’s dark now, making it nearly impossible to see the road in front of me. The further we get from town, the worse the roads will be since they won’t have been cleared or salted.
We’ve been on the road now for thirty minutes, and I knew that if it came down to it, my truck would be safer. Sturdier.
Harder to dent.
But what I wasn’t accounting for was how quickly the weather would decline.
“God, wing it? In the middle of a snowstorm? That’s if we even make it there!” she cries. “Look how hard it’s snowing, Jackson. The roads aren’t going to be safe much longer. The only place between here and town is the old motel off of Highway 55, so if we miss it, then there’s nothing for another thirty miles. This is exactly why I had a plan, why you can’t just ‘wing it.’ Why can’t you take my plans more seriously?”
Shit, she’s right—there’s nothing for miles after we pass there. Lord fucking knows I don’t want to get caught out here in this cold. And even if we somehow made it to the city, it would take forever, and the roads would be just as bad there. And who knows if we could even find a place to stay?
“Looks like we’re stopping at the motel for the night, then, Snowflake.”
A heavy sigh leaves her lips as she glances back down at her phone in her lap. “My battery is almost dead, and of course this truck is so old it doesn’t even have a place to charge it. God, if you would’ve been less caveman-y and more logical, we could’ve taken my car and not had to worry about whether or not we’re going to freeze to death overnight in the middle of a freaking blizzard, Jackson!”
From a snowstorm to a blizzard. Got it.
I let her get all her frustration out because it was clearly simmering below the surface, especially after the stuff she just shared about her parents, and when she’s done, she squeezes her eyes shut, taking another deep breath.
“It’ll be fine. Look, there’s the motel up there.” I gesture through the snow-covered windshield to the bright red blinking sign that actually only says “tel” since the other two letters have gone out.
I can practically feel the exasperation coming off her in waves, but I’m not going to take a chance with our lives on these roads, driving my truck or not. It’s gotten bad, quickly.
Pulling my truck into the parking lot, I put it in park before turning to her. “I’m going to go see if they have any rooms available.”
“They better have a room available, Jackson Pearce. For your sake.” Her lips are twisted into a frown.