8. Evan
EVAN
Evan’s first hint that the universe was mocking him came in the form of a blown tire on the highway and riding shotgun back to the car-rental lot with a tow truck driver who insisted on explaining every true crime podcast he’d ever listened to.
Not just the normal ones either. The gruesome ones.
The ones where every episode started with “no one ever suspected the killer was right there the whole time.”
Ten minutes into the ride, Evan found himself nodding along politely while trying to decide whether the driver was giving off serial-killer vibes.
Somewhere around minute twenty, the driver launched into a bonus soliloquy about “underappreciated methods of body disposal.” Evan started calculating how fast he could get out of the truck if things went sideways.
Thirty-seven minutes of unsolicited podcast recaps later, they reached the rental center.
Evan fumbled with the seatbelt as he rushed to climb out of the truck, stumbling a little as his feet hit the pavement.
He grabbed his bags from the back of the vehicle that was still hooked up, thanked the driver from a healthy distance, and headed toward the building.
The agent who’d helped him earlier met him at the door, already apologizing before Evan stepped inside the lobby.
“We’re so sorry, Mr. Delgado,” she gushed, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. “I can’t believe this happened to you of all people.” She stepped closer, her smile a little too bright and eager. “Flat tires almost never happen, but we sent out our best guy to pick you up.”
Evan bit back a comment about their “best guy” being a little too comfortable with methods of dismemberment.
“If you want to sit and relax before getting on the road, my shift just got quiet.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm. She inhaled sharply when he gripped the handle of his suitcase and muscle flexed beneath her hand.
“I’m good. Just need a car with four good tires,” he said, taking a step back.
“Oh! Of course.” She laughed a little too hard. “But seriously, if you need anything later…you know where to find me.”
He nodded politely, knowing he would not, in fact, “find” her later.
She got him set up in a different SUV, and he was driving off the lot ten minutes later, in a replacement rental that smelled like new car air freshener and someone’s cologne.
But it drove, and all four tires were in one piece, which was more than the first one had managed.
He took the long way to Surprise just because he could.
By the time the sign for the motel came into view, he’d managed to shove most of the day’s irritation to the back of his mind.
He pulled into a spot in front of the office and sat there for a moment, taking in the familiar grounds.
He’d been coming here for five years, ever since they’d opened, and he liked it because it was predictable.
Because every spring, he came back and nothing had changed.
The coffee was still strong, the rooms were still impeccably clean, and the owners still knew when to talk and when to leave people the hell alone.
It felt like what coming home should feel like.
He made sure he had his wallet and stepped out of the car.
The dry heat wrapped around him, hotter than air had a right to be in February, but not quite oppressive.
Across the courtyard, the pool glinted a hard bright blue, and an older couple sat at a small table under a large umbrella.
They gave him a curious glance, then turned back to the game of cards between them.
Evan smiled and shook his head, then headed up the steps to the lobby and pushed the glass door open.
He breathed in the scent of coffee, cookies, and citrus as he stepped inside.
The front desk stood off to the side, with framed prints of cactus silhouettes in sunset colors hanging from the wall behind it.
Succulents in painted pots lined the counter next to a bowl of individually wrapped butterscotch candies and a pale-blue ceramic cactus filled with pens.
“Look what the desert coughed up.” Eleanor leaned her hip against the doorframe behind the desk, bright-red lips smiling wide.
Relief loosened something in his chest. “Hey, El.”
She came around the counter and held out her arms, and Evan stepped into them. Her hug was warm, and Evan closed his eyes, letting her tight grip ground him. Her shirt smelled like lavender and dryer sheets, and he exhaled long and slow as her hands pressed between his shoulder blades.
“Rough day?” she asked quietly.
“Long one,” he murmured into her shoulder. “Better now.”
Eleanor gave him a squeeze before letting him go. Evan straightened and moved to lean on the counter as she walked around to check him in.
“You’re late,” she added, a teasing note slipping into her voice. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago.”
“I took the long way,” he said. “Needed some time to think. I told you I’d be here today.”
“True.” She turned to the computer and started tapping at the keyboard, nails clicking. “At least you’re predictable. I like that about you.”
Evan felt his shoulders drop a little more. There was something about being known in this tiny, specific way that was steadying, and he’d come to count on the routine he’d found here every spring.
“Room twelve again?” he asked.
He already knew the answer. He stayed in the same room every spring. It was quiet, overlooked the pool, and was just close enough to the laundry room that he could tell if there were empty machines without dragging his clothes there first.
Eleanor’s fingers paused on the keyboard, just for a second, barely long enough to be noticeable, and that was the second hint that the universe was out to get him.
“Yep,” she answered cheerfully.
“Eleanor.”
She sighed dramatically. “There was almost a crisis.”
Evan narrowed his eyes. “Almost.”
“Very almost.”
“I don’t know what you mean, but it’s not very reassuring.”
“It should be because the keyword is ‘almost.’” Eleanor pointed at him. “This is why I shouldn’t tell you anything.”
“Tell me what?” Evan asked with a laugh. “You haven’t told me anything.”
“Nor should I.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You are this uniquely difficult combination of guest and friend, and if you were anybody else, I’d keep my mouth shut and hand over the key.”
“Now you definitely have to tell me.” Evan folded his arms expectantly, then gave her a wide smile when she glared at him.
“Fine. Your room got assigned to someone else by mistake. For, like, five minutes.”
“How—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, waving away the question. “The point is that I caught it, the other guest didn’t care, everyone behaved like reasonable adults, and you are still in room twelve.”
Evan stared at her for a beat before snorting out a laugh. “So there was never actually a problem.”
“There was for me.” Eleanor pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you have any idea how stressful those five minutes were for me? You’re very…particular.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “I get it. I’m being a pain in the ass.”
“No more than usual.” She nodded toward the credit card machine. “Tap.”
Evan held his card against the reader until it beeped, then Eleanor placed a keycard on the counter in front of him. She kept her fingers on it, and his eyes narrowed again. “What?”
“So, full disclosure,” she said suddenly, and his eyebrows went up. She shifted, then sighed. “I probably should have led with this, but I didn’t want you walking out the door and finding somewhere else to stay.”
He felt his jaw lock. “Eleanor.”
“Don’t give me that tone,” she said, completely unbothered. “You sound like my little brother. It’s not that big a deal. I just wanted you to know because I know you stay here because no one else from your team does. But you can handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“The guy who booked twelve? He’s with your team too.” She pressed her lips together.
Evan closed his eyes. He already knew. Before she’d even finished her sentence, he knew. “Which guy?”
She hesitated, sensing the landmine she was about to step on. “Hartman.”
“CJ,” he said with a nod.
Eleanor read something on his face. “You know him.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t mean just from the team.
He swallowed. “He’s new to the team, but we knew each other in college.”
“Ah.”
Evan knew she had questions, but he wasn’t going to answer them. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s fine.”
“You always say that.”
He headed toward the door, but her voice stopped him. “If it makes any difference, he looked like he could use the kind of quiet you like. Maybe you guys can be friends.”
Evan gripped the doorknob and looked at her. “You know I’m not here to make friends.”
She rolled her eyes. “You say that every time too.”
“And I mean it every time.” He gave her a smile he knew she wouldn’t believe before pulling the door open and stepping outside.
He grabbed his bags from the car and hauled them across the courtyard.
The rooms all opened directly onto the courtyard, their doors tucked beneath a long overhang that ran the length of the structure, providing shade during the day.
Room twelve waited for him where it always had, and the familiarity should have settled him.
Instead, all he could think about was the fact that CJ Hartman was somewhere nearby.
Evan inserted the keycard into the lock and pushed his way inside, exhaling slowly as the door shut behind him.
The room looked exactly as he remembered.
The furniture looked like it had been pulled from a mid-century design catalog, with gleaming appliances disguised as vintage pieces and the air conditioner humming steadily.
He dropped his bags by the dresser and did his usual walkthrough, not because he didn’t trust Eleanor but because he’d sleep better after he’d checked everything himself.
He tested the water pressure in the shower, made sure the windows locked and the door latched.