The Jinxed Jackpot

Maggie - The Quinn curse

Before I could I think, before I could run, his bloody hand shot out and grabbed my throat with a steel-like grip. And then he backed us up, moving agonizingly slow. Tears pricked my eyes as my mind raced to figure out where the hell he was leading me. Would he shove me down the stairs before I even knew they were coming? Would I have a sense if that were about to happen? Would my life flash before my eyes? Would–

He slammed my head back against the wall– the concrete wall. My vision swam, black seeping in at the corners. Half of me was tempted to let go. To surrender to the blackness. It’d be easier that way. But the other half of me screamed to fight.

A whimper broke free of my throat, and he let out a sick laugh in response.

But his taunting woke something inside me. He was so much larger and stronger than me, but I wouldn't let him win. I couldn’t. Not without a fight. My whole body trembled as I frantically ripped at his fingers to pry my throat free, but I couldn’t break his hold. He just grinned, making my stomach roll. There was nothing human about his grin. It was pure predatory, and he was about to go in for the kill.

His sticky fingers squeezed, squelching any possibility of screaming for help. He rendered my windpipe useless as he choked off my air supply. Panic rose up in me like the tide back home.

Home. My eyes fluttered closed. Why didn’t I just stay at home?

He shook me.

He wanted me to see his eyes. His cold, dead eyes. Eyes that I once thought were a kind, calming blue. But now… Now those pupils had expanded, making his eyes almost entirely pitch black.

I once read that pupils expand when someone beheld someone or something that they were attracted to.

He was attracted to death.

And that meant… mine was right around the–

BEEEEP.

I jumped at the noise from my car and hit pause on the romantic suspense audiobook playing in my car. Gah, I was just getting to the good part too . The main character’s hottie-with-a-body, tatted-up boyfriend was about to break in, save her, and kill the bad guy for ever touching her, for ever even looking at her. At his girl. God. So romantic. I guess I didn't know for sure that it was going to play out that way, but that’s what I wanted to happen.

BEEEEP.

My eyes scanned the dashboard for the reason my jeep was beeping, and my stomach plummeted. A shining red dot appeared on the dash next to my gas tank, which was now on E.

Shit.

I gulped as I surveyed the Nebraskan cornfields surrounding me. Not a town or exit as far as the eye could see, and the golden sun was starting to dip down under the horizon, making the darker blue sky above seem even larger. This drive was quite beautiful– except for the slight smell of horse manure– but it was about to lose all appeal if I was stuck out here on the side of the road.

My fingers slightly shook as I fumbled for my phone to look up the nearest gas station… which was fifteen miles away in a town called Dunski.

Double shit.

Sucking in a deep breath, I steadied myself. This was no big deal. No big deal, Maggie, I pep talked myself. I’d totally make it there.

But my body sensed the lie and I started sweating profusely. Damn. I’d surely have pit stains after reaching Dunski. I cranked up the AC, trying to settle my nerves.

But wait… Did AC waste gas?

I slammed it off and started fanning my face.

Why, oh why , couldn’t I ever figure out how to look up how many miles my car had ‘til empty? I’d seen my brother do it with his truck a million times, but no matter how many buttons I pressed, I never seemed to be able to figure out how to do it. So, I’d settle on my usual problem-solving MO: Throwing up a prayer and embracing delusional confidence.

This would be fine. I would be fine.

Being stranded probably wouldn’t even be that bad. I’d have to rely on the kindness of truck drivers. Maybe one of them would even be a handsome, single guy. He’d have to talk to me to get all the info on my car and what not. And then he’d fall madly in love with helpless, little me. I mean, if that actually happened, it’d be such a cute meet-cute. I’d love telling that story. He’d roll his eyes– lovingly– every time I told our tale, and I’d exaggerate how much of a hero he was. A little part of my brain wondered if maybe I should run out of gas…

Nah . I shut down that idea real quick. There could also be serial killers on the loose, and I hated the dark. I had a feeling it’d get pitch black out around here because there were barely any highway lights. Better to get to Dunski and then grab a hotel room for the night.

The more I thought about it, the more the gas issue seemed like a blessing in disguise, because this city would actually be the perfect spot to stop for the night. It was a little over halfway to my final destination and there’d probably be plenty of hotels to choose from.

With new-found confidence, I chugged the last of my stale coffee from this morning and pressed the gas a little harder. Fifteen-smifteen. That was nothing. I’d make it. I had to. Because I was determined not to let my brother be right…

He claimed my move was doomed from the start because of our Irish genes.

As the story goes– each time a family member has tried to strike out on their own, they’re slapped down with horrible luck. It was our destiny to all stay holed up in the same house like Charlie’s family in Willy-fucking-Wonka.

Now, in my opinion, most of our “luck” was self-induced– for example, it wasn’t fate’s fault that Uncle Finn got struck by lightning right after his move to Florida. The man carried an umbrella out in a severe thunderstorm. And again, it wasn’t fate’s fault when cousin Fiona’s apartment complex burned down the week after she moved to Charleston– she’s the one who left a dozen candles burning while her newly adopted cat from the streets ran free within the tiny space (candles should really be banned in towns with houses built before the 1800’s). And finally, it wasn’t some sort of destiny that I was running out of gas either– my own oblivious nature was to blame for that one.

While I didn’t fully believe in the Quinn family bad luck… Did I have a rabbit’s foot hanging from my rearview mirror? Yes. And did I carry around a $2 bill in my wallet to never be touched? Hell yeah. And did I have a four-leaf clover sticker on my dash? Most definitely. But these were simply precautions to counteract any bad juju that might potentially come my way on this move. With the charms, I’d be even stevens.

Because I needed this move to be successful– to prove my brother wrong. For his own good and mine, I needed to finally capture the fate I wanted.

The idea for this cross-country relocation was born of an epiphany I had when I was drunk in my childhood bedroom on my thirtieth birthday back in May. In my pj’s with my favorite smutty book on my lap, I drank the last sip of my wine from the bottle and came to a shocking realization: The author must’ve gotten inspiration for these spicy scenes from somewhere .

And then I was struck with a second, more horrifying realization: If I ever tried to write a romance novel, I’d never be able to come up with realistic open-door scenes because I’d never experienced any good spice in my life, ever . I’d have to fade all my scenes to black– the horror!

And the shots kept coming in my mind that night. Because I realized the main characters of my comfort novel were now younger than me.

I flung back on my pillow and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the sadness press down on me from all angles.

This just couldn’t be it for me.

I tried to convince myself that this kind of night was my favorite. But… was it so bad to admit that I wanted someone by my side? It’d be nice, I think, to have someone sitting next to me in their pj’s, also reading and drinking.

It’s not like I hadn’t tried to make that happen. I just honestly didn’t think it’d be this hard to find a guy.

Then again, that was probably very naive of me to think.

As far back as I could remember, I had trouble making girl friends, let alone guy friends. No guys ever paid me a single second of attention in high school– outside of my brother’s friends, who were just that– just friends.

So throughout high school, I threw myself into my studies. I spent all my hormonal teenage years with my nose in a book trying to get all A’s. In my mind, academic validation was easier– it was actually achievable. I knew I could pass all my AP exams. But talking to a guy or even getting a guy’s attention? Doubtful.

But now I questioned if I just wasted all those years.

I wasted my first love on school.

And maybe I wasted my ability to fall in love altogether.

Because maybe people can only truly fall head-over-heels in love before the age of 25, before your brain fully develops.

I was now too smart to be able to turn my brain off and get swept off my feet.

No one made my heart flip-flop in my chest, no one made me feel those goosebumps, no one made “attraction seep to my core” like how they described in books.

Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just broken.

But I wanted it, damnit! I wanted to have a crush like I did back in school. I missed my heart beating a little faster when I spotted that certain someone in the hallway. I missed feeling a little more alive at the prospect of talking to someone.

After college, when I started my teaching job, I stopped seeing guys’ my age unless it was on a dating app… And the apps? They were their own form of hell. I’d spend all this time and energy talking to someone, just to go on a date or two and then never hear from them again.

Around my 27th birthday, I realized everyone was either getting married or leaving the state… I got left behind.

At that point, I brushed it off. I liked my life. I was comfortable. I enjoyed being Ms. Quinn, the fun “artsy fartsy” teacher who played Fleetwood Mac and Taylor Swift during work time.

But the night I turned thirty, I realized if I stayed in my little town in Ohio, if I kept letting life pass me by while I repeated the same day over and over and over again, I’d wither away into an old lady teacher who became a fixture of the school, and… I’d die without knowing what a passionate night ever felt like.

And excuse me, but fuck that.

I needed to at least try to find a real guy instead of living vicariously through words on a page. Because the passionate kisses from loving fae boyfriends, and billionaires who were generous with money and orgasms– they were fucking taunting me now, which was completely ruining my favorite hobby.

I wanted it for myself. I wanted a real boyfriend, not a book one. I wanted to know if that love, the kind that turned even the smartest of women into a giddy puddle of happiness in the hands of a masculine man, actually existed… Or if it was all just a sham and everyone in the world just settled. Because if the settling thing was true, then maybe I wasn’t even missing out by being alone.

So, I started google searching: Where are the millennial men?

To be honest, I was considering widening my search into different generations because I was starting to suspect that all the millennial men gave themselves brain damage from snapping their necks every two seconds to swoop their hair when they were teenagers, but that couldn’t be true for all of them… could it? I’d give the millennial men one more shot.

Google told me they all moved to Denver… which was now apparently dubbed “Men-ver.”

That night, I applied to a bunch of teaching jobs in the city.

But over the next few weeks, my hopes slowly dwindled. I didn’t hear back from a single school all summer. The harsh reality of my situation set in: I wasn’t even getting a single interview . I wished for the millionth time that I minored in English or History or even fucking Math for that matter (science wasn’t even an option because I barely passed most of those classes). The problem was that Art teacher positions were just too hard to secure because districts employed very few of them. Sometimes districts only hired a single art teacher for an entire school.

My email inbox was absolute crickets… Until last night.

An HR woman for a very small school in Denver reached out to me saying they had a veteran teacher unexpectedly quit a week before the school year started. She asked how soon I’d be able to make it there because the new-teacher meetings started at the end of the week.

I didn't give it a second thought. I didn’t even care what grades they wanted me to teach. I’d handle it.

My confirmation email was sent within minutes, and then I began packing my car to the brim with all my possessions, including my teacher clothes and favorite classroom items. Because my soulmate was not in Ohio, and apparently, that lazy son-of-a-bitch needed me to find him .

Thus began my 18-hour road trip.

And it wouldn’t end in disaster just yet– knock on wood– because I made it to the exit.

As soon as the fast food signs came into view, I let out a huge breath of relief… and my stomach started grumbling.

Food had completely slipped my mind until right then. Forgetting to eat wasn’t new to me– my brain was just too busy to think of it, especially if I was deep in the thicket of an art project. If science invented a pill that could healthily replace a meal, I'd surely buy it because I hated cooking, and I hated interrupting my day to figure out what to eat.

Easing off the highway, I quickly turned into the nearest Wendy’s. The drive-through looked appealing, but I was about to pee my fucking pants.

Throwing my car in park, I ran to the bathroom before I exploded, then secured my chicken nuggets with barbeque sauce.

The last of the sun’s slanting rays were disappearing as I inhaled my dinner in my car, only pausing once to realize how stupid it was of me to get food before gas when I was just freaking the hell out about it a few minutes ago– again another example of how the “Quinn bad luck” was just self-induced. But now that I was here in civilization, all was well again. I’d quickly fill up and then make it inside to a hotel while the night was still glowy blue and before the darkness completely ate everything up and made things scary.

Making a quick stop at the gas station, I plopped the gas in my car, then ran inside to buy a water bottle– I needed a comfort bottle to sit on my nightstand when I went to sleep, just in case, even though I detested drinking water– and then I pulled into a Holiday Inn Express parking lot.

Before heading into the hotel, I popped open my trunk and tried to pull my favorite hoodie free from my big suitcase. While there were still a few days of August left, it was extremely chilly after sundown.

Locking my car behind me, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and scampered across the cracked parking lot to the hotel lobby’s entrance.

The hotel was a standard Holiday Inn– tiled entrance, a little breakfast nook to the right, and then a hallway at the back that spanned the building and led to all the other rooms.

Someone cleared their throat, pulling my eyes up. The old dude manning the counter gave me a grunt as a welcome.

“Good evening,” I said with a pleasant smile.

He ignored my greeting completely and smoothed a hand over his gray, thinning hair. “Need a room?” he asked impatiently.

I walked up to the high counter, which made me feel even shorter than usual. “Yes, I was wondering if I could get a room for tonight? Just one bed, the cheapest you have.” I tried to smile again, but he remained stone-faced.

“Are you a member?” he asked in a bored tone.

“Uh, no,” I said carefully. “I just need one room for tonight.”

He sniffled, then scrubbed a hand up his face, making me internally cringe. As a teacher, it was practically ingrained in me to never touch my nose or eyes or mouth because the kids were constantly getting sick. “You should really become a member,” he said without looking at me, his gaze remained on the computer on his side of the counter.

My smile faltered. “Can I get a room without being a member?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“Okay, I'll take a room,” I said in as pleasant a voice as I could muster.

He grumbled something under his breath, then began typing away on the computer. “It’s $115 for the night for a king size bed.”

“Perfect.” I pulled my backpack around to my front and reached inside for my wallet, and that’s when my luck ran out.

My fingers grasped an empty space where I usually kept my little Kate Spade card holder. My spine stiffened straight to high heaven. What the … I ripped my backpack off and set it on the counter to search better, making the counter guy flinch. I yanked my pack fully open and began frantically searching the entire thing. My face started burning red, and I could feel the shaky sweats starting up over the prospect of not having any form of ID or payment.

“Um,” I swallowed hard, but my mouth had gone bone-dry. “I’m sure it fell out in my car, can you give me a minute? Jeez, is it hot in here?” I asked, fanning myself.

“I’ll be here,” he gruffed, not even looking at me.

I tore out of the lobby.

This could not be happening. I just finished driving ten hours and now this? I just wanted to go to fucking bed.

God, I was so stupid. Who lost their wallet while moving? It was the one thing I desperately needed. I should’ve been double-checking that it was with me after each stop. Fuck.

Well, there was nothing I could do now but look for it. I swiped away the stupid tear trying to escape as I scanned the parking lot for my wallet, but there were no signs of it.

Retrace your steps, I sternly told myself. Now is not the time to panic . It probably just fell out between the front seats or something.

Of course it was now completely dark outside, and I had to use my phone’s flashlight to search my car.

After twenty minutes of uselessly scanning every inch of my jeep, I gave up. It was not here. So… Wendy’s or the gas station.

I clung to the tiny possibility that maybe one of the employees found it on the ground and they were keeping it for me.

But the girls behind the counter at Wendy’s gave me blank looks and muttered apologies.

When I asked the old dude with a large, gray beard and stained t-shirt manning the gas station if he’d seen my wallet, he laughed in my face, which set my teeth on edge. There was nothing I hated more than when people laughed at me in a patronizing way.

“If any sort of money was lost around here, it’s long gone, honey,” he said, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “Don’t you know the way of the world, little lady?”

I ground my back molars. I wasn’t sure which I hated more coming from his mouth– honey or little lady . “Have a good night,” I forced out before leaving.

And at that point, at the point of all hope lost, I ripped open my car door, plopped in my front seat, covered my face, and screamed at the windshield.

I let myself cry for a full minute before I fumbled for my phone. Sniffling up my tears as best as I could, I called my brother.

“Mags?” he answered after the first ring. “You stopping for the night?”

I rolled my lips together, trying to smother my need to cry. “Hi Liam. yeah, I stopped. I’m in Dunski, Nebraska and…” my voice cracked.

“Dun-what? You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Yeah.” I covered my mouth to bottle up my stupid crying.

“Okay,” he drawled. “So you’re calling me because you’re in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and…” he coaxed. “What’s up?”

I swallowed my pride– and the burning lump at the back of my throat. “Can you get me a hotel room? I lost my wallet.”

“Shit Mags,” he breathed out. “You’re not kidding, are ya? Our fuckin’ luck.” I knew he was shaking his head on the other end of the line. The two of us were polar opposites– where I had pitch black, straight-as-a-pin hair and light green eyes, he got the curly blond hair and brown-eyed genes, and while I loved academics, he couldn’t get out of school and under a car hood fast enough. But we both struggled with the so-called “Quinn curse” all our lives, and I think it made us have a stronger sibling bond than most– that, and the fact that we were Irish twins, born only ten months apart.

I just sighed. I didn’t need him to tell me how bad this was.

“You need to cancel all of your cards,” he was quick to say, “and you need to report it. You could get your own hotel room on your phone, so long as you know your credit card numb–”

“I don’t know it. I don’t know anything right now, okay?” I squeezed my eyes shut against my frustration. “Sorry. I’m freaking out. I just…” I sucked in a deep breath. “I need a hotel room so I can sit down and think.” Because how the fuck would I pay for gas for the rest of my trip? “I’ll pay you back.”

He was silent for a beat. “Okay, yeah, I'll get it and text you the details.”

“Don’t tell mom and dad,” I added, staring at my reflection in the side window. “They’ll just get mad at me and convince me to come home.”

“They won't get mad at you,” he said in a resigned tone, but he didn’t argue against my latter claim. ”They’ll want to help.”

“Yeah, well, I can figure it out on my own,” I said. “Just don’t tell anyone. I’m embarrassed.”

“I mean, it is a little irresponsible,” he said with a forced chuckle.

“Shut up,” I bit back harshly. “Promise that you won’t tell,” I demanded.

“Okay, yes, jeez.”

Tears stung the back of my eyes as doubt started eating away at me. Maybe this trip was doomed. Maybe I was unlucky, but I didn’t want to admit these thoughts to him. Not yet, at least. “Thanks for helping, Liam,” I choked out.

“No problem, sis. Call me back when you’ve got things squared away.”

In the hotel room, I quickly changed into my plaid pajama pants and slippers, turned on the TV to Friends, and then pulled my laptop out of my backpack. Before I could cancel any card, I had to hit the forgot password button on all my accounts because I couldn't remember a single one of them.

While canceling my credit card, I realized I could hit pause and ask for an alert if it was used. I knew it was a long shot, but I decided to go with that option for the night. If I didn’t get any alerts, then I’d cancel it in the morning before taking off.

I went through the same process for my debit card, then started researching what I was supposed to do about my lost driver’s license. This was way too much Admin for me. I could already feel a tension headache forming in my brain.

I wasn’t very far into my search when my phone dinged with an incoming email.

My heart practically stopped as my eyes scanned the little alert from the credit card company. They even sent me a little map with a blue dot pinpointing where the credit card was used.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” I grunted under my breath.

My card was at the gas station.

I quickly screenshotted the alert, then dialed the local police as I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.

_____

“Ma’am, do not go into the gas station until we get there,” the cop repeated in a wary tone. I’d been hoping for young, hot cops, but this guy and his partner sounded kind of old.

My car was parked right in front of the gas station’s big glass windows. Inside, a shaggy-looking older man in need of a good shave and wearing pants two-sizes-too-big for him was talking to the smug gas station attendant that I had the displeasure of meeting earlier.

“Can’t you get here faster?” I asked desperately. “Don’t you have, like, sirens?”

The cop chuckled, and I had to grit my teeth. What was with people laughing at me tonight?

“Those are for emergencies,” he responded. “We’re just now pulling in, you see us?” he asked.

“Yupp.” Right as their headlights swung around the side of the building, I ended the call and scrambled out of my car to meet them.

The passenger of the cop car reached me first, extending a hand for a shake. I pegged it right, he was definitely somewhere in his mid-forties with a square head, beer belly, and wedding ring. “Maggie Quinn? I’m Officer Thomas.”

His eyes drifted to my pajama pants and slippers, which I completely forgot I was wearing. Heat hit my cheeks.

“Yes, hello,” I said, taking his large cold hand in mine for a quick shake. “I was here earlier and the gas station employee practically laughed in my face. I have the alert saying my card is here if you want to see it?”

“Let’s go in there and have a chat,” he said, hoisting his belt up as his partner came up behind him. The partner definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome vibe going on. I was never really a man-in-uniform kinda gal, but damn, his Mrs. was a lucky woman.

He gave me a polite head nod. “Officer Ramirez,” he said, his hand on his chest.

I trailed behind the two of them, wishing I could be a fly on the wall instead of standing there in plain view. I chose to study the candy options very seriously while the cops walked up to the two old men, still chatting away.

“Hey guys, mind if I see what credit card you used for your purchase?” the cop asked.

The scruffy, skinny old man stuck his nose in the air. “I do mind. This is age-ism. Just because I’m an old geezer don’t mean you can go demanding to see my card.”

“Well, we can come back with a warrant, but you’d really make us go through all that trouble, Earl?”

Earl. My eyes drifted to him. So he must’ve been a repeat offender to be on a first name basis with the cops.

“If I show you, I can’t get in trouble?” Earl asked, kicking up a bushy, gray eyebrow.

Officer Thomas sighed. “Well, that depends.”

“On?” Earl inquired, standing up as straight as he could.

“If you give us any useful information, Earl.”

“Fine,” he gruffed. “Here’s what you’re looking for.” He pulled out my metallic Discover card and the tight fist in my chest finally unclenched. I wanted to run up and snatch it away, but I didn’t want to risk getting involved with Earl. Officer Thomas swiped the card away from him and read the back of it before handing it to his partner.

“Where’d you get the card, Earl?” Officer Thomas demanded.

Earl’s shoulders slumped. “You guys ruin all our fun.”

“Our?” he clarified. “You mean the camp’s fun?”

“Yeah, who else’s?” Earl gruffed. “Pudge found a wallet. He’s been sellin’ off the cards for the highest profit. We’re gonna have a party tonight with our purchases.”

My mouth dropped open. “Pudge?” I gasped under my breath.

Officer Ramirez gave me a slight negative head shake before motioning me to exit the gas station.

I swiftly dropped the candy I was holding and exited, feeling the two officers on my heels.

As soon as the door swung shut behind us, I whirled on them. “Pudge? Is this a joke? What does ‘the camp’ mean?”

Officer Ramirez’s lips flattened. “There’s a homeless camp behind the hotel you’re staying at. You didn't see all those tents?”

No… I didn’t. “I never got that far,” I admitted. “I parked out front to unload my stuff, then freaked about missing my wallet, I never went around back.”

“Let’s go,” Officer Thomas said, nodding to our cars.

I didn’t bother punching the hotel’s address back in my phone, because I was getting a police escort back. At least tagging up with them kind of eased my fear of the dark. I followed their squad car around the hotel, and there it was– about a dozen tattered, nylon tents lined up on the strip of grass right after the parking lot pavement ended. Little bonfires glowed in the dark and over a dozen people milled about.

The Officers waited for me to exit my car. I hugged myself about the strong, night breeze as I walked over to them.

“You can head inside and warm up. We can meet you in the lobby with what we find,” Officer Thomas offered.

I spied the camp behind them and gave a hesitant nod. While I would’ve liked to finish out this little case with them, the night wind was ripping through my hoodie and pants.

As I made my way to the hotel lobby, I couldn’t help but glance back at the camp. My heart wobbled in my chest. My luck couldn’t be that bad if I had enough to get myself a warm place to sleep. It was August and nighttime was already too cold for me, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the camp come wintertime. I sympathized with everyone… except for that Pudge man. I internally scowled at him. I could understand using my card to buy food or even a warm hotel for the night, but to sell my stuff off to the highest bidders? Ugh. Mean.

The hotel lobby was completely empty, besides the grumpy desk employee. I snatched a complimentary hot chocolate mix from the breakfast nook and headed for the little kitchenette. I took my time mixing it with a wooden stirrer and tried to keep the hope that the Officers would find everything.

About fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a cushy couch, barely listening to the news on the TV in front of me, while sipping my warm drink when the Officers walked back into the lobby. The desk employee shot me a wary glance, but I did my best to ignore him.

“Alright Maggie,” Officer Ramirez said, “we’ve got a Discover card, a Chase card, a health insurance card, and a social security card.” He handed them to me as he named them off.

A breath of relief punched out of me as I gripped the cards hard in my hand. I didn’t even care that my wallet was long gone. While I liked the cute Kate Spade card holder, it was from an ex– so probably for the best that it was re-gifted.

“You really shouldn’t keep your social security card in your wallet, ma’am,” Officer Thomas butted in, arching a rather patronizing eyebrow at me.

I forced myself to swallow down my annoyance. And since when did I become a ‘ma’am’ instead of a ‘miss’? That was a humbling thought.

“I usually don’t,” I said defensively. “I’m moving across the country. I needed to put it somewhere.”

Officer Ramirez shot me a sympathetic smile. I liked him much better.

“Well, keep that card locked up in your new residence from now on, got it?” Thomas asked.

“MmHmm,” I responded tensely.

“Missing anything else?” Ramirez asked, his eyebrows pinching together.

I studied the cards, then it dawned on me. “My driver’s license.” My stomach dropped. I still had eight hours to drive tomorrow.

Officer Thomas shifted his weight. “We wondered about that. It was probably sold off to a youngin’ around here who wanted to go to the bars.”

I dropped my head back. Great, now I was aiding and abetting underaged drinking. “Can you have it on file that I lost it?”

“Yes, and we’ll be sure to be on the lookout for it at the local hot spots,” Officer Ramirez answered.

“Thank you,” I breathed out.

“In the meantime, you’ll need to get a new one,” Officer Thomas advised.

No shit, I wanted to snap back, but I forced myself to nod. I really liked that ID picture. With my luck, I’d end up sneezing while taking the next one.

But maybe this whole night just showed me I wasn’t totally unlucky. Because if I had pure bad luck, I wouldn't have gotten any of the cards back.

So actually, this turned out to be a good night, not a bad one. And none of this even counted towards my move because I wasn’t even in the state of Colorado yet… right? My new life would start tomorrow when I finally reached Denver.

I did not have bad luck, I forced myself to think. Everything would work out. I couldn’t give up hope just yet.

I thanked the officers, earnestly shaking their hands, then slowly made my way back to my hotel room.

Feeling extra cozy in the neatly pressed hotel sheets, I drifted to sleep listening to the Friends theme song.