Chapter 11 Ellis #2
“You’re soaking wet,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t sit in wet clothes for the next hour. It’s just asking for trouble. You’re on immunosuppressants, right? If you get a cold, it’s not just a cold.”
My mouth opened, then closed again, a snarky, deflective response dying in my throat. Because she was right.
“The next gas station we stop at, you can change there,” Dove added. “I made sure your bag stayed as dry as possible. If we’re lucky, they might even have one of those depressing little blow dryers on the wall.”
I swallowed hard and looked down at myself, my shirt clung to every inch of skin, and my leggings were practically welded to me. I itched with discomfort, and a familiar tightness began to bloom in my chest. Not panic, exactly... just weight.
“You don’t have to—” I started, suddenly feeling the need to claw back some semblance of control that had slipped from my fingers over the course of the day.
“I know I don’t,” Dove cut in as she flicked on the blinker and began to merge back onto the road, even though there were no cars around. Rain still pounded against the windshield. The music played on, something quiet now. It sounded like Gracie Abrams.
Something seemed to click in my chest. A tiny click, like the smallest gear realigning. I peeked from the corner of my eye at Dove, who drove with that same calm expression, soaked through, one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on her thigh.
I had misjudged her. Severely.
She wasn’t just chaos in oversized sweaters and falling-apart Converse.
She wasn’t some crazed freak who broke into people’s homes and stole remains.
She was... well, she was competent. Sharp.
And weirdly thoughtful in a way that made you feel like you’d just been seen without realizing you’d been on display.
She didn’t make a big show of it. She didn’t lay her concern on thick or ask me a hundred questions or fawn over me like I was made of glass.
She just handled things.
Took the jack from the trunk.
Changed the tire.
Paid attention to my meds and reminded me to take care of myself in a voice that didn’t leave room for argument.
It was disarming.
It was infuriating.
And, fuck, it was attractive in a way I desperately needed it not to be.
“No one looks cute getting stuck in a rainstorm. Unless you’re Dove Marley changing a tire,” Liv announced brightly from the back, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
Dove smirked and rolled her eyes. “I look like a drowned raccoon.”
“Hot raccoon,” Liv said. “Just sayin’.”
We didn’t see a single gas station.
Dove kept the heat cranked, and we ended up arriving in Springfield just as the rain began to die down. The sky was darker now, it was getting close to 6:00 p.m. The tire change had set us back, but not by far. I just hoped, deep in my soul, we weren’t too late for a room.
“All right,” Dove said, her voice tired. “What motel was on the schedule?”
“Route 66 Rail Haven,” I said without missing a beat, trying to ignore the goosebumps on my arms and the tremble in my voice from the chill.
Dove nodded and tapped it into her phone.
By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I felt a small flicker of relief, though mostly just fatigue. Neon signage glowed softly overhead as we climbed out, and I eyed the place while Dove opened the trunk to retrieve our bags.
The rooms were arranged in neat little rows, each with its own awning and flowerbeds that looked decently maintained. Compared to last night’s sad excuse for a motel, this wasn’t all that bad.
“Seems clean,” Liv commented with a click of her tongue. “No one’s died here, for sure.”
We trudged into the office, wet shoes squeaking across the tiled floor. A man sat behind the counter, the kind who looked like he should’ve retired in 2013 but was still clinging to the grind out of spite. He gave us a once-over and frowned.
“Only one room left,” he said, as if it were a threat.
“We’ll take it,” I said without hesitation.
He slid the paperwork across the counter. I paid, and Dove swiped the key.
At this point, we were both moving on autopilot, trudging toward our room with heavy feet that slapped against the wet pavement.
Dove inserted the key, the lock giving with a heavy click, and we stepped into the room.
The first thing I noticed was the bed.
The one bed.
“Oh,” I said flatly, pausing in the doorway.
“Oh,” Dove echoed.
We both stared at the single queen-sized bed, as if it might magically multiply if we waited long enough.
“Well,” Liv gasped dramatically behind us, “this is going to be fun.”
“Liv,” I warned.
Dove snorted and toed off her sneakers. “Look, we’re two adults. We can share a bed without it becoming a whole thing, right? I’ll keep the gay on my side of the bed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?”
She raised a brow at me like I’d just asked what air was. “Are you weirded out by sharing a bed because I’m a lesbian? You know, ’cause contrary to popular belief, we don’t just drop our pants over every cute girl we see.”
“What? No!” I blurted, heat rushing to my face as I tried not to get hung up on her cute girl line.
“No—I mean, I don’t care that you’re a lesbian.
I mean, I’m a lesbian. I mean, like, I date women too.
.. sometimes.” My voice trailed off quietly at the end, sounding so small as I thought back to that disastrous date.
Dove stared at me for a moment, lips parting slightly. “You—you date women sometimes?”
I winced at the wording, at how it made me sound unsure of myself, of the very foundation of my identity. “Well, I sure as shit don’t date men,” I said defensively, once again morphing into that blundering fool from the coffee shop.
Dove’s mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. “You know what? That sounds like it needs to be on a T-shirt.”
I rubbed my temples and groaned. “Don’t give Liv ideas for road trip merch.”
Dove held up her hands in surrender, amusement still playing on her face.
“Look, don’t make it awkward. I’m not judging you.
I just wasn’t expecting it. You give off.
.. straight girl with a color-coded planner energy, that’s all.
Usually they come with some pretty-boy boyfriend and a Range Rover in their future. ”
I narrowed my eyes. “I do have a color-coded planner.”
“I know,” Dove said with a sigh. “Anyway, that teaches me to stop judging appearances based on stereotypes. Look at that. Growth.”
“I stan it,” Liv chimed in with a light clap. “Also, I once kissed a girl at a party, so don’t leave me out of all the gay, okay?”
Dove rolled her eyes and looked at me. “Okay—you. Go shower and get into some dry clothes. I need to empty out my bag and dry my stuff.”
I nodded and grabbed my things. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked toward the bathroom, heart thudding for reasons I didn’t particularly want to examine.
I shut the door softly behind me and let out a long, steady breath.
When I emerged from the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel, wearing a comfortable pair of gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, I felt calmer. More centered. I had given myself a stern talking-to in the shower, and I felt better for it.
It took me half a second to realize both Dove and Liv were gone.
Dove’s duffel was perched on the small table, now empty, and her clothes were draped across every available surface. I blinked at the bag of ashes—dry and safe in the sandwich bag—and chose to ignore it. Instead, I moved toward the bed, where my own bag sat dry and untouched from the bad weather.
I pulled out my phone and my pill container, setting them both on the nightstand.
A text from Dove flashed on the screen, and I opened it.
Dove [6:35 p.m.]
Gone to get some food. Back soon.
Food.
My stomach growled at the thought.
I quickly flicked my mom a message to let her know we’d arrived at our next location, then set the phone back down, sinking properly into the bed and flicking on the TV with the outdated remote.
The room felt warm, and I noticed a heater against the wall, likely something Dove had turned on to help dry her clothes.
I frowned at the TV as the opening credits to a movie began playing.
An Officer and a Gentleman.
I snorted. I only recognized it because it was Mom’s favorite.
I left it on.
The door creaked open five minutes later, and Dove stepped inside, carrying a brown paper bag and two bottled waters, balanced precariously. Liv flounced in after her.
Dove looked windswept as she entered, her cheeks pink from the cold, and I realized she was still in her wet clothes.
“Food delivery,” she announced, setting the bag down on a corner of the table and placing the waters beside it.
I sat up straighter at the smell. “What is it?” I asked eagerly.
“Soup,” Dove told me. “Tomato basil and grilled cheese—because yum, obviously. Also, I got you a cookie for dessert. Only because I was getting myself one, and honestly, I didn’t want to share.”
“Sounds fair,” I murmured as she handed me a bottle of water and passed over a warm foil-wrapped sandwich.
The soup was in one of those old-school styrofoam cups that made me slightly anxious about BPA, but I wasn’t about to complain, considering she’d gone back out in that awful weather, still wet, just to get us food.
“I’m going to go change and shower,” Dove said, leaving her food in the bag. “I’ve miraculously found a pair of pretty dry pants and a shirt. I’ll be back.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and I sat cross-legged on the bed, realizing Liv had once again vanished, leaving me alone with my soup and the grainy footage of Richard Gere riding a motorcycle. I sipped the last of the soup before standing to toss my trash in the bin, my stomach finally full.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I knew it was my pill alarm. I took them and chased them with water before putting the container away.