Chapter 39 Sophie
THIRTY-NINE
SOPHIE
I can clearly feel that something’s wrong.
Cole has been gone far too long, and the expression on his face when he left was more than worrying.
But I promised him I would stay here, and I don’t want to break that promise again.
Even if I did—what could I possibly do? I’m barely up to his chest. I probably wouldn’t stand a chance against whoever’s in the warehouse.
But with every passing minute, my concern for Cole grows.
I consider calling the police until I realize that I wouldn’t even know what number to dial because I simply don’t know anything. I’m not only completely helpless, but also absolutely useless.
When another five minutes have passed and I am just about to go against Cole’s order, he comes running around the corner.
He’s holding his left arm with his right hand as he bleeds from a new wound on his cheek.
I gasp and unlock the truck just in time before he gets to the passenger side and yanks open my door.
"Move over," he instructs me through clenched teeth.
"What?"
"Move over!"
I follow his command on autopilot, as his voice leaves no doubt about how serious he is, nearly breaking my neck in the process.
"What happened?" I ask in alarm as Cole throws himself into the passenger seat.
Without answering, he looks in the direction he came from, pressing his arm to his torso. "Can you drive?"
Completely caught off guard by his question, I don’t even know how to answer. "I… I don’t know…"
"Can you drive a car, Sophie?" he asks, finally looking at me.
I pull myself together and shake my head. "No."
Cole catches his breath, his face contorting in what seems to be pain, before he makes a nod toward my legs. "Put your right foot on the left pedal and turn the key."
He can’t be serious.
"Cole, I—"
"Just do what I’m telling you," he demands in a harsh tone.
"But—"
His gaze becomes insistent as he fixes me with his grays. "Do you trust me?"
What an odd and, at the same time, completely pointless question. Of course I trust him. I would trust Cole with my life. He should know that by now.
"Yes," I answer in a calmer voice.
"Then put your foot on the pedal and turn the goddamn key, darling." He stares at me as if he’s trying to hypnotize me.
Swallowing hard, I nod before looking down, placing my foot on the pedal and pressing it down, then reaching for the key.
"Turn it."
I do it. The pickup’s engine instantly comes to life, the roar suddenly unnaturally loud in my ears.
Is it normal that the vehicle seems so much bigger to me from the driver’s seat?
With a pain-filled groan, Cole lets go of his arm to hit a button with an exclamation mark and move the gear stick from P to D.
"Take your foot off the left pedal and press down the right one."
Feeling incapable of driving this huge pickup, I hesitate, but when Cole looks ahead and I follow his gaze, my heart immediately wants to jump out of my chest.
Two tall, broad men with bald heads and angry expressions are running toward us and will reach the truck in a few seconds.
"Sophie."
My foot moves on its own and steps on the right pedal, pressing it down all the way.
The tires spin on the gravel, and the vehicle slides a little to the side before finally shooting forward. With wide eyes, I cling to the steering wheel and try not to crash into one of the abandoned buildings.
"That way," Cole says, pointing at a track that will lead us away from the warehouses, before pressing his arm back against his chest. "And take your foot off the gas a little more."
As I obey, the truck slows, and it becomes easier for me to steer it. Still, the old buildings pass by way too fast, and the approaching darkness doesn’t help me feel safe either.
"Next left, then right. Step lightly on the left pedal before you take the turn."
A breathless okay escapes me even though my heart beats like crazy and I have no idea what I’m doing.
Despite my attempt to slow down enough, the vehicle drifts through the first curve. I cry out while I struggle to steer the pickup back to the center of the road, but thankfully, I succeed.
When Cole tells me to turn right again, I frown. "But then we’re going in circles."
A pained groan escapes him as we speed over a pothole. "Just do it," he presses out.
After we cross the town line and drive down one of the lonely country roads, I dare to glance at Cole. "Who was that? And what happened?"
"Steve and his henchmen," he replies, dropping his head back against the headrest. "We had a disagreement."
"What about your arm?"
"Dislocated." Before I can say anything back, he keeps talking. "Don’t worry about me, darling. I just need a hard yank and a bottle of Jack."
His strange tone worries me. Once again, there’s ignorance and the hatred he had for everything and everyone when I first met him, which feels like ages ago. There’s nothing left of the Cole who slept with me yesterday and said that he didn’t want to lose me this morning.
A thick lump forms in my throat, but I don’t dare ask any more questions.
Instead, I follow Cole’s instructions until we eventually turn right and he directs me to a parking lot in front of a U-shaped single-story building.
One of the illuminated letters on the large sign greeting us is broken, so only MOTL can be read.
After I bring the pickup to a stop, Cole puts the gearshift back in P, pushes the button again, and reaches for the key to turn it over and pull it out. The engine dies, and I take my foot off the pedal and my hands off the steering wheel.
All at once, my limbs feel like rubber as adrenaline rushes through my body. I just drove a truck. I drove a very big truck, and we were obviously on the run.
When I turn to look at Cole, he has his head leaning against the headrest again.
His eyes are closed, and he’s breathing shallowly.
Still, he seems to feel my gaze on him because before I can say anything, he tells me what to do next.
"Open the glove compartment and take out the money that’s inside. "
I bend over the center console and try not to touch him while doing so, as he seems to be in a lot of pain. When I open the flap, my eyes fall on a stack of dollar bills, which I take with trembling fingers.
"Go to the guy in there," he continues, nodding to the right with his head. "Tell him you need a room for one night. Two people. If he asks for your name, you make one up. You got that?"
I nod. "Yes."
"You pay him what he wants, have him give you the key, and come back." Cole pauses to take a deep breath. "And tell him we have a dog. If he objects, you ask how much it costs to pretend there is no dog."
I wish I didn’t have to do any of that, but I can tell by the look on Cole’s face that he can’t do it.
His face is twisted in pain as fine beads of sweat form at his temples, and his breathing becomes even shallower.
He looks awful, but I’m pretty sure he won’t let me take him to a hospital or a doctor.
Not to mention that I don’t even know where we are.
I take a deep breath and get out of the pickup.
"Please hurry, darling," Cole says softly, the sound of his voice nearly tearing my heart out.
I close the driver’s door, lift my chin, and walk around the hood of the pickup to head toward the glass-walled, brightly lit room at the end of the long building.
When I reach the door, my eyes land on an old, overweight man with barely any hair left.
He’s sitting in a chair, smoking and staring at a small TV mounted on the wall to his right.
A discordant ringing sounds above me as I enter, and the man turns his head in my direction.
"Evening," he grumbles, giving me a displeased look.
Lifting my chin higher, I approach the table that stands between us. "Good evening. I… I need a room."
The man scrutinizes me as he takes a drag on his cigarette before he carelessly flicks the ash onto the floor. "You won’t get anything else here, girl." Then he leans forward and looks past me. "Are you with him?"
"Yes," I reply, hoping he doesn’t notice the shaking in my voice.
He narrows his eyes as he continues to look in Cole’s direction before sliding his gaze over me once more, leaning back in his old chair. "One night?"
I nod, my fingers tightening around the bills.
"That’ll be 100 dollars," he grunts, taking another drag of his cigarette.
I quickly glance at the faded sign on the table between us that lists a different price, but decide not to point it out to him. "We have a dog," I say instead.
Shaking his head, he points at another sign with one of his thick, smoke-stained yellow fingers. "No animals."
Straightening my shoulders, I place my hand with the bills on the table so that he sees them. "What does it cost to pretend the dog doesn’t exist?"
His eyes wander to the money. He doesn’t seem surprised, but rather pleased. Almost as if he had been waiting for this. Then he grunts again and turns to the wall behind him, where nearly two dozen keys with oddly shaped tags hang.
"Two hundred. Room 12."
I count the money and put it on the table. He takes it and tosses me the key while he pockets the bills and turns his attention back to the TV.
Relief washes over me as I thank him and turn away to return to Cole. He looks at me with exhausted eyes and pulls one corner of his mouth up slightly as I open the passenger door and hand him the key. Without a word, he slowly turns to get out, the half smile immediately dying again.
"Take the bag from the back seat," he instructs me before walking toward the door with the number 12.
Quickly, I slam the passenger door and move to the back. Buster jumps out as soon as I open the door, but stays close to me as if he understands the gravity of the situation. After hoisting the bag of groceries out of the pickup, I shut the door and follow Cole.
When I enter the room, stale, dusty air hits me.
"I’m sorry," Cole mutters. "It’s no Four Seasons, but at least the paths are short."
My throat tightens. Although I don’t know what a Four Seasons is, I can hear in his voice that he’s trying to make a joke.
Unfortunately, I don’t feel like laughing right now, so I prop the bag on my hip, close the door behind me, and turn on the light.
When the room is bathed in a yellowish, not particularly bright glow, I look around.
It’s only a few feet from the doorway to the bed.
Across from the bed is a small table with two chairs, and looking straight ahead, I see a door with the paint peeling off.
The curtains on the window behind me are frayed, the floor is dirty and covered with burn holes, and the furniture is so old it has nicks all over it.
The room is miserable. Even I can tell though I’ve never seen a motel room before.
"Little darling?" Cole’s voice immediately draws my attention to him, and I hurry to the bed.
He’s lying on his back, still holding his arm, his face distorted in pain.
"What do you need?" I choke out as I’m thrown back to the night he came home covered in bruises and blood. Only now he looks worse. Much worse.
"Bring me the Jack."
I force myself not to cry as I get the whiskey for him.
Cole needs me now, and I can’t help him if I break down just because I’m worried.
When I open the bottle, the sharp smell of alcohol immediately hits my nose, but I ignore that, too.
I kneel on the bed next to Cole, being careful not to touch him.
"You need to sit up," I say quietly, but he just shakes his head slightly.
"I’m fine. Just bring the bottle to my lips."
With a tight throat and a painful stinging in my chest, I obey while holding back the rising tears with all my might.
"Fuck," he breathes out after taking a few sips. "That’s better."
He remains silent and motionless for a few minutes, but his expression relaxes a little as his breath steadies.
"You need to pop my shoulder back in," he eventually explains tonelessly.
I have no idea what it means to have a dislocated shoulder, which is why fear wants to rise in me again. Still, I know I have no choice, so I set the bottle of Jack Daniel’s down on the shabby nightstand.
"What do I have to do?"
"Stand next to the bed," Cole says, opening his eyes before lifting his left arm with his right hand. The sound that escapes his lips pierces my heart, but I don’t dare move as he places his arm on the mattress.
"Take my wrist in both hands and move my arm so it points in your direction."
"Is it going to hurt?" I whisper while I can’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes any longer.
He makes a strange sound; something between a laugh, a curse, and a groan. "Yeah. But there’s no avoiding it."
I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing right now than touching Cole. The tears almost take away my vision as I carefully wrap my fingers around his wrist and move his arm, causing him to inhale deeply.
"Stop. Yes… that’s good. Get on the bed beside me and place one foot against my rib cage. You have to apply pressure with it when you pull."
I do that, too, while the fear inside me wants to become sheer panic and threatens to strangle me, but I try to focus solely on Cole.
"You need to pull on my arm. Slowly, but firmly. Do you understand?"
I nod. "Can something go wrong?"
Once again, that joyless, agonized sound escapes him before he answers. "Don’t think about it. You’ve got this." He turns his head to look at me. "Ready?"
How could I be ready for that? Even Cole doesn’t seem comfortable with what’s about to happen, but no one can do it but me. The man from the reception is definitely not going to help us, even I know that.
"Yes," I say quietly and take a deep breath.
"Okay. Then pull."