Mia
The motel room smells like stale cigarette smoke and industrial cleaner. I drop my overnight bag on the faded floral bedspread and stare at the water-stained ceiling. This is it. The last stop before I face everything I've been running from for ten years.
Pinewood Lodge sits just outside Riverside's town limits. Close enough that I could drive there in fifteen minutes. Far enough that I can pretend I'm not really back yet.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the photos Sarah sent—Rory and Corey grinning at the camera, chocolate ice cream smeared across their faces. My chest tightens with missing them already, but I know this is necessary. I need to face my parents alone first.
I toss the phone onto the nightstand and pace the narrow room. The walls feel like they're closing in. What am I doing?
My reflection in the mirror shows a woman who looks older than twenty-seven. There are dark circles under my blue eyes. My hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. I look exhausted and terrified, which is exactly how I feel.
I need a drink.
The thought surprises me. I'm not a drinker. I can't be, not with two nine-year-olds depending on me. But tonight, with the twins safe at Sarah's and my entire future hanging in the balance, the idea of numbing this anxiety sounds perfect.
There's a bar across the street. The Rusty Nail, according to the neon sign flickering in the window.
I change into jeans and a simple black top and cross the parking lot. Inside, the bar is exactly what I expected. Dark wood paneling. Dim lighting. A handful of patrons scattered around. The bartender nods at me as I slide onto a barstool.
"What can I get you?"
"Vodka tonic."
I'm halfway through the glass when someone sits down two stools away. I glance over out of habit.
He's attractive in an understated way. Dark hair slightly messy. Green eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. Lean build in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Our eyes meet for a second. He offers a small, polite smile before turning his attention to the bartender.
"Whiskey, neat."
His voice is quiet but clear. There's something calming about it.
I finish my vodka tonic faster than I should and order another. The alcohol is starting to work, softening the sharp edges of my anxiety.
"You're not from around here." His voice startles me. I look over to find him watching me with curious green eyes.
"What makes you say that?"
"Small town. I'd remember seeing you before." He pauses. "That sounded less creepy in my head."
I laugh despite myself. "It's fine. You're right. I'm not from here. Just passing through."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Neither. Family stuff." I take another sip. "You?"
"I live about twenty minutes from here. Needed to get away from my own head for a while." He picks up his whiskey and moves to the stool directly next to mine. "I'm Noah."
"Mia." I inwardly wince. Maybe I shouldn't have given my real name. But then, why not? It's not like I'm hiding or afraid I'll run into him again.
"Nice to meet you, Mia." He extends his hand and I shake it. His grip is warm and firm. "Can I buy you another drink?"
I should say no. I should finish this one, go back to my motel room, and get some sleep before facing my parents tomorrow. But Noah's green eyes are kind and his presence is comforting in a way I didn't know I needed.
"Sure."
We talk for the next hour. He tells me he's a teacher, that he moved here two years ago for a better position. I tell him I'm starting a new job, that I'm nervous about it. We keep the conversation surface-level, both of us clearly avoiding the deeper wounds we're carrying.
But there's something between us. A pull I can't quite explain.
"Do you want to get out of here?" The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Noah's eyes darken slightly. "Are you sure?"
"No." I laugh. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
We walk across the street to the motel in charged silence. My hands shake as I unlock the door to my room. This isn't me. I don't do one-night stands. But tonight, I need to be someone else.
Noah closes the door behind us and turns to face me. "We don't have to do anything. We can just talk if you want."
"I don't want to talk."
I close the distance between us and kiss him. His lips are warm and taste like whiskey. He responds immediately, his hands coming up to frame my face, and I feel the warmth of his palms against my cheekbones.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt and I tug it upward.
He breaks the kiss long enough for me to pull it over his head, and the sight of him makes my breath catch.
He's broader than I expected, shoulders muscled in a way that suggests he spends time in a gym or doing something physical.
His chest is defined, pecs carved with clean lines, and there's a trail of dark hair that runs down the center of his stomach, disappearing into his jeans.
His abs aren't the exaggerated six-pack of a fitness model.
They're the real kind, the functional kind, visible ridges that flex when he breathes.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. The muscles are firm under my palms, shifting as he moves. There's a small scar near his left shoulder, pale and thin.
"What happened here?" I trace it with my fingertip.
"Basketball. Freshman year of college." His voice is rough, distracted, because his hands are already working the buttons of my blouse.
He pushes the fabric off my shoulders and it falls to the floor. His eyes roam over me, pupils dilated. His hands move to my waist, fingers splaying across my ribs, and I can feel his fingers splayed across my skin.
I reach behind me and unhook my bra, letting it drop.
His breath comes out in a rush. Then his hands are on me, cupping my breasts, and his palms are warm and slightly rough. His thumbs brush over my nipples and I gasp, arching into his touch. It's been so long since anyone has touched me like this.
We stumble toward the bed. Noah unzips my jeans and slides them down my hips along with my underwear. I step out of them, suddenly naked before him, and he takes a moment to look at me with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
"Your turn," I say, reaching for his belt.
He helps me, and when his jeans and boxers hit the floor, I take in the full sight of him. His thighs are thick with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He's already hard, his cock thick and flushed. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
We fall onto the bed together and his weight presses me into the mattress. Noah's mouth finds my neck, and I feel the slight scratch of stubble against my skin. His scent surrounds me: clean, soapy, something woodsy like cedar.
His hand trails down my stomach, between my thighs, and when his fingers find me wet and ready, he makes a low sound in his throat. He strokes me slowly, his fingers circling my clit with just the right amount of pressure. The sensation makes every touch more intense.
"Noah, please," I gasp.
"Tell me what you need."
"I need you inside me."
He reaches for his jeans on the floor, pulling out his wallet and retrieving a condom. I watch the muscles in his arms flex as he tears it open and rolls it on. Then he's settling between my thighs, and I feel the weight of him, the heat of his body covering mine.
"Look at me," he says.
I meet his eyes. He pushes inside slowly, and the stretch is intense. I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle there.
"Okay?" His voice is strained.
"Yes. Don't stop."
He sinks in deeper until he's fully seated inside me. For a moment he holds still, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us breathing hard.
Then he begins to move. The friction is exquisite. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the flex of his ass under my heels, pulling him deeper. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside me, and I can feel every ridge of muscle in his abdomen as our bodies move together.
His face is buried in my neck, his breath coming in hot bursts against my skin. I dig my nails into his back, feeling the muscles shift under my hands. His skin is slick with sweat now, sliding against mine.
The pleasure builds with each stroke. Noah's breathing grows ragged, his movements more urgent. One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles. The roughness of his fingertip makes me cry out.
The combination pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, my body clenching around him, and I cry out his name.
Noah follows moments later, his hips stuttering, his whole body going rigid. He groans, the sound raw and unguarded. Then he collapses beside me, his chest heaving, both of us slick with sweat and breathing hard.
For a long moment, we just lie there. Noah's fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder. His skin is cooling, but still warm where we're pressed together.
He pulls me closer, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The hair on his chest is soft against my cheek. For the first time since my mother's phone call, I feel like I can breathe.
I needed this.
We fall asleep wrapped around each other. When I wake in the early morning light, Noah is already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I have to go," he says softly. "Early meeting."
"It's okay." I pull the sheet up to cover myself. "Thank you for last night."
He leans down and kisses me gently. "I hope your new job goes well, Mia."
"I hope things get easier for you, Noah."
He smiles, sad and sweet, then leaves.
I shower and pack my things mechanically. Last night feels like a dream. A brief escape from reality before I have to face everything waiting for me in Riverside.
The drive into town takes twelve minutes. Every landmark is familiar and foreign at the same time. The old movie theater is now a coffee shop. But the elementary school looks exactly the same. So does the fire station where my father worked for thirty years.
I turn onto Maple Street and my breath catches. There it is. The white two-story house with the wraparound porch. The oak tree in the front yard where I used to climb as a kid.
Home.
I park across the street and cut the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. Through the front window, I can see movement inside. My mother, probably.
Is my father in there too? Sitting in his recliner, dying, wondering if I'll actually show up?
I sit in the car, staring at the house where I grew up, unable to make myself move.