AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Here.” I tilt my head down and look at the balled-up towel she holds out to me, a second one exactly the same in her other hand.
“I don’t need it.” I flex my fingers, and my knuckles sting slightly when the cool air brushes against them. Rolling her eyes, she shoves the towel into my stomach, then lets go, leaving me no choice but to catch it.
“You’re welcome.” She leans back against the wall next to me, pressing the ice to the side of her face and wincing at the contact.
“Do you have some ibuprofen?”
“No.” She blows out a long breath, then drops her gaze to my knuckles. “How bad is your hand?”
“I’m fine.”
“So because you have a penis, you get to say you’re fine?”
Pressing my lips together, I glare, and she laughs. I can’t help but glance at her cheek, my eyes zeroing in on her dimple.
“I can’t believe that happened.” She holds the ice to her face, shaking her head.
“What were you thinking, stepping between two men twice your size?”
“It’s not like I thought I’d get punched in the face,” she replies haughtily, and my jaw clenches at the reminder. “I didn’t know they were actually going to fight. Those guys come in a couple of times a week together, and they always end up getting drunk and arguing before they call it a night and go home.” She looks in the direction of the bar. We can’t see it from where we are, not with the bushes and trees that line the curvy sidewalk. “I should probably get back to work before Colleen comes looking for me.”
“You need to take some ibuprofen and go to bed.”
“I need to finish my shift so I can get paid,” she counters, pushing away from the wall.
“Elora,” I bite out when she starts to walk off.
“Night, Roman,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing out of sight around a bend in the sidewalk, and I let her go, even when every instinct urges me to follow and bring her back.
4
ELORA
43.0760° N, 107.2903° W
Lying on my back in bed, I watch a long beam of light from the morning sun that breaks in through a crack in the curtain as it slowly travels across the blank space of the ceiling. When I first woke up, the light was on the wall and the box still sitting on top of the dresser, like the contents inside wanted the warmth of the sun and drew it inside the room.
When I roll to my side, my eyes land on the water and bottle of ibuprofen sitting on my nightstand—a gift I found inside a plastic bag hanging on the door handle of my room when I came upstairs last night after finishing my shift at the bar. Even if I didn’t see him place them there, I knew they were from Roman. The guy who got his food to go and left me sitting alone at The Coast after telling me that he didn’t know why he was here in town. The same guy who didn’t acknowledge me when he walked into the bar last night, and the one who tossed one man like he weighed nothing, then punched the one who punched me, looking like he could have killed him when he eyed the red mark on my cheekbone.
Giving up on going back to sleep or trying to figure out Roman, who is a conundrum all his own, I toss back the blanket covering me and sit up. I have today off, which I’m going to need. With an unexpected wave of nice weather, the weekend will be busier than normal, so I likely won’t get much of a break between housekeeping and my job at the bar for a few days.
Walking to the bathroom, I flip on the light and go to the sink, leaning over it to get a better look at the side of my face. There’s a tender bruise and slight welt, but it’s not as bad as it could have been if I hadn’t put ice on it when Roman demanded.
I’ll never admit it, but he was right. Getting between two grown men who were fighting was stupid, and it’s a mistake I will never make again.
After going through my morning routine, I get dressed in a pair of cutoffs and a sweater and glance at the box on my dresser. I’m not ready to take some of my mom’s ashes with me and let a small piece of her go yet. Maybe in a few days.
I leave my room and head toward the beach that is a short walk from the hotel. Even with the sun out, the cold breeze that comes off the water has me questioning the shorts, but as I look at the people lining the beach, I know I’m the only one who feels that way. There are men and women in bathing suits, kids playing in the freezing pools of water that never seem to dry up, and dogs running up and down the sand.
Cutting my way across the beach, I head for Haystack Rock. The landmark shoots out of the water and sand, seeming out of place and alone, like it got cast out by the hills and mountains that stretch along the coast.
The first time I saw it in person, I got tears in my eyes. The photos Mom and I looked at online hadn’t done it justice.
As I’m passing a couple and a photographer taking their photo, I notice a familiar figure jogging in my direction. With the sun shining down on Roman, his dark-brown hair almost seems to glow with a hint of red, and without his shirt, I realize that the black tattoos I noticed on both his hands travel up his wrists and forearms and end near his collarbones. If I ever needed the visual representation of the classic bad boy moms warn their daughters to stay away from, I now have it.
When he’s about ten feet away, he slows to a walk while removing the earbuds from his ears. Shoving them in the pocket of his athletic shorts, he closes the distance between us while his eyes wander over my face.
“It doesn’t look too bad today.” He nods toward my cheek, his eyes locked on the spot that feels tender when my hair lightly brushes against it.
