Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

T he Backpack Motel finally came into view, its neon sign flickering through the curtain of rain. The road had been a blessed relief after the muddy, treacherous trail, but we were both soaked to the bone and exhausted. The motel looked as I remembered—twenty rooms with an overhang that shielded the dark green doors from the rain. It always reminded me of the Bates Motel from Psycho, but fortunately, the owners were nothing like Norman.

"Sally and Nick Murrow," I muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. "Nicest people you could ever meet."

Slade trudged beside me, looking about ready to collapse. “I’ll take your word for it.”

As we stepped inside, the warmth hit us like a wave, and Sally Murrow’s familiar voice called out before I could even spot her behind the counter. “That isn’t Morgan, is it?”

I grinned despite my drenched clothes, shaking the water from my hood. “It’s me, Sally.”

Sally, short with graying brown hair and a smile that could light up a room, came bustling around the desk. She didn’t even flinch at the puddles we left on her pristine knotty pine floors as she pulled me into a tight hug. "How long’s it been, honey?"

"Too long," I said, squeezing her back. “A couple of years, at least.”

She pulled away, eyes twinkling. “Well, who’s this handsome fella?” She gestured toward Slade, who was dripping wet and clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Slade Abbott,” I introduced, amused when Sally didn’t hesitate to wrap him in a hug too, as if we weren’t both soaked.

Slade gave me a sheepish smile as he endured the hug. "Nice to meet you," he said, a little awkwardly.

“What can I do for you two?” Sally asked, retreating behind the counter and eyeing us like we were a pair of drowned rats.

“We need a room. Please tell me you’ve got one, because the idea of sleeping in the rain tonight is making me lose the will to live,” I said, half-joking, but mostly serious.

Sally chuckled, thumbing through a set of keys. “You and rain never did get along. Remember that summer you showed up here at two in the morning?”

I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I will,” Sally said with a wink, turning to Slade as if I wasn’t even there. “This one came in, soaked to the bone, dragging along a pack of miserable friends. She couldn’t stand the rain dripping into her tent and practically begged me for a room. Dropped wet, crumpled bills all over my counter!”

Slade’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Sounds about right.”

Sally found the key and glanced up. “I’ve got two rooms left. One queen, one king. No doubles, though.”

I bit my lip. The idea of sharing a bed with Slade made my heart race, but at this point, anything was better than camping out in a storm. “The king will do.”

I slipped my pack off, about to reach for my wallet, when Slade beat me to it. He pulled his credit card from the zippered pocket of his cargo shorts and handed it to Sally.

“Slade, I got this,” I protested, fishing out my wallet.

“Shush, Morgan,” he said firmly. “I’m paying.”

Sally raised an eyebrow at our little exchange but took the card without a word, her smile knowing. I huffed, slipping my wallet back into my bag as Slade signed the credit card slip.

“I’m the one who suggested we stay,” I muttered under my breath.

“And I’m the one sharing the room with you, so I’m paying,” Slade said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sally handed over the key card with a wink. “You two need anything from the store?”

“Maybe in the morning,” I said. “But what time does the diner close?”

“Midnight,” Sally replied, her grin widening. “Still making those giant burgers you love, Morgan.”

“I could use one right now,” I said, glancing at Slade. “They’ve got this ridiculous mega burger—four patties. Takes a week to eat.”

“I might actually try that,” Slade said with a half-smile. “I’m starving.”

He grabbed the key card and slipped it into his pocket, then helped me shrug my pack back on. As we headed for the door, a few more hikers trudged in behind us, their faces a mirror of exhaustion and relief.

“One of those groups is going to be stuck,” I murmured, glancing back.

“They might just be here for supplies,” Slade said, holding the door open for me as the rain continued to pound against the aluminum roof of the porch. “Still, beats camping in this.”

We walked down the stairs, making our way to room ten. The motel’s rustic charm greeted us as soon as Slade pushed open the door. Pine-paneled walls and floors, a king-sized bed with thick, plush pillows, a flat-screen TV, and a small eating area with a round table. It was basic, but it felt like luxury after the day we’d had.

I dropped my pack with a heavy thud and peeled off my soaked rain jacket, draping it over one of the chairs. My boots were next. “Thank God they’ve got a boot dryer,” I muttered, hanging my boots upside down on the plastic poles and flipping the warm air switch.

Slade followed suit, gingerly peeling off his boots and damp socks. His heel was a mess, just as I’d expected. The band-aid had slipped, and the blister was torn open, the skin soft and white from the moisture.

“Let me see,” I said, kneeling in front of him and gently lifting his foot by the ankle.

Slade winced but didn’t pull away. “It’s fine,” he mumbled.

“Fine, my ass.” I examined the raw skin, shaking my head. “You’re lucky it’s not infected. You should’ve said something earlier.”

He gave me a weak smile, leaning back in the chair. “Figured we had more important things to worry about.”

“Well, you’re off the trail tomorrow unless I patch this up.”

His eyes softened as I continued to tend to the blister, and for a moment, the rain outside seemed to fade into the background.

“I knew this would happen.” My voice was filled with frustration as I flipped over Slade’s boot, revealing the bunched-up band-aid. The one I had carefully placed earlier was now useless. I peeled it off and tossed it into the trash.

“What should I do with this?” Slade asked, leaning closer, his brows furrowed in mild concern.

“Let it air dry after you shower, and then I’ll bandage it again,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Hopefully, the rain will stop tomorrow.”

“And if it doesn’t?” His voice held a hint of playfulness, but I knew he was serious.

I met his gaze. “We’ll decide tomorrow. No point in stressing over it now. You want to shower first?”

He shook his head, a soft grin playing on his lips. “You go. I can wait.”

Relief washed over me. My muscles were sore, and the promise of hot water was too tempting to resist. “Thanks. I need it.”

The motel’s bathroom was small but pristine, everything coated in white—white tiles, white toilet, white sink, even the walls were white. The colorlessness only made my exhaustion feel sharper, like I could dissolve into the blankness. I stripped off my damp clothes, turned the shower on full blast, and let the steaming water rain down over my skin.

The heat was a balm, easing the tightness in my muscles. I took my time, shampooing my hair with the motel's complimentary vanilla-scented products, then soaped my body twice. The subtle scent of vanilla drifted through the steam as I wrapped myself in a thick towel. I was combing out the tangles in my hair when a knock startled me.

“Are you done? I’ve got a chill,” Slade’s voice called through the door.

Without thinking, I yanked it open—and froze. His eyes roamed over me, taking in my barely covered body, lingering on the curve of my hips, the slope of my chest. The air between us thickened, and I could feel the fire building inside me in response to the hunger I saw in his gaze. My pulse quickened.

“I’m done,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”

He didn’t move, just looked at me for a beat longer than necessary before answering. “I just need a hot shower, some food other than MREs, and a comfortable bed.” His eyes softened as he added, “Then I’ll be good to go tomorrow.”

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. “I hope so. I want to cover at least fifteen miles tomorrow, maybe twenty.”

Slade’s lips curved into a slow smile. “I’d be up for that. I’m enjoying my time with you.”

I averted my gaze, my heart thumping too hard in my chest. I couldn’t look at him like that—not when my body was betraying me. I turned toward the door. “Your turn,” I mumbled, stepping aside.

As he passed me, the warmth of his body radiated in the narrow space, and I was painfully aware of my own body’s reaction. I tightened the towel around myself and rushed out before he could say anything else.

By the time he came out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, I was dressed—barely keeping myself together. My eyes betrayed me though, darting to his broad shoulders, the muscles flexing as he dug through his pack. When he disappeared into the bathroom again, I exhaled, finally releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This trip was starting to mess with my head.

I was sitting on the bed, pretending to be engrossed in my phone when Slade emerged, fully dressed. The bed beneath me was so comfortable I could’ve sunk into it right then and fallen asleep.

“Are we getting dinner?” he asked, peeking out the window.

“Is it still raining?” I looked up, hoping for good news.

He sighed. “Pouring.”

“Great. Just great.” I rubbed my eyes in frustration. “I wonder if I can talk Sally into delivering to us.”

“I can get it,” he offered.

I shook my head. “The last thing you need is to go out in the rain. If you’re getting a cold, it’s not worth making it worse.”

His eyes gleamed with something I couldn’t quite place. “Is that care I hear in your voice?”

I groaned. “You’re an idiot. Of course, I care for you.”

His smile faltered slightly. “But you don’t want anything with me.”

“Let’s not rehash this,” I said, my voice suddenly tired.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I thought this trip would bring us closer.”

My heart stuttered. “Is that why you found me?”

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “I want to be part of your life. Is that so hard to believe?”

I felt something in my chest constrict. “Slade, I like you, but… we’re just so different.”

He sat down beside me, his presence warm and solid. “How are we different? Because I grew up with money and you didn’t? That’s got nothing to do with who we are now. We both work hard, and we’re good at it.”

My stomach twisted. “Is that how you see my exit from Abbott? Successful?”

His brow furrowed, but his voice was gentle. “If I’d been running the company, you would’ve been promoted.”

“And that would’ve been favoritism,” I countered, my voice edged with frustration.

“How?” he asked, voice rising slightly. “Because I’m in love with you? No one knows that except you. I’ve never told anyone else how I feel.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared at him, my throat tight. Finally, I reached out, placing my hand gently on his scruffy cheek. “You’re a sweet man, Slade.”

He closed his eyes and covered my hand with his. “I wish you were sweet on me.”

My heart ached. I pulled my hand away, trying to push back the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “Let’s just get to know each other on this trip, okay?”

“Deal.” His voice was resigned, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Want to flip a coin for who goes to get dinner?”

I chuckled softly. “I’ll go. My luck with coins is terrible—I’d lose anyway.”

Slade grinned. “Fine by me. I’ll take a Mega burger with fries and a chocolate shake.”

I rolled my eyes, dragging myself off the bed. “Anything else, your highness?”

“Nope. That should do it,” he said with a wink.

As I pulled on my rain gear, I couldn’t help but feel the tension simmering between us—unspoken, unresolved, and undeniable.

The air was thick with humidity, but the rain didn’t feel so cold anymore now that my skin had warmed up. I hurried along the sidewalk, splashing through puddles that soaked my feet, but I didn’t mind. I could dry off once I got back to the room.

When I entered the diner, it was buzzing with life. The two groups of hikers who’d come in after us were already there, hunched over their meals, with their packs lined up against the far wall. In the corner, a few grizzled old men sat playing cards, their mugs of beer dripping with condensation, while a group of teenagers in a red vinyl booth tossed fries at each other. Nick, the owner, scowled as he barked at them to cut it out.

Nick was as tall as Sally was short. His black hair, always cut in a neat brush, made his piercing blue eyes stand out. No matter the season, his skin carried a permanent tan. The moment he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he stepped from behind the counter to pull me into a warm hug.

"Damn, girl, how long’s it been? You get prettier every time I see you," Nick said, his voice warm with genuine affection.

I could feel my cheeks redden. "You always say that, Nick."

"I mean it. How many hearts you been breaking since last time?"

I grinned, shaking my head. "Would you believe none?"

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Now I’d say you're teasing me. Sally told me you’re here with a beau. Is he treating you right?"

“He’s just a friend, not a beau,” I said, waving him off.

Nick released me, and I hopped onto one of the red vinyl barstools, spinning around with a laugh. He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”

I smiled and steadied myself. "I need to order some food to go."

Nick frowned, leaning against the counter. "Why didn’t your friend come out and grab it in this rain?"

"He’s got a cold coming on, I think. Didn’t want to risk him getting worse. Slade’s a good guy."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like he might be worth dating."

"Maybe," I said, quickly shifting the conversation to Slade’s food order. I scanned the two-page menu briefly and then rattled off mine. "BLT, fries, and a vanilla shake."

Nick gave me a playful look. "That’s a hearty meal for a little girl."

"I’m burning a lot of calories out there."

With a grin, Nick snapped the ticket into the window behind him and called out to the cook. When he turned back, he leaned on the counter, his elbows propped up. “How’s life treating you?”

“Good. Starting a new job in a couple of weeks,” I replied, glancing around the bustling diner.

Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Thought you were happy where you were?”

I shrugged. “I was, but that was two years ago. Things change.”

“How’re your folks?” he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

I sighed, my smile fading slightly. “Dad’s arthritis is getting bad. He’s been cutting back on his meds to make them last longer. It’s part of the reason I took the new job. More money.”

Nick nodded sympathetically. “And the other part?”

“The old place had a... hostile atmosphere. You know how it is—engineering’s still a boys' club. Some guys don’t take kindly to a woman knowing her stuff.”

Nick frowned. “What about the new gig?”

“Better. More women in leadership, more transparency. Feels like I’ll have room to grow there,” I said, feeling hopeful.

Just then, an old man a few seats down banged his coffee cup on the counter. “Hey, Nick! What’s a guy gotta do to get a refill?”

Nick shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Hold your horses, Phil, I’m coming.”

As he filled Phil’s cup, the cook rang the bell for my order. Nick grabbed the white plastic bag with "Backpack Diner" written in bold black letters and brought it over to me.

"Twenty bucks even," Nick said with a wink, sliding the bag across the counter.

I narrowed my eyes. "No way. The Mega burger alone is fourteen without the shake, and mine’s twelve."

Nick chuckled, shaking his head. "You sayin’ I’m a liar? Twenty even."

I grumbled but handed him two tens from my jacket pocket. “You’re too good to me. You’ll never make money this way.”

Nick shrugged. "Not all customers get the special treatment. Those brats over there?" He jerked his thumb at the teenagers. "They pay full price."

I smirked. "Why am I so special?"

"Because we’ve got a soft spot for you. You ought to come by more often—two years is too long."

“I will. I’ll make the drive from the city just to say hello,” I promised.

“I’m holding you to that. Breakfast is at six tomorrow, rain or shine,” Nick said, his tone firm but friendly.

I thanked him, grabbed the bag, and made my way out. The rain had let up a little, but it was still falling heavily. When I got back to the room, Slade was snoring softly, sprawled out on the bed. I tiptoed around, peeling off my wet clothes and hanging them on the hook by the door.

“Slade,” I called softly, but he didn’t stir. I touched his shoulder, and he snorted awake.

“Damn, I was out cold,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“Dinner’s here,” I said, setting the food out on the small table.

Slade stretched and yawned. "Let me pay you back for it."

"Nah, you paid for the room. Let’s just eat," I replied, smiling as I began to unpack the food.

The aroma of greasy diner food filled the room, making both our stomachs growl. Slade sat down and opened his container, eyeing the towering burger with a mixture of awe and confusion. He flipped the skewer out and tried to figure out how to eat it.

"How do you even eat this thing?" Slade asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Piece by piece unless you plan on unhinging your jaw,” I teased.

We both laughed as I handed him some napkins. I opened my container and marveled at the thick stack of bacon on my BLT. It’d been too long since I had something this good.

Slade took a massive bite of his burger, ketchup and mustard smearing the corners of his mouth. Before he could reach for a napkin, I leaned over and wiped it away with my thumb.

"Thanks. This really hits the spot after all that trail food," he said, his eyes reflecting his contentment.

I nodded, taking a bite of my sandwich. Then, with a grin, I dipped one of my fries into my vanilla shake—a habit from childhood.

Slade raised an eyebrow, watching me. "Fries in your shake? That’s... different."

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” I said, holding out a fry.

He hesitated, then dipped a fry into his own chocolate shake and took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise. "You’re right. Might never eat them with ketchup again."

We fell into a comfortable silence, savoring our food. It might be the last proper meal we’d have for a while, and we both knew it.