And their mother? How did Shannon cope? The journal says she was beaten, too. Not to the degree the boys were, but enough for Tyler to write about her getting hit. I can’t help wondering if any of Holden’s rage was directed toward her—the woman who was supposed to love her kids more than anything, but who didn’t protect them. Or if he just felt helpless against it all.
I look over at Holden. Study the strong profile of his face. His tight grip on the steering wheel. The furrow between his eyebrows. Fighting the urge to ask him questions I know he’ll refuse to answer, I force my gaze away. Regardless, I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, and there’s no closing it.
In just under an hour, we’re pulling into a Best Western near the Talladega Superspeedway.
“We’ll check in first, then if you want, watch a race. Or we can do that tomorrow if you’re not feeling it.”
“I’m up for it,” I say. “I think getting out in the fresh air will be better than sitting in a hotel room.” My mouth pulls into a tight-lipped smile. It feels off, like I’m trying to force myself to be polite because of what I now know. This complicates so much. I need to get my mind off of his past, our past, their father. Everything.
After he parks and we grab our bags, we head toward the entrance. There’s nothing special about the hotel; it’s like every roadside hotel I’ve ever seen. But just the fact that I’m so far away from home makes it seem more exciting.
Once we’re at the check-in counter, Holden looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Two rooms?”
My mouth pops open. “I, uh. Yeah. I’ll get mine. You can get yours.” I pull out my small cross-body bag from my pack, but he waves his hand.
“I got you.” He turns his attention to the portly blond woman behind the counter. “Two rooms, single beds. Next door to each other, if you have them.”
“Holden,” I say. “I can pay for my own.”
He doesn’t respond. Just hands over his credit card to the woman when she tells him she has two available rooms next door to each other.
“Fine. I’ll get it the next time.”
His lips twitch into a slight smile. “Just take your room key.”
As we walk through the hallway toward our rooms, I say, “You didn’t have to do that. This trip was last minute for you, so I don’t mind paying for stuff.”
“I’m not a broke hoodlum, as hard as that is to believe.” He glances at the numbers along the doors and stops when he reaches ours. “I have some money saved. And besides, I cost you your train ticket. I’m sure it wasn’t cheap.”
I tilt my head. “True, but still. It was unexpected. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your savings on me.”
Slipping his key card into the reader, he says, “I’ve got a good job and I’ve never taken any of my vacation time. I’m due for some time off, and I have plenty to blow.” He tosses his bag into the room, then he looks at me and extends his hand. “Let me check out your room first.”
I feel my forehead crease. “For what?”
“Monsters.” He winks.
Holden
The Best Western kicks the shit out of The Island Getaway Inn. I haven’t been in a decent bed, meaning mine, since I left my apartment in Atlanta. Stretching out, I toe off my boots and tuck my hands behind my head.
The gauze bandaging my left hand is loose and annoying. I go ahead and remove it and inspect the cut. It’s red and sore, but healed over. Thinking of Sam’s tee tucked into my bag, still stained with my blood, I feel my brow crease. I don’t know why I kept it. With a heavy exhale, I put my hands back behind my head and close my eyes, hoping to get some rest before Sam and I head out.
Spending four and a half hours with someone isn’t a huge ordeal. Spending four and half hours with someone closed up in the cab of a truck? A whole other story. I have a feeling by the end of this trip, Sam and I are either going to work through our issues or want to kill each other.
Maybe both.
Unable to turn off my brain, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and pull up the browser. I Google the Talladega Superspeedway and click the first link for their website. Scrolling through the site, I find their number and jot it down with the pen and notepad next to me.
Performing these mindless actions keeps me from thinking about what I witnessed after Sam got sick on the side of the highway. She was having a conversation with an invisible person. I stood there, water bottle in hand, battling a mix of confusion and fright. I’ve never dealt with someone who suffers from delusions, or psychosis. I’m not sure I’m capable of handling it right.