I’m holding my breath waiting for Bran to tell Rayna about Milo and me knowing each other, but he doesn’t, thank God. That man is the last thing I want to talk about right now.
“Which motel? We’ve both lived here our entire lives, so you don’t need to give us directions.” She laughs from the front seat.
“The Misty Motor Inn,” I say as quietly as possible.
“I’m sorry, what?” This comes from Bran.
I repeat the name a little louder, not daring to look at Rayna because if they know this town so well, they probably know the Misty Inn in all its shady glory. God, this is humiliating.
His face isn’t visible from my position, but Bran practically growls behind the wheel. “Oh, no. I heard you the first time. What I mean is what the hell are you doing there? You’re gonna get yourself killed staying at a shithole like that!”
“Bran,” Rayna tries to interject, but he’s on a roll.
“Don’t ‘Bran’ me. If she manages not to get shot, she’s gonna get hepatitis or tetanus or… or Ebola staying at that place.” He turns in his seat and pins me with a frown. “You’re not staying there.”
“Gee, Dad,” Rayna drawls. “Can she at least stay out ‘til curfew?” She smiles back at me, and I appreciate her trying to make me feel better.
“It’s just for a couple days,” I offer, not liking where this is going. I mean, I know the place is a nightmare, and it’s always nice having someone in your corner, but I’m a grown adult.
“Absolutely not! We’d never forgive ourselves if something happened to you.” Bran’s head is shaking like he’s got water in his ears. “And Milo!”
Oh no.
“Shit. Milo’s gonna blow a gasket when he finds out you’re staying there!”
I lean forward. “No!” My voice is louder than I intended, but this has utter catastrophe written all over it.
“Wait. Why would Milo…?” Rayna is as confused as every other damn person I’ve come across who knows that dickhead.
Bran turns to her and hooks a thumb back at me. “This is Jill.”
Rayna rolls her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear with what tolerance she has left. “I know, genius. I work with her.”
“No, I mean, this is Jill.” He leaves it at that, and Rayna glances back at me—like I’m about to help her out with this one? Nope.
“What do… Ooooh!” Her eyes go wide. “You’re Jill?”
Oh my God. This is not happening.
What in the hell did Milo tell these people about me? “No. I mean, yes. Of course I’m Jill. But I’m not Jill or whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
Rayna eyes me. “I’m confused. Do you know Milo or not?”
“Uhhhh, yes?” I try to hide my grimace.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this. What a small world.” She’s smiling and staring at me like she’s never seen me before.
“Utterly microscopic,” I murmur, my eyes straying to the window.
The buildings start to look familiar, telling me we’ve almost reached the motel. Thank you, baby Jesus.
I gather my purse and phone and scooch toward the door. “Okay, um, we don’t need to involve Milo in this at all, okay? I’ve got things under control, and I swear once I leave the inn, I won’t ever go back. Deal?”
But Bran isn’t slowing down. Aaand there goes the inn.
“Hey! You missed it!” I gaze almost forlornly—if you can believe that—out the rear window as the sign gets smaller and smaller.
“No, I didn’t. I know exactly where I’m going.” Bran adjusts his grip on the steering wheel like he’s about to challenge someone to a drag race.
“But my stuff is there,” I protest. “Look, it’s nice of you to try and take care of me and let me sleep on your couch or whatever, but I swear I’m fine. Please, just turn around. You guys must be exhausted. I know I am.” I keep blathering on, hoping something sticks.
“We’ll get your stuff tomorrow when it’s daylight and we’re less likely to be shot.”
I get the feeling he’s not joking, and I swallow hard. Well, it looks like I’m couch surfing until I get a place of my own.
But Bran’s not done. “For tonight, you’re staying at Milo’s”
Hello, baby Jesus, we need to have a word.
Chapter Eleven
MILO
“What now?” My feet hit the floor, and I push myself up from the couch, feeling the burn from the stretch in my leg. Who in the hell is knocking on my door at 10:45 at night on a Tuesday? Shuffling to the front door, I scratch my beard and try shaking off the sleep that almost had me under while the news rattled from the TV.
I open the door without checking who’s there, which just goes to show how damn tired my brain is, and I’m not all that surprised to see Bran standing there. I am, however, surprised to see the expression he’s wearing.
“What’s the matter? Did you have a fight with Rayna?” He’s spitting mad, which, in my experience, is usually caused by either a shitty client or a woman. And since Bran didn’t work today, I can only assume it’s a woman—his woman.
He lets himself in and stalks toward the kitchen as the door bangs shut behind him.
“Make yourself at home. Can I get you a beer? Maybe a four-course meal?” I follow him at a much slower pace. I need to stretch my leg out after he leaves.
“That woman is so damn stubborn.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, man, but you’ve known that for twenty years, and you still put a ring on it.”
He looks up like he just realized I’m in the room. “Not Rayna.”
I back up a step. “Whoa! Is there something you need to confess here? I never took you for that kind of guy.” I’m half joking, but something’s got him worked up.
“No, jackass. I’m talking about your little friend.” He’s pacing now, and I’m even more confused, which I didn’t think was possible.
“What little friend?” I consider for a split second that he might be talking about Felicity since he’s as familiar as I am with her stubborn nature. But my niece is hundreds of miles north, hanging with her friend.
“Jill.”
And here I was thinking this shit show of a day was over.
“What about her?” Honestly, it could be anything. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she were perched on some rooftop claiming to have grown wings at this rate.
He pauses and looks me straight in the eye. “Tell me you didn’t know she’s been staying at the Misty.”
My body locks. “What did you say?”
“She’s staying at the Misty. At least she was until I drove her ass here. Now she won’t get out of the damn truck.”
I don’t care how she ended up in the backseat of my friend’s truck, but I’ve never been more grateful to Bran for anything. That woman may be a pain in my ass, but that doesn’t mean I want her dead or attacked—or worse. What in the hell is she doing at that shithole?
My boots are headed for the door before I can think twice.