Page 17 of The Stranger
She’s gone.
I cross the room quickly, hoping to check out the window and catch her. I shouldn’t have left her. If she tries to walk in this storm—and God knows she’s stubborn enough to do it—it’ll be a death sentence.
“What’re you doing?”
I spin around at the sound of her voice to find her on the floor near the side of the bed, propped up on her hands and knees, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I look down at myself, realizing what I must look like racing across the room in nothing but a towel. But she’s still here, and somehow that makes it all okay.
Trying to regain my composure, I stare at her. “I could ask you the same thing.”
She eases backward and sits on her heels, staring at me. “The phones don’t work.”
“What do you mean?” I shoot a glance at the phone, which is currently in its place on the end table.
“It’s dead. There’s no dial tone or anything. Just…nothing. I was trying to see if the phone line was unhooked or something.”
“And?”
She shakes her head. “It’s attached to the jack. The storm must’ve knocked out the phone lines, too.”
“But not the power?” I run another hand over my hair, thinking. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
At least this means she’ll have to stay, but I don’t want it like this. It’s terrible, the way she’s looking at me.
“I’m not sure,” she mutters. “Did you check your phone?”
I nod, gesturing toward the bathroom where it’s still resting in my pants pocket, with less than ten percent battery left. “Yeah, still nothing. The storm must’ve taken out a tower. Actually, thanks for the reminder. I need to charge my phone before it dies.” I grab my bag and place it on the bed, searching for my charger. When I find it, I gather a change of clothes before looking up at her and noticing the wary look on her face.
She swallows, looking bitter and angry but also somehow on the verge of tears.
“Hey, you’re okay, you know? It’s going to be okay. In the morning, we’ll get back out on the road again. They’ll have things cleared up some. Maybe the phones will be back to working. It’ll all be fine.”
She nods at me, clearing her throat. “I know.” Just like that, every trace of vulnerability is gone.
“Okay, well, let me get some clothes on, and I’ll go and see about booking you a room if that’s what you still want.” I remain still, watching her to see what she’ll say. “If you feel safer in here, there are two beds. I don’t mind?—”
“You’re a stranger, Walker. Why the hell would I feel safer with you? I want my own room.”
“That’s…sort of like a thank you, I guess,” I mutter, dropping my phone charger on the bed and turning to walk back to the bathroom.
She’s on her feet then. “Why should I say thank you? You’re the reason I’m here.”
I spin around, pinning her with a glare. “You’re right. I am the reason you’re here, Tibby. The reason you’re safe. The reason you’re warm and dry. Now, I’m sorry that your plans got ruined, and I’m sorry that your boyfriend or ex or whatever the hell he is sucks, but I’m not the one you’re mad at. I haven’t done anything wrong here. Okay? So you can stop with the attitude. And maybe…” I trail off, knowing what I was about to say is too cutting, even for the frustration I feel right now.
“Maybe what?” she challenges.
“Maybe next time, pick someone better. Someone who won’t leave you stranded in the middle of a snowstorm. Someone who won’t hurt you.”
Her jaw is set, her eyes stony as she stares at me. “You don’t know me, Walker.”
“No. I don’t. Not for a lack of trying, but I don’t. And I don’t have to. But you could be a little less…” I search for the word I’m looking for, but I can’t find it. “Whatever you’re being right now. I’m not the enemy, okay? I’m only trying to help.”
“If you want less, go find less, Walker,” she says, waving a hand to shoo me away. “I’m not a stray puppy dog. You didn’t rescue me.”
I raise a brow at her. “Well, I kind of did.”
She huffs, shoulders rising, and though I want to hate it, somehow it’s adorable. Adorable and completely irritating. “What do you want, dude? A hero’s badge? You want me to tell you thank you?”