Sunglasses 16: Motel Tale

~ Cal ~ 

That morning—my first real day as a storm chaser—sits in my memory like another world. I knew so little compared to now. The gap between past me and current me is the length between dawn and dusk. See, I'm making a joke because it's currently dusk where I'm at. Yes, I'm that lame.

Ever notice when it's getting dark how the first stars sneak out when you're not looking? The sky goes from deep blue to purple, still smooth and clear, but the second you glance away, bam! Twinkle, twinkle.

There are some similarities to that morning a year ago. The clear skies. The nuts-freezing cold. It’s hard to believe I’m in the desert, because after dark this campsite gets as frosty as that morning at the Missouri River Motor Lodge, when the chill coated my bones while I waited for Mel and Maira to finish their chat.

I met so many people that day, and Mel was with me for most of it. That might be the biggest difference between then and now. Tonight, on the mountain, I haven't seen anyone for hours. The view’s stunning, but it's hard to enjoy it alone.

I’m still getting ahead of myself. Back to South Dakota.

Mel and her friend talked for a while—about me, I assumed. Then they disappeared around a corner and talked some more. Still about me, probably. It couldn't have lasted very long, but my nerves stretched each second out.

Meeting Omaira had been like getting jabbed in the throat by a rolled-up fashion magazine. My brain didn’t know how to process someone like her. Before today, I thought people like that only existed on phone screens and social media posts.

She’d arrived in a supercar. Who the fuck drives a supercar in South Dakota?

Everything about Omaira was perfect. Her clothes looked casual, but even I could tell they were broadcasting status signals I was too poor to receive. The liquid-looking pants probably cost a year of my salary, and I picked up a crazy perfume when I went to awkwardly shake her hand after she “presented it.” Whatever it was, it smelled like…fuck if I know. Endangered animals trapped in a private jet? All I wanted was to replace its lingering scent with Mel’s uncomplicated fabric softener and flowery shampoo smell.

If Omaira’s goal had been to intimidate me and make me feel like a yokel, she'd knocked it out of the park.

And that was before she’d caught me ogling Mel’s ass.

Look, I’m not about to say Omaira didn’t have a nice booty. Of course she did. It just couldn’t compete with Mel’s. Even with looser pants, Mel’s tight and toned rear was hypnotizing in motion. She had a confident stride that created these tiny hip sways, each one a feminine spark that threatened to ignite my body.

Clearly Mel’s ass brought out my inner poet, so of course her best friend had to spy me drooling like a zombie eyeing fresh voluptuous brains. 

Getting busted had amped their girl talk into a full-blown “girl symposium.” Their heads had come together and their quiet exchanges grew urgent as Omaira hurried Mel even faster. Feeling mildly humiliated, I busied myself by going back to the car for my bag and what was left of the snacks.

Later—sometime between fifteen minutes and nine hours—Mel returned alone.

Her mood had completely changed. She was frowning at the walkway, troubled but trying not to show it. The fact that I could tell meant I was either getting good at reading her…or that she was so upset she couldn’t hide her feelings.

I pushed off from where I was leaning against the back of her car. As I bent down to get my bag, I was angry at myself for not having an instant solution to help Mel feel better. I was angry at Omaira for putting her friend in this mood. And I was suddenly worried that I had misunderstood every single thing about our trip. 

Impossible. I would have to be out of my mind, hallucinating entire conversations to get the wrong impression. How we felt toward each other was obvious and mutual…wasn’t it?

“Maira’s gone upstairs to finish unpacking,” Mel said. “Everyone else is heading to a coffee place we use when we’re in town.” Even with her sunglasses I could tell she wasn’t looking at me.

“Everyone else?” I prompted.

My words seemed to jolt her into talking. “My friends. The ones I storm chase with. Maira, Luis and Adriana, Lora and Bobby…” She trailed off.

“Ángel and his pack?” I said.

“Maybe,” she murmured. Mel finally looked at me, and her mask broke for just an instant. I saw anger and sadness. The glimpse made me want to take her into my arms…if only I had the right. “I’m sorry,” she added.

“About Ángel? You don’t have to be.” But I wasn't sure she was apologizing for him. This all felt wrong. My fingers were digging into my palms when they should have been running through her hair.

Mel’s throat worked, and she nodded. Pulling out her keys, she said nothing and moved toward the back of the car. I had to awkwardly step aside so she could open it. 

She slammed the trunk and slung her overnight bag, giving me a brief side glance. The gesture looked almost shy, but I was fairly certain I saw regret in her face. Fingers of dread rooted around in my gut. 

“Mel…” I hesitated, then forced the words past the thickness in my throat. “Would you like me to get another room?”

Her inhale was audible. “No. That’s…no.” She shook her head more firmly. “That’s not fair to you, Cal.”

“If you’re not comfortable—”

“I am.” Her reply was strident. “I’m comfortable with it.” 

That’s when I got it. You're comfortable…but Omaira isn't. And you trust your friend’s opinion.

My anger returned, a hot heavy stone in my chest. Maybe it wasn’t fair to get mad at Omaira. Putting myself in her shoes, I could see why she might be worried…but her interference had done real damage. Her conversation with Mel had fractured something between us. Was it about to break completely?

I stood there with my bag, waiting to see what Mel would do.

After a long pause and another quick glance—there-and-away, like a person accidentally staring into the sun—Mel angled toward a door on the bottom level. I followed after, leaving plenty of space.

She used a phone app. The lock clicked open and Mel pushed inside. I sighed quietly, and moved just fast enough to catch the door before it closed.

I had stayed in Hoisington’s motel a few times, and the sameness of this room more than two states away made me stumble to a halt. It even smelled the same. A neutral scent, but not odorless. The smell of industrial air conditioning. Sudden dread that had nothing to do with Mel tightened my stomach.

As she had said, it was a double, sporting two queen-sized beds made up with white coverlets. Opposite them was an old flatscreen above a set of built-in drawers. The one picture in the room was either an abstract seascape or artfully spilled paint.

Something was making my body taut as an overstretched rubber band. The layout, lighting, and smell were too similar, nearly identical. I suddenly pictured Grams sitting tiredly on the far bed, giving me an encouraging smile. She had never been big on smiling. That day she'd been trying to raise my spirits even as her health was unraveling.

A wave of sorrow crashed into me. My body swayed.

“Cal? What’s wrong?”

I blinked and gazed toward the nook where the sink was. Mel was standing there with a toiletry bag in her hands, looking at me in something like alarm. She pulled off her aviators and hung them on the neck of her shirt. Her primal eyes were locked onto mine.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

“N-nothing.” Why did it feel like my jaw wasn't working? I couldn't make it move how I needed. My eyes had gone prickly and hot. “I, uh, I’ve only stayed in a motel a few times.” A sort of horror overtook me as I realized my composure was disintegrating. I kept rambling. “It was, um, it was with Grams. When I, uh, when I had to take her t-to Hoisington. For appointments.” 

“Appointments?” Mel asked. “Like to a doctor?” 

I nodded. “The cardiologist. Later…later the neurologist.” My voice was rising, turning hoarse. I was helpless to stop.

“Cal…”

Tears sprung into my eyes, triggering a rush of bitter humiliation. But I needed to finish, make a futile effort to offload the pain blindsiding me. “The neurologist…was after she had her stroke. Things happened so fast…but it was s-slow at the same time. Crazy, right?” My words had started to waver like heat off asphalt. “Sh-she was gone…in two months.” My throat closed like I’d used up my word allowance for the day. A tear rolled as my duffel bag slipped from my fingers.

I was so goddamn pathetic. Things were critical with Mel, and I was about to sob like a baby—because of a fucking motel room! This was ruining everything. 

The tears didn't stop. I tried closing my eyes, but another one rolled down my cheek, its trail almost burning in the cold air. Mel must be horrified. I was. God, I hoped she was averting her eyes. I urged myself to leave and spare us both, but my feet wouldn’t move. A shuddering breath tore from me.

“Goddess, no…don’t cry…” She sounded distraught.

“S-sorr…” My traitor throat wasn’t letting me talk!

The sound of Mel’s toiletry bag hitting the tiled floor made my shoulders leap. But then soft feminine hands were cradling my cheeks. Suddenly, the smell of floral shampoo was cutting through the uncaring motel scent.

“Don’t apologize,” Mel whispered.

My arms moved on their own, wrapping around her slim torso as she slid one hand to curl around the back of my neck. I lowered my face into the crook of her shoulder and now the fabric softener in her long-sleeved shirt joined with the scent of flowers.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I've got you and I won’t let go.”

I don’t know why those words had the effect they did, but like a key turning in a lock, two years of pent-up grief broke out of a vault I'd hidden deep in my soul. I wept against her shoulder as we stood in each other's arms, my near-silent sobs shaking us both.

Mel said nothing, only moving her hand down to the nape of my neck and back up into my hair, over and over. Time passed. Finally, my breathing started to even out. Mel steered me to one of the beds with gentle firmness. It was easy to forget how much shifter strength was in that slim body. 

We sat down on the end of the bed, side by side. Mel bent one leg up so she could turn toward me. I kept my hand on her waist. Her palm remained on my neck and her other hand settled near my knee. We sat in charged silence.

I coughed. “Well,” I mumbled hollowly, “this is deeply fucking embarrassing.”

“Don’t,” Mel said at once. “Don’t you dare.” The command was laced with concern, softening it to a plea.

As shaky as I felt, I raised my eyes to her face, desperate to know if pity was hiding behind the kindness. My breath caught. In here her primal eyes weren’t slitted, but round and black. The vivid scarlet around her pupils was gentled in the dimness. 

Clouds at sunset, I thought.

There was no pity in that gaze, only empathy. 

“Was Grams…your grandmother, I mean…was she with you the last time you stayed in a motel?” Mel asked.

“You can call her Grams,” I said, the ghost of a smile on my lips. “She would have wanted you to. She…” She would have loved you. I cleared my throat. “She was with me, yeah.” A fresh surge of shame rose up. “I swear this doesn’t happen often. I-I had no idea that a dumb motel room would cause this.”

“Grief is like that,” Mel said. It was so matter-of-fact, so accepting, that I couldn’t help but feel better. “I once broke down in a grocery store over a box of cereal.”

“Cereal?” I asked. My voice was starting to recover.

She made a noise of agreement. “It was the brand my Mom always bought. This awful fiber stuff that turned to mush in milk.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a sad smile. “If I started crying over cereal would you run the other way?”

“Of course not,” I said, feeling a little offended. “What kind of asshole would do something like that? Anyone with a heart and half a brain would know it isn’t about the cereal—” I stopped.

“And this isn’t about some ‘dumb motel room,’ ” Mel said. Her smile had turned…fond. “You can cry in front of me, Cal. I won’t judge or think you're weak. I know better than that. And my other self will be insulted if you don't allow me to offer comfort when I can.” 

“It’s not exactly…easy…for guys to open up about this stuff,” I said carefully.

Those otherworldly eyes searched mine. “Have you ever tried talking about Grams with your friends?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Once. After the memorial service. Terry came over with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Derry brought his laptop. He’d made me a personalized ‘sorrow playlist.’ ”

“A what?” Mel sounded dubious.

“It was a collection of videos just for me. To help me ‘process my grief.’ He had worked on it for hours. Honestly, it was one of the nicest things he ever did.” I gave a single huff of laughter. “It was also deranged. It had clips from German cinema, slow motion shots of pelicans taking off, a didgeridoo performance—”

“Didgeridoo? That Aboriginal Australian thing?” Mel’s bewildered tone surprised a laugh out of me. She perked up, clearly pleased to have been the cause.

“Yes. That. I don't know, maybe I wasn't smart enough to grasp how the videos were supposed to go together. Anyway, Derry eventually passed out on the couch. Terry and I kept drinking. I have a vague memory of crying while he squeezed my shoulder. The next morning was the worst hangover of my life.”

“You got the worst hangover of your life so you could cry in front of your friends?” She shook her head. “Must suck to feel like you can’t fully express your pain.”

I stared down at the carpet and shrugged. It was what it was.

“Please don’t do that with me,” she urged. “I won’t ever tease you or make you feel inadequate, I swear.” An almost frantic expression crossed her face. “I want to be there when you need me, okay? And…and I want you to be there when I’m in need.”

“Because that’s what friends are for?” I asked hollowly.

Mel didn’t answer. I glanced away, worried I’d accidentally insulted her. When I looked back, she was staring at me with quiet intensity. I felt goosebumps rise.

“Is that what we are, Cal?” she said softly. “Friends?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. A new band of pain began to cinch around my chest. Of course…that would have to be the natural outcome of breaking down in front of Mel, wouldn't it? Kindness, sympathy, and then a sweet friendship where she thought of me like a brother. 

“I suppose,” I murmured.

Her expression didn’t waver. The beauty of her dusk-reddened eyes was compelling, reeling me in. My body leaned slightly towards her.

“Is that what you really want?” she whispered.

No! My head shook slightly, echoing my internal answer. I didn’t want to move it more, didn’t want to distract myself from her strikingly balanced features. I didn’t even want to blink. Her lips looked so damn soft.

Those lips curved at my head shake, a tight triumphant smile. She leaned closer. “Me neither,” she breathed. Her chin raised a tiny amount. An invitation.

I took it.

Our second kiss was languid and slow and thorough. Need danced between us like a living thing, but it stayed distant, a tantalizing undertone like that physical tingle we were no longer denying. The attraction we were expressing went much deeper.

It was a dangerous kiss. A promise offered by me and accepted by the ardent warmth of Mel’s lips on mine. Together, we plunged far below surface desire and found ourselves in a place of raw vulnerability. It was terrifying, but I wanted it. With her, I wanted all of it.

We slowly separated and stared. Both of us were breathing hard, our shoulders moving with the force of it. I knew the stunned expression on her face matched mine. My emotions were a tangle…but it also felt like the world had just been set back on its axis.

“They should have given you a marathon,” Mel said.

The non-sequitur made me blink. “What?”

“To celebrate Grams. You and your friends should have watched a marathon of her favorite shows.”

The rightness of it robbed my breath. It would have been perfect. “Would you watch a marathon with me?” I asked suddenly.

Her smile dazzled me. “I would love to. Can we start with Dallas?”

I responded by kissing her again. This time, the lurking passion refused to be bound. Arousal sharpened sensation, burning away the softness like sunlight on morning fog. Mel parted her lips and my tongue took the invitation, darting inside to brush against her own. A noise of pure want, not quite a moan, issued from the back of Mel’s throat. My blood went rushing south.

At the moment my fingers began to bury themselves in Mel’s luxurious hair, a loud pounding on the door made us jump. We leapt apart almost guiltily.

“Everyone is on their way to Krimm’s,” came Omaira’s muffled voice from the other side. “I’m heading out now.”

Mel cursed under her breath. We looked at each other, our expressions mirrors of frustration. “Right behind you,” she called out in a raised voice. Then…she smiled. My own lips curved in response.

“So…we’re right behind, huh?”

“Looks like,” she agreed.

We beamed at each other, quietly sharing our relief and joy. These last searing minutes had done what I’d worried was impossible. The fracture between us had been fixed, bridged with shared pain and strengthened by trust.

Sealed with a kiss.

Like she read my mind, Mel abruptly rose up and pressed her lips against the corner of my mouth. This time it was my throat that made a longing noise. She gave me a lopsided smile.

“Ready to meet the full crew?” she said.

“It’s the thing I want most in the world,” I replied. Mel’s eyebrows raised comically high. I snickered. “You got me…second most.”