Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(34)

A few minutes pass, and when Farren emerges from the Jetta, he jumps over to the rope. He starts to shimmy up, shouting as he goes, “Move, Essa.”

I scoot away just in time to avoid a potentially nasty brush burn from the rope twisting and bending, same as it did before. When Farren hoists his body over the edge of the crater, I rise to my knees, crawl over to him, and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back. There’s no explanation needed as to why we both feel a need to be held right now.

Sitting back on my heels, but with my arms still held loosely around Farren, I ask, “Did you find anything? Were there any clues inside the car?”

He shakes his head grimly. “No, nothing helpful. But that is definitely my sister’s car down there.”

With neither one of us wanting to spend another moment in the place where Haven’s car was dumped like random trash, we hurry back to the SUV and return to the motel.



I wake at 2:22 on the nose. The LED numbers on the bedside alarm clock glow in the darkness, bathing everything in an eerie, red sheen. I roll over in the lumpy motel bed and breathe in deeply. A vague scent of air sanitizer and stale smoke fill my nose, reminding me that once upon a time there was no such thing as nonsmoking buildings.

Unable to find sleep again, loneliness creeps in. If I were back at school, I’d feel no need to call my parents—we generally only speak once or twice a month—but here on the road, and with Haven missing, I long to hear a familiar voice. However, I know calling my parents, even from the burner phone, could put me (and Farren) in jeopardy. Surely, the men who kidnapped Haven have noted I’m no longer in Pennsylvania. They probably suspect I’m traveling with Farren, which means my parents’ phones, landline and cells, could very well be bugged.

Dismissing any further notions of contacting Mom or Dad, I burrow under the scratchy motel blanket. I’m chilled, though, from the inside out. Nothing can warm me. I toss and turn, wondering if Farren is restless, as well. He hides his worry well, but I know his concern for Haven’s well-being has ratcheted up a notch after finding her car abandoned in that hell hole-like abyss.

Slipping out from under the covers, I head to the tiny motel bathroom. When I flip the switch for the light, fluorescent illumination floods the tiny room. Wincing at the blinding light, I mutter, “Jeez, that’s bright,” and wait for my eyes to adjust.

After I relieve my bladder, I wash my face and brush my teeth. I then comb my fingers through my sleep-messy hair. “Where are you going?” I ask my reflection.

I can’t help but smile. I’m going to the one place I know I’ll find comfort, warmth, and peace. I’m going to Farren’s room.

Five minutes after my decision is made, I am outside, my knuckles poised at the door to Farren’s motel room. I hesitate, chastising myself for not slipping on something a little more demure. As it is, I’m in nothing but a skimpy lime-green T-shirt and matching boy shorts. Shoes would have been a good idea, too. Who knows what kind of bugs are scurrying around out here? Just as that particular thought crosses my mind, some squiggly thing brushes by my foot. I jump back a step and start to pound on Farren’s door.

“Farren,” I whisper loudly, “are you awake? It’s me.”

I knock more insistently. If he is asleep, he won’t be for long.

When, predictably, the door swings open, I am graced by the presence of one damn fine-looking man. I forget about bugs; I forget about my skimpy outfit. All I can do is mouth, “Wow,” while I peruse Farren from head to toe.

He’s sporting just the right amount of sexy scruff, darkening his strong jaw. The top half of his body is bare, his shoulders appearing wider and stronger than when he’s clothed. Perhaps it’s due to all the muscles. Damn, he’s cut. My eyes travel down Farren’s smooth chest to his washboard abs, and then to the fine trail of dark hair that disappears just under the band of dark boxer briefs. Black boxers, I take note. I had a feeling.

“Essa?” Farren rasps in a sleep-thick but utterly sexy voice. He crosses his arms, muscles bunching, and leans against the frame of the door.

His green eyes meet mine. And, oh, that look. I know that look; I probably have it, too. I have two choices here: jump the man or make a joke and dispel the almost-combustible sexual tension between us.

I choose to joke.

Gesturing to strands of dark hair that are sticking up at odd angles on his head, I say, “Disheveled much?”

To which he rapidly responds, “Naked much?”

His gaze rakes over my barely clothed body.

“I’m dressed,” I protest, my voice raising an octave.

He reaches out and lifts the hem of my tee, exposing the waistband of my lime-green boy shorts. “Barely,” he scoffs. “You’re basically standing outside in your underwear.”

I smack his hand away, albeit in a playful manner, and retort, “These are shorts.” He quirks an eyebrow, and I amend, “Well, kind of.”

Suppressing a grin, he moves aside and says, “Essa, get in here.”

I walk into his room, turn back to him. And then we both bust out laughing. This is why I came to Farren’s room. He has a way of making everything better. The strong foundation we’ve been building may be constructed on the back of a tragedy, but it’s not without moments of levity…like now.

I’m still smiling when Farren steps around me. He stretches across the bed to turn on a lamp. And that’s when my smile falters. With his bare back facing me, and the glow from the just-turned-on lamp brightening the darkness, I’m afforded a perfect view of a long, jagged scar extending across the smooth skin on Farren’s lower back.