Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(55)

“Don’t,” she croaked.

It was a visible thing, Aaron shifting his cool veneer back into position. He picked up the ice pack, wiped it on his sleeve, and shoved it back up against his jaw. “Figure out what you want and find a way to achieve it. No one can do it for you. Crying doesn’t help, and it’s making that black shit on your eyes run.”

Oh, man. She hated Aaron in that moment for telling her the truth, being so unnecessarily harsh, even if it was exactly what she wanted—needed—after the scene she’d just fled. “I want a new start.”

Aaron nodded, a hint of understanding dawning in his expression, before he reared back, kicking the garage door, rattling it on its hinges. “Welcome to the club.”

*



Rita lay on her side, facing the wall of her motel room. Behind her, Sage and Peggy were sprawled out with vending-machine snacks, watching the episode of The Golden Girls where Rose loses her memory. The scratchy comforter was saturated beneath her wet cheek, but she couldn’t move to go get a towel, or even adjust herself a few inches to get away from the damp spot.

“I am worse than pond scum,” Rita said out loud, startling herself. Behind her The Golden Girls cut off, but she could still see shadows flashing on the wall, telling her the sound had been muted.

“What was that?” Peggy called. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of this show still being relevant.”

There was the unmistakable sound of Peggy and Sage exchanging a high five. Fresh tears welled in Rita’s eyes, so she rolled over and stared at the ceiling, willing them to abate. Why couldn’t she have chosen a confidante like Sage instead of Aaron? Their angst-fest outside the garage had only plagued her with more questions. She’d told him a fresh start was what she wanted. Meant it, too. Only when she’d attempted to picture herself attending classes in New York, the clear picture she’d left San Diego with had turned murky and undefined. Like a smeared Polaroid. “You’re going to run out of Golden Girls seasons before we get halfway across the country.”

In Rita’s periphery, Sage adjusted her glasses. “We’ve discussed that. And we’re planning on moving straight into The Facts of Life without breaking.”

Peggy scooted to the end of her bed. “Rita, are you crying?”

“No.” Just having her condition addressed out loud was unbearable. It made the situation real. She was crying over losing a man. “Maybe.” The rings around Peggy’s neck clanked against one another, but it took her a moment to speak, as if she were figuring out a way to address Rita without having her head bitten off. Lord, she’d been a crappy sister on top of everything else, hadn’t she?

Finally Peggy spoke up. “I can give you advice as one of the Golden Girls. Your pick. Do you want Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, or Sophia?”

“Why can’t you talk to me as yourself?”

“Do you want me to?”

Rita covered her face with both hands. “I’ll go with Blanche.”

Peggy cleared her throat, laughing when Sage started filming with her phone. “Rita Clarkson, there will be time to weep…but not when there’s still time to take it deep.” Her nod was very wise and an almost perfect impression of Blanche. “Get over to that bar and give him a lasting memory. And make sure to set up the camera on your good side.”

“I’ve already given him a lasting memory—it was just a shitty one,” Rita said at the ceiling. “Nice Blanche, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

A knock on the door had all three women sitting up on the beds. When no one moved to answer, Sage rose and glided across the room, checking through the peephole. “It’s Aaron.” She pulled open the door to reveal Rita’s younger brother, half of his mouth still swollen but minus the ice pack.

“Before you ask, it feels like shit,” he grumbled, stomping into the room and dropping unceremoniously onto the dresser. He and Rita exchanged an assessing look, as if to determine where they stood after their earlier conversation, but they broke eye contact without delay. “Just stopped by the garage. They’re working on the Suburban now, so we’ll be out of here in the morning.”

Rita’s stomach filled with jagged ice. “Oh. That’s…great news.”

Aaron gave her a dry look, putting them back on familiar ground. “Yeah, well. Don’t go jumping for joy.”

Normally, Rita would ask Aaron if he wanted another tooth knocked out, but the reality of leaving Hurley in a matter of hours froze the threat somewhere in her rib cage. Not only leaving; leaving while Jasper probably hated her. Maybe even hating himself for giving in to her that afternoon.

Rita experienced a sudden burst of restlessness. If she remained in a prone position until they left town, she would just replay the morning over and over again until—what? The outcome changed? That was the actual definition of insanity. She shot up and began to pace. “I need to get out of here. Is there somewhere we can go? Like a movie theater?”

“Or a museum?” Sage interjected. A suggestion that was greeted by an extended silence from the Clarkson siblings. The wedding planner promptly went back to cleaning her glasses with the hem of her dress.

“For once, I’m with Rita.” Aaron said, testing his swollen cheek with careful fingers. “This motel is starting to feel like a padded cell.”