Sugar Pie by Victoria Pinder

2

Kerry

My motel bed was small, and pea-yellow bedsheets probably hid an old mattress. However, it was better than the night when I’d walked as far as I could to get away from the highway and into a country I’d never seen.

Warren Tate reminded me of a nice-guy superhero who’d swooped in to save my life. He even had the ass, not that I ever would have said that out loud. Except I wasn’t some reporter snooping around who needed to be rescued or anything remotely that ambitious.

I tossed my only pair of shoes, sneakers I’d destroyed when I left my husband, near the bed and stretched in my small room.

Warren’s truck had been old, so wherever he lived in probably wasn’t much better than a motel, anyway.

In the shower, I closed my eyes and imagined him. His muscles were defined, and maybe the T-shirt had hidden some flaws, but I imagined washboard abs, chiseled and worked from manual labor. I sighed as I wondered what a man like him would taste like.

Either way, I was unavailable to men, and I needed to figure out who I was. All my college friends had lives, spoke to each other, and probably all met weekly in the city. And I’d listened to my parents, married a man older than me, and died every second of every day since becoming a trophy wife.

Maybe housekeeping in a small town wasn’t going to land me a career or the ability to prove my independence. But it was a start. I wasn’t ready to wait out the rest of my life and do nothing.

It had been the roof over my head that had steered me to the temporary housekeeping position.

Warren with the sexy smile kept me humming as I showered. The water cascading into the tub drowned out the noise of the couple arguing next door. I dried off with the thin towel that had seen better days and wrang out my one pair of underwear in the shower. They’d be dry by the next day, and I could figure out where to get a job, get myself settled, and buy the things I needed.

The screaming next door grew louder, and my pulse zipped. I hoped they didn’t get physical.

My phone rang. For one second, I dreamed of the blue-eyed guy who’d shown up in my life earlier but then shook my head. I answered. “Romeo, don’t call me anymore.”

“You’re still my wife. It’s my job to take care of you, and you need the meds.”

Meds were for people who were sick, and that wasn’t me. I took a deep breath. I’d never had mental health issues in college or as a kid. All my problems had started after I’d said “I do.” And no, I hadn’t taken the bag of medicine when I dashed away from him. I bolted with only my pocketbook.

I stared out at the parking lot, where a group of men standing by their pickup trucks all laughed loudly enough for me to hear them on the second floor. “I don’t need any anxiety pills to keep me drugged enough to be your wife.”

“Yes, you do. We both know you can’t survive on your own.”

My hair stood on end. It was time I stopped pretending we had ever been okay. I lifted my chin. “I can.”

Glass broke in the next room, and the couple yelled.

Romeo asked, “Is that screaming?”

The sound didn’t exactly prove I was stable. I cringed. “Not me. It’s someone down the hall.”

“You’re in danger. I can send someone to get you right now.”

I sucked in my breath. If his people came to get me, I would end up back where I started and never see Warren again. The second part of the thought was silly, and I shrugged it off. “I’m fine. I’ll file for divorce soon, so you’ll never see me again.”

“That’s a mistake. I won’t give you a dime, and you’ll be penniless and in need of mental health care.”

“I was fine before I married you three years ago. I don’t need your kind of help, and I’ll be happy once we never speak again.”

Someone knocked on my door, and I jumped and hung up on Romeo.

I cringed as the door shook.

More screaming came from the hallway. I absolutely would not be involved with whatever was going on down the hall.

Then someone pushed on my door. I couldn’t stay there. I almost dropped my phone in my rush but dialed the one man who’d been nice to me.

I’d said no to his original offer because staring at him made my body hum. I could control myself, though. He answered on the second ring as people screamed outside the door again. I whispered, “Warren…”

“You okay?”

My door rattled again. The brawl was too much, and I refused to die. My heart pounded. “I can’t sleep. They’ve been screaming for hours, and now they are at my door.”

“On my way. Want to stay with me?”

I nodded and said a silent prayer of thanks. He was big and strong, and no one would mess with him. I swallowed. “It’s just temporary until I get my own place and a better job. I’m in room two-seventeen. Please hurry.”

“I’m not far. Be ready when I get there.”

Good. Soon, I would be out of there. I rushed to gather my underwear and found a plastic bag to put them in. Then I tugged my pants on and paced.

A few minutes later, Warren knocked then announced himself, and whoever was in the hall stopped their fighting.

“Thank you,” I said as I opened the door and followed him into the hallway.

“Let’s get to the truck.”

Absolutely.A good night’s sleep without fear would help immensely.

At the front desk, he got my money back for me with a few short words.

I stayed near the door, ready to run. As we left, he handed me forty dollars. “You have no idea how you’re saving me,” I whispered.

He held my door for me then let me slide into his truck. “Let’s get home and in my place. It’s not much, but it’s quiet.”

“That’s what I need.” I ignored how I tingled in new places because he was close.

Warren offered a small moment of sanity when I trusted him for temporary respite. I had no idea what my future held, but I hoped that for once, I’d made the right decision.

A short car ride later, Warren led me to his second-floor apartment. He opened the door to reveal a sparsely furnished living room with an open kitchen. “It’s not much, but I don’t plan to be here long.”

I was tense and unsure what to do, but as the door clinked closed and he locked it, my veins went cold. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake, so I stood in front of him and asked, “Why are you helping me?”

He reached in the first kitchen cabinet to the top shelf then gave me a set of keys. “You were crying. Last time I saw a woman cry was when my grandma died.”

My eyes widened. A key meant I had the ability to come and go as I pleased. In an apartment that was maybe six hundred square feet, we would have no secrets.

I relaxed and fought the impulse to reach for his hand. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

He opened the refrigerator then offered me a beer. I rocked on my feet but nodded.

“She was nice to me, but Maman was devastated.”

I narrowed my gaze. Warren made me pause, as I wouldn’t have pegged him for speaking another language in those jeans and work boots. “Maman?”

“My mom. She adopted me, and she’s all I know when it comes to women and tears.”

I put my small pocketbook down. “Well, I’ll cook dinner. We’ll sleep better if we’re full.”

He stood in front of the refrigerator and said, “You don’t have to, and I didn’t have time to go shopping yet. I have to get to another job. Internet password is on the fridge.”

I walked around him and opened the door. I’d spotted pasta and cheese, which was better than nothing. “It’s enough for tonight. I’ll get us better food tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to bother.”

If I was his new roommate, we needed to know each other’s strengths. And the kitchen always made me feel in control of my life. So I took out the cheese and found a pan to add some water and milk to melt it down. “I need to do something nice for you. You’re helping me.”

“I’ll help.”

I directed him to fill a big pot with water. He nodded as if it was his first time ever in the kitchen, and maybe it was. Helping out made me feel like I had some control and living there was my choice.

I hoped Warren would be exactly who he said he was. A friend was all he could ever be to me, but it would be nice to be able to trust him.