Read Online Torch (Take It Off) by Cambria Hebert - Free Book Online Page B

thanking me.” His lip tilted up in the corner.
     
    I pulled the key out of my pocket and hugged the bag against my chest, putting a barrier between us. “Well, I have a lot to do,” I began, not really knowing what to say.
     
    “You’re sure you won’t stay at my place?”
     
    I nodded. “I’m sure.”
     
    Now more than ever I wanted to be alone. I wanted some time to think—to absorb what had happened. I needed to regroup and make a plan. Once I had a plan, I would feel more in control.
     
    I glanced back at the gaping hole that was my home.
     
    I needed to get out of here. Being here, seeing this, was not helping. It was making everything worse.
     
    “I have to go,” I told him.
     
    He frowned, watching me like I was on the verge of some mental breakdown.
     
    Maybe I was.
     
    I didn’t bother to try and say anything else. It didn’t matter what I said anyway. It would all come out awkward. I walked to my car, which was covered in soot and ash, and climbed inside. I turned the key, letting out a breath when the engine roared to life. I cranked the air and then leaned over, opening the glove compartment, smiling a little when my ID and a twenty spilled out.
     
    I had an ID.
     
    I had a twenty.
     
    I had my car.
     
    It was a start.
     
    I pulled out of the driveway and pointed my car away from the destruction. The hollow feeling in my chest, the ache deep in my bones didn’t lessen as I drove away.
     

    Even still, I didn’t look back.

7
     
    I chose a locally owned motel—not one of the chain hotels in the area. This one was small and less crowded looking. Plus the rates here were a lot less than the other places I looked. Yes, I had money in savings—but very little. Everything I’d saved as a teenager had gone into the purchase of my little house and all the furnishings inside.
     
    I knew I would get the bulk of it back (thank goodness for insurance), but it would take a while, and until then I was going to have to be very careful about how much money I spent.
     
    After I paid for a single room, I drove my car down the parking lot. It was a one-story motel made entirely of brick, and all the rooms sat connected together in a row. All the doors were red, and I drove past the line of them toward the end unit where I parked my car.
     
    I still hadn’t been shopping, so I had nothing to bring inside but my little bag of ruined pajamas and the bandages the nurse gave me at the hospital. The inside of the room was very basic. A twin-sized bed sat in the center of the room with a dark-blue quilt covering the top. The carpet was also dark blue—the kind that wasn’t really there for comfort but necessity. There was a tall wooden dresser against the wall and the television sat on top of it. There were a couple of ocean prints hanging on the white walls and heavy blue draperies hanging on the window beside the door. Because this was an end unit, I got the luxury (if you could call it that) of having an extra window on the far right wall with the same heavy drapery.
     
    There was a small bathroom with a single sink, toilet, and shower. The shower curtain was white and so were the scratchy-looking towels.
     
    It wasn’t my idea of home, but it would do for a while.
     
    I spent the next two days dealing with the insurance company, the bank, the driver’s license office, and shopping at Target for some new things to wear. I managed to keep my job and get the weekend off, needing to report back to work on Monday morning.
     
    I didn’t sleep well in the little motel room. The bed was uncomfortable and I kept waking up flushed with sweat and feeling my heart pound, only to not remember what I was dreaming about.
     
    When darkness covered the sky on the second night, my stomach began to churn with nerves.
     
    I wondered what Holt was doing, if he was at work. Part of me wanted to see him, to be comforted by his presence. But it wasn’t his responsibility to comfort me. He’d already done