That was just… unreal. Like I was watching a movie of everyone around me going through the motions of mourning.

I did not cry. Not once. But my dad would not take it personally, because as far as I can remember, I’ve never cried. Not for a stubbed toe, not for being called names in elementary school, not when my dog died when I was ten. And not when my dad died when I was twenty-three even though I did out-luck Ronin in the dad department and I miss him this very moment.

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that I don’t have tears. I’m deformed.

This is not logical reasoning and I realize this. If I had no tears I’d need eye drops. I’d have all kinds of eye problems, and my vision is perfect. So of course, I make tears. I just don’t cry tears. This gets me through the introspection required to understand why I have never felt the deep sadness that others experience.

I look at myself in the mirror as the steam floats out of the bathroom. People who know me see the imperfect weirdo. They see the anti-social freak. They see nothing about me that’s real. And the people who don’t know me are instinctively suspicious. I have a vibe, or something. A vibe that says stay away.

And yet when people look at Ronin they see honesty. Even though he’s a f**king professional liar.

I scrub my hands over my stubbly chin. I’m gonna grow it out. I’m gonna be someone different. I’m going to do things different from this second on. I’m not going to look for happiness anymore. I’m going to eschew happiness and seek out the glum. The broken and doomed. The dark and the dirty.

Why not? It’s where I belong anyway.

I’m New Ford. Fuck happiness. Fuck the nice girls. Fuck everyone. I’m all about me now.

I take off my suit coat and hang it up using the pathetic hangers in the makeshift closet next to the bathroom vanity, then strip off my shirt and do the same thing with that. Like it or not, I’ll have to wear it tomorrow. Even New Ford realizes gym shorts will not do in the aftermath of a blizzard. I check the water temperature in the bathroom one more time and I’m unbuttoning my pants to strip down when there’s a small knock at the door.

I peek around the corner and stare at it.

The knock comes again.

I walk over and open the door, expecting Mrs. Pearson. But it’s the girl with the baby.

She swallows hard, like it’s taking an incredible amount of willpower just to stand here at the door. “I’d like to take you up on your offer. I’m sorry I was rude.”

I don’t even know what to say. She sways back and forth a little, like she’s trying to comfort her baby who must be hidden under the blankets covering the carrier, but the child is silent so it comes off as nerves.

And then she decides my silence is a message and she hears it loud and clear. She turns and starts walking back towards her car.

“Stop.” I find my voice. “You can stay.”

Her shoulders stiffen, but she stops walking and the snow just pours down on her like blobs of white rain. Her dark hair is soaking wet and dotted with sparkling flakes. It takes another second for her to turn and then she nods at me. I open the door wider, letting in the blizzard and freezing cold air, and she brushes past my bare chest when she enters my room.

I shiver, but not from the cold.

So much for New Ford.

Chapter Five

I close the door with a whoosh and my heart beats erratically for a few seconds before it calms down. We stand still, her looking at the room, not turning to face me. And me looking at her.

The distressed cry from beneath a blanket covering a baby carrier snaps me out of my surreal funk and brings her focus back. “I’m sorry,” she says as she sets the carrier down on the floor and kneels. “I just…” She pulls the pink blanket away and snow falls onto the floor. The baby is trying its best to sleep, but there’s too much going on and its little fists flail as it winds up to wail.

I grab the remote and flip the TV and the lights off at the same moment. The girl gasps.

“Sorry.” It’s my turn to apologize. The bathroom light is still on, so it’s not completely dark, but the baby quiets down. “It was too bright and I don’t mean anything derogatory by this remark, but crying babies are not my thing.”

She finally turns to face me. Her eyes are brown and so is her hair. It’s soaking wet, and now that I have a good chance to look her over, so are her clothes. Her skin has olive undertones, but maybe she’s tired, or maybe she’s scared, because she’s very pale at the moment. “I was just saying that I’m sorry to have to ask for help. I’m just… stranded with no other options.”

“Of course,” I say, waving my hand at the beds. “This is out of character for me as well. I do my best to ignore society as a whole. I just happened upon you in a vulnerable moment. I was just going to take a shower, so—”

So what?

“So just do whatever you need to do.”

I go back into the bathroom and close the door. What the f**k did I just get myself into? I shake it off as I undress then get in the shower. Luckily the water is still hot, otherwise I’d be pissed. When I’m done I realize my gym bag is still out on the bed so I wrap a towel around my waist and go to retrieve it.

She’s lying down with the baby, huddled under the blanket. She might even be asleep, although that is not a very smart move. I could be a serial killer for all she knows. My bag is on the bed closest to the door, so she’s sleeping in the one nearest the bathroom. I grab the bag off the bed and when I turn she’s staring right at me. Her eyes take in my bare chest for a few seconds—not in a seductive way, either, more of a do you mind putting on some f**king clothes way.