As we pull into the gravel parking lot, a grove of scrubby bushes lines the outskirts, barely concealing whatever shadows lurk nearby. The sign above flickers weakly, and I feel a wave of apprehension wash over me as we park in front of room 12—the room Whitney had indicated in the call. My heart races as I look over at Raze.
“You ready?” he asks, and the sincerity in his eyes reminds me just how far we've come, the battles we had faced together. This is nothing we couldn’t handle, not with him by my side.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, steeling my nerves as he switches off the engine.
We both climb out of the car, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and uncertainty. I can feel the skin prickling on the back of my neck, anticipation swirling with paranoia, as weapproach the door. As we reach the entrance, I knock lightly, my heart a frantic drum in my chest.
“Whitney?” I call, voice trembling slightly. “It’s us. Please, open the door.”
A heavy silence hangs in the air, as if the universe itself were holding its breath. For one agonizing moment, I fear the worst, but then the soft shuffle of movement comes from inside.
“Just a second!” She calls back, her voice muffled but unmistakably hers.
My breath hitches as adrenaline surges through me. Then, with the sound of a rusty chain unhooking, the door creaks open, revealing a worn and weary Whitney framed in the doorway. My heart shatters and stitches itself back together in one electric moment. She looks different—paler, with bruises all over her skin and her eyes sunken and swirling with an exhaustion that echoes my own fears—but she's alive.
“Hawk! Raze!” she says so softly, but the relief that washes over her face nearly brings me to my knees.
“Whitney…” I breathe, and before I can process what I'm doing, I rush forward, wrapping my arms around her in a fierce embrace. It's a moment eternity had built for me—a moment filled with warmth and familiarity amidst the stormy chaos of our lives.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Raze’s voice cuts through the cloud of emotions, pulling me back to reality as I reluctantly release her.
“I-I’m fine,” she whispers, casting a quick glance back into the dim room. “I just… I didn't want to drag you guys into any more danger. I was trying to protect you.”
Anger rises like bile in my throat, but I swallow it down. “Protect us? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You didn't know what was waiting out there!”
“Hawk, please. I just—I thought it would be better this way,” she insists, her expression shifting from relief to frustration, as if my anger is piercing through the fragile shell she's trying to hold together. “I didn't expect things to—”
“None of that matters now,” I interrupt, grabbing her shoulders gently. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here.”
The reality of her situation begins to creep back into my mind, and I feel the weight of our world pressing in on us. But more importantly, I felt her, alive and real, and that's enough. As we turn to leave the motel behind, I can see her hesitate.
“What about…?” she begins, her voice shaking. "What about Dustin's people? They're probably already looking for me."
“What about them?” I finish, anticipating her concern. I can see it in her eyes—an unspoken worry for those that might have hurt her. “We’ll deal with them.”
Raze stands close, a protective presence beside us. “No one’s going to hurt you again, Whitney. Not on our watch,” he adds, and the intensity in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a promise, a vow that we’re ready to defend what’s ours by any means necessary.
Whitney nods, but I can see the uncertainty laced within her gaze. It’s not just exhaustion; it’s the scars of what she has endured, the fears that cling to her like shadows. I take her hand, gripping it tightly, letting her know she’s not alone in this. We step outside into the freezing night air, the fresh snow crunching beneath our feet. I take a moment to breathe, to absorb the fact that she’s back with us.
“We’ll get you home, Whitney. But first, we need to make sure we’re all safe. There's too much going on out there,” I remind her, glancing around the dimly lit parking lot, anxiety prickling at the edge of my senses.
“Are you sure we should leave, Hawk?” Her voice is suddenly small, tinged with apprehension as she looks back toward the motel. “What if they come after me?”
The thought sends a jolt of anger surging through me. I can’t bear the idea of them following us, of them finding her again. “They won’t get the chance,” I promise firmly, my protective instincts flaring up. “You are with us; that means you have us. We’ll make sure you’re safe, I fucking promise.”
“Yeah,” Raze adds. “We’ll figure out a plan once we’re back in the car. For now, let’s just get moving.”
She nods slowly, but I can see that the shadows of her recent experience still linger in her eyes, and the resolve in mine is fueled by both anger and determination. We move cautiously away from the motel, heading toward the car where we’d parked. As we reach the vehicle, the air feels electric with the tension of the moment. I glance at the rearview mirror, scanning for signs of danger. Nothing yet—but the feeling that we’re being watched permeates everything. I can feel Raze's presence, a reassuring weight beside me, as Whitney climbs into the back seat, tucking her knees to her chest and clutching her coat tightly around her.
“Keep an eye on the road,” I instruct Raze, feeling the need to take charge. “And watch the sides. They could be anywhere.”
Raze nods, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The roar of the car breaks the stillness of the night, and I can see the tension in Whitney’s shoulders ease just a little as she realizes we’re on the move. I squeeze her hand, hoping to instill courage in her.
The engine hums steadily as Raze pulls out of the parking lot, his focus unwavering despite the onslaught of uncertainty in the air. I lean back in my seat, a mixture of relief and worry crashing through me as the motel fades away in our wake. But I know it’s not that simple; whatever happened there will continue to haunt us until we confront it.
“Whitney, can you tell us what happened? Are you hurt?” I ask, stealing a glance back at her, desperate to close the gap that this ordeal has opened between us.
She takes a deep breath, looking down at her lap for a moment. “It’s complicated. I don't want to talk about it.” Her eyes flicker to his for a moment, and I can see the gratitude bloom. “I didn’t want to worry you. Things escalated so quickly, and I—I couldn’t call sooner. I was afraid.”
