CASEY
They may not have found my car when they arrested me,” she says. “I left it down the street from my hotel and walked there. You could take me to it.”
“No, we’re not going anywhere near it.”
I’m quiet and look at Dylan. His eyes are intense, and I can see the wheels turning as he puzzles through what to do with me. I hate this. I don’t want to cause him to be arrested.
“Dylan, if we do get caught . . . if the police stop us somehow . . . tell them that you caught me. That you were taking me in.”
“We’re not going to get caught.”
“We can’t just drive all night.”
“Why not?”
“Because Keegan will find out what you’re driving. He’ll suspect I got in touch with you. He probably has a BOLO out for you already.”
“He already knows what I’m driving. Trust me.”
“Maybe you could call Chief Gates. Tell him what happened, all of it. Take a chance on the truth.”
“I’m not taking any chances with you, Casey. If he’s involved, it could blow up in our faces.” He takes an exit off the interstate, and I see a Super 8 motel looming ahead.
“I’m going to check in,” he says. “Get down on the floorboard. Don’t let anyone see you.”
I unhook my seat belt and get on the floor. He pulls into the parking lot. I can’t see where we are, but he’s not near the entry or any overhead lights, because there’s no light shining down on us. He must have parked in a darker part of the parking lot.
“Be careful,” I whisper.
“It’s not me they’re looking for,” he says. “It’s you. Stay down.” He gets out and goes inside.
I stay hunkered on the floor, my head down. Despair knots in my throat, stinging my eyes. But then I force my thoughts to do a U-turn.
I look where God is working, as Dylan told me to do weeks ago. And when I do, I see him.
“You helped me get word to someone in authority,” I whisper. “You helped me think of planting the blood evidence in Keegan’s car. You helped me escape from him and kept me hidden. You left enough charge on my phone to call Dylan for help. You had Dylan in Memphis when I needed him.”
Now the tears flow, but instead of despair, I weep over the miracle of it. God was in on all of this. He’s still in on it now.
This is all so tangled and so impossible, but God did the impossible tonight. He does it all the time. I’m so overcome by it that I can’t formulate an elaborate prayer. I simply whisper, “Thank you.”
Dylan comes back to the car after a few minutes, and he doesn’t look at me. He starts it up and backs out of the parking spot. “We have a room on the back side of the building. First floor. I’ll park near the door.”
I wipe my face, not wanting him to see that I’ve been crying while he was gone. I wipe my eyes and my nose on my sleeve.
He pulls the car around, and I feel it stopping again. “There’s no one out here,” he says. “I’ll unlock the door, then come back to the trunk to get my bag out. You head in while I’m doing that.”
He gets out and I hear him unlocking the motel room door. Then, as he opens the lift gate of the SUV, the light comes on. I open the door and slip out, then hurry inside.
In the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. My face is dirty. I wash it with soap, rinse it off, and pat it dry. I hear the outside door closing, so I step out.
He’s standing at the window, looking out the curtains.
“Are we okay?” I ask.
“Looks like it. There were only a couple of cars parked on this side. I don’t think anybody saw us, and I don’t think the cameras could have gotten a good view of you.”
He turns from the window and looks at me now, his hands at his sides. His face twists, and he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. He holds me for a long time, and I cling to him. I don’t want to let him go.
Finally, he steps back, and I see that his eyes are wet. He takes my hands gently, looks down at my swollen wrists and the scrapes. “I’ll get you some ice.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t leave this room.”
He pulls me to the small couch against the wall, and I drop down, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am. He sits next to me and pulls me against him.
His kiss is salty, desperate, and I feel the urgency in it. I touch the stubble on his face, tears rolling down my own, and slide my fingers through his hair.
Suddenly, he pulls back, lets me go, and gets up. I catch my breath and watch him walk across the room, putting distance between us.
He turns back to me, his eyes so full of things I can’t name that my heart almost breaks.
“The thing is, I’m in love with you,” he says.
My hand goes to my heart, then to my mouth.
“I have been . . . I don’t even know how long,” he says. “I want you . . . but more than tonight. I just . . . can’t picture tomorrow without you.”
I’m sobbing now, unable to hold it back. I whisper, “Me too.”
He takes a step toward me, but doesn’t come much closer. “God is looking out for us. I don’t know if you see it.”
“I do,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to dishonor him by following my impulses. I’m in this for the long game.”
I know exactly what he means, and I nod my agreement.
“So . . . I’m going to keep my distance tonight. You sleep in the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Our gazes lock for a long moment, and I want to get up and go to him, touch him again, taste his lips . . .
A soft grin pulls at his lips, and suddenly I’m smiling too. He said he loves me. He wants a future with me. He’s willing to wait.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says.
“So are you.”
A lifetime of words and emotions passes through our gaze. My heart aches with gratitude.
“Your bandage needs changing,” he says, stepping toward me and touching my shoulder. “You may have opened some stitches.”
I pull up his pant leg and see the bandages on his calves. “You don’t look so great either.”
“Mine’s fine. I have bandages in my bag,” he says.
“I’m fine, Dylan.”
“You will be.” He digs through his small duffel and pulls out a box of gauze pads and medical tape. He sits on the couch sideways and carefully peels my bandage off.
I try not to wince.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Good. You didn’t break the stitches. You just pulled them.”
“I told you I was fine.”
He cleans the wound with hydrogen peroxide, then carefully fashions a new bandage. When he’s done, our eyes lock again. He kisses me, then gets up and moves away from me again.
I smile. “You’re killing me.”
“We’ll have time. This can’t go on forever.”
It isn’t forever I’m worried about, but I don’t say that.
I get up and look at the bed. “Do you think it’s okay if I take a bath?”
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll check out the news, see if your disappearance has been reported yet.”
I go back into the bathroom and start the bathwater, but before I get in, I say another prayer thanking God for tonight. If I wind up in prison tomorrow—or in a grave—at least I will have had these moments.