If I Stare Too Long

Chapter 23: Livin' Easy (Lovin' Free)

Their first stop is in Des Moines. When they finally take off, leaving right at the end of November when the cold starts to set in, Steve lets Billy take the wheel because it's far too early in the morning for him to be navigating the interstate– or so he says and whines as he tucks himself into the backseat for the first leg.

Billy thinks it's a little funny that he's roped himself into two people that hate mornings when he's such an early riser himself.

Eddie snoozes in the passenger seat for the first twenty minutes but wakes up the moment Billy cracks open the thermos of coffee that Steve packed away for them. Something that will definitely be useful– and definitely need to be refilled if the way Eddie drinks stuff like water is anything to go by.

But their first stop is in Des Moines. Not because there's anything particular that they want to see– there's a lot of farmland between Hawkins and Iowa, and an absurd amount of cows– but because Billy wants to put as many miles between them and Indiana as he can get. Feels a bit like he's running from something, or like he's worried that Steve or Eddie will change their mind and make him turn around.

They crash after a long day of driving– nearly ten hours– at a cheap hotel somewhere just on the edges of the city. It's got two beds in it that they shove together, that Eddie sprawls down across as soon as they tumble in, duffle bags in hand, for a night in the cheap seats before they continue on at a more reasonable pace tomorrow.

Mostly because Steve insists on sleeping in and grabbing breakfast some place before they move along.

"It's not sleeping in," Steve insists as he kicks the motel room door shut behind him, trailing in after Billy. "It's just not leaving as soon as the fucking sun rises."

"But we need to get on the road," Billy says.

Steve steps behind Billy, getting his hands on Billy's shoulders to maneuver him toward the bed. His fingers dig into the tense muscle there and Billy lets out a groan—half because he's somehow annoyed, half because it feels good.

"We don't, actually," Steve says. "This is a vacation, you know. We're not in a hurry."

"Live a little," Eddie says, his voice muffled against the dingy quilt.

Billy lets Steve guide him over to the bed. When he sits with a huff, the bedframe groans under his weight.

"Come on," Billy says, gesturing around the room. "You really wanna stick around here?"

"Here isn't terrible," Steve says, pointedly ignoring the weird pictures of kids with big eyes hanging on the walls. The peeling wallpaper. The ceiling looks liable to drip at any moment. "It's serviceable. And we can sleep here just fine. I'm not saying we hang out here all afternoon or something."

Steve is standing in front of him now, hands on his hips and brows up like he's waiting for an answer.

"Eight," Billy says.

Steve groans, long and aggravated, bypassing Billy to flop himself onto the bed somewhere next to Eddie. He bounces a little, dust particles flying.

"Nine," he insists against the bedding and then turns his head to glance at Billy. "And then breakfast somewhere. And then we leave."

Billy groans.

"I think I like you better than him," Eddie says, his voice a stage whisper from behind Billy.

Billy is tired of driving, tired of feeling trapped in a car. He wants so much space between him and Indiana that he feels like he can barely breathe. And now he's trapped in a motel room in the ass end of Des Moines. Not moving. Still too close.