Dirty Lying Wolves

5. Just One Little Phone Call

June

My head bounced at a pothole in the road, jarring me awake. I opened my eyes, to see in horror that I had fallen asleep, leaning against Dom.

I jolted upright in my seat. My eyes were wide as I looked around. We had reached some microscopic town in the middle of nowhere, with a gas station and almost nothing else. I could hear the rush of the highway close behind us, so we must have just stopped for gas.

I dared to dart my eyes up at Dom. His cut jawline ticked with some kind of annoyance. Was he pissed I fell asleep on him? I couldn't tell, and he had his arms crossed over his big chest, staring straight forward as Aaron pulled up to a dilapidated gas pump.

"Aaron, food. Jack, Carson, get back here with me," Dom ordered.

And the rest obeyed.

I was sort of pushed to the side as the ones trying to help Amelia and Jerod eat something got to the back of the van. I used the moment to get some fresh air, slipping out the door to the van.

"I'm, um, going to the bathroom. A real bathroom," I said.

I was pretty sure no one had heard me or at least no one was paying attention. But I was proven wrong when Dom leaned his head out of the van. He met my gaze and was quiet for a moment, catching me off guard until he finally spoke. "I trust you. And we're here to get you the help that you're going to need, okay?"

"Okay," I answered before I really thought about it. I blinked, and he was tucked back inside the van again.

I didn't know how to feel about that exchange, so I let my feet take me slowly to the door of the gas station.

The inside was little better than the outside. The walls were covered with neon beer signs, relics of days past. Chipped paint caked the walls in at least four different layers of colors and a collection of rather suspicious hot dogs warmed on the rollers behind the counter. The old man sat, blatantly looking at a magazine of women he probably shouldn't be looking at on the clock, and I had to clear my throat to get his attention. He shifted his eyes up, clearly bored, and wanting me to speak my piece and leave him alone.

"Excuse me, do you have a bathroom?" I asked.

He reached under the counter and pulled up a block of wood with a key tied around it with yellow twine.

"Around back," he said. "Bring back the key or I'll report your plates."

I smiled slightly, trying to hide the grimace my face was trying to make. "Thanks."

I took the key off the counter and went back outside to look for the bathroom door. Glancing over to the van, I could see they were having a struggle inside of it. I was glad to not be a part of it. Around the corner and to the back of the gas station, I saw a thoroughly unimpressive bathroom door that looked like someone had tried to kick it in at one point. I pulled my hand inside my sleeve and used that to open the door.

The inside was about as appealing as the outside, so I did my best to squat over the toilet without actually sitting on anything. Thanks to several years of track, I had the thighs to handle it.

I was glad to use the somewhat cleaner sink to clean myself up. My hands, my face, my neck. And I looked into the mirror, trying to pull my fingers through my hair as much as I could, straightening it out.

When I was done, I took the key back to the counter. That's when a plastic yellow phone caught my eye.

I set the block on the counter and looked out the dusty front windows of the gas station. No one was looking my way.