Melinda’s POV

The early morning light crept through the windshield as I pulled into a grocery store parking lot just outside San Bernardino. It wasn’t much but it was busy and plain enough to swallow me whole.

I left the keys under the seat, along with the charger and the old sweatshirt Andrew always hated. He could keep the car. Let him trace it, track it, hunt for me in all the wrong places.

I grabbed my overnight bag small, intentional and walked two blocks to the bus station.

The ticket agent behind the counter didn’t look up as she printed my ticket. “Vegas,” I said softly, sliding over a few crumpled bills and a name that wasn’t mine. Again.

The ride was long. Hot. The silence wasn’t calm. It was weighty, coiled. Pressing hard against my chest.

I watched L.A. vanish behind me just dust, cactus and nothing. Motels and diners flashed by, empty and sunburned, like ghosts.

No one talked. A few people slept with their mouths open. A baby cried two rows down and didn’t stop until we crossed the state line.

I didn’t care. I needed the noise.

The sun slipped behind the skyline as we got to Vegas , turning everything gold and bruised. I got off the bus, the heat sticking to me like a warning and walked to a hotel near Fremont. Not flashy but secure. Clean. Anonymous.

The clerk asked for ID. I handed her the prepaid card and a different name. She didn't flinch .

Once inside my room, I dropped my bag on the bed and stood for a moment, just breathing. The city pulsed outside my window bright, bold, unapologetic. It was nothing like L.A. and that was exactly why I’d come.

I showered. Changed. Pulled on black jeans and a tank top. Nothing fancy. Just something that didn’t make me feel like Andrew’s wife. I didn’t know where I was going just that I couldn’t stay still. Not tonight. I needed the motion. I needed to disappear into the noise.

I noticed a small bar across the motel as I walked. It wasn’t the kind of place for tourists, there were no theme lights, no velvet ropes just a place to lay low but the bar was full of life.

I got onto a stool close to the bar, ordered a whiskey and let the burn settle in my chest. The bartender didn’t ask questions. I liked him instantly.

The music pounded, fast and steady like it was trying to shake the walls loose. I stepped further inside, weaving through the crowd.

The air was heavy filled with the sharp sting of alcohol, the heat of too many bodies and a kind of quiet desperation that clung to the corners.

Everyone obviously had something they were fighting within them.

Perfect, just what I wanted!

I sat at the counter, ignoring the looks of men lusting after my body, the half smiles, the curiosity. The bartender raised a brow as he poured me another drink.

“Having a bad night?” he asked.

“That’s an understatement. Worst of my life,” I said flatly.

“Mind to share?” The bartender asked in concern.

I kept mute.

He nodded like he had seen similar scenarios before from most likely some depressed folks that had hit the bar.

He didn’t stress me for an answer .

I drank very fast without asking what drink it was. Who cares! I just needed some alcohol to ease my pains.

The burn was welcoming. It masked the ache in my chest and I loved it. A second drink followed. Then a third. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth, my body became relaxed and my thoughts grew sluggish with my eyes getting quite blurry.

I just didn’t want to know anything tonight and I was ready to make it happen.

Not a thing about my future. Not my past. Not even about my worth.

As I was about to sip another drink, that was when I noticed him .

Not the kind of man who made heads turn, but the kind who knew how to hold a room just by standing in it. Broad shoulders. Faded flannel shirt. He had a clean shave. His presence was quiet but solid, like a mountain you didn’t notice until you crashed into it.

He was a few seats away and ordered for a bourbon. His voice was husky, like he hadn’t spoken much today. He didn’t look at me right away. He just stared at the bottles behind the bar like they meant something.

A few minutes passed. I kept my gaze on the rim of my glass.

Then he spoke.

“You look like someone who’s either running from something… or toward it.”

I smirked. “Can’t I be doing both?”

That got a quiet chuckle from him. He turned toward me then, his eyes dark and tired but not unkind.

“Fair enough,”

He nodded, like he was storing it away. “You live here?”

“I do now.”

“Me too,” he said. “Kind of.”

I raised a brow. “Kind of?”

“I float,” he said, lifting his glass. “Here for work. Or what passes for it.”

I liked the way he spoke. Straight. Calm

“What do you do?”

“ Real Estate "

“Sounds charming.”

“It’s not,” he said. “But it pays.”

He didn’t ask what I did. I appreciated that.

“So,” he said, glancing at my drink, “what brings a woman like you to a place like this?”

I could’ve lied. I almost did. But there was something in his voice gentle, disarming.

I caught my husband of ten years cheating on me with my sister. And the worst part? It happened on our anniversary. Right now, I just need to get away from it all. Leave the past behind. Start over in Vegas.

I shrugged like it didn’t matter, even though it meant everything.

I raised a toast to myself. “New beginnings!” I screamed, the alcohol burning in my chest and blurring the edges of everything.

"I'm sorry to hear that” he replied.

“It’s okay,” I gasped, trying to believe the words myself.

He blinked and didn't say a word till I was done talking; he was shocked and thrilled at the same time about how I spoke. Then he laughed. “You are brutally honest. I like that.”

For a while, we didn’t say much. He told me about a town he’d passed through in New Mexico, how the sky there felt closer somehow. I told him about a tree house I used to hide in as a kid back when things were simpler.

He listened. That was rare.

I didn’t seem to speak afterwards. I didn’t need a conversation; I didn't want to get talked into loving again. I needed something reckless. Something stupid. Something to make me forget that I was once married.

I slid off the bar stool and turned toward the dance floor. “Come on, pulling him gently.”

James followed without question. He didn't even resist me. The crowd swallowed us, the music pulsing like it could force out the grief in my bones. I chose to let go. I moved and danced with him like I didn’t care.

Because I didn’t.

Not tonight.

Sweat slicked my skin. My limbs loosened. I let his hands rest on my sexy hips. I allowed his muscular body to press against mine. I didn’t care who he was. I just didn’t want to Know.

We got so into each other after a long erotic dance and left for my motel room. I just didn't care. I didn’t ask his last name. He didn’t ask mine.

In the dim, worn-out room, I let him touch me.

Let him worship a body that felt hollow.

Let him give me something to feel, even if it wasn’t love.

Even if it wasn’t real.

I just needed something to take my mind off the past.

He planted soft kisses on my lips.

His mouth closed around my hips, rough and hungry, like he needed to devour every part of me. A gasp tore from my throat as heat surged through my body, sharp and unstoppable.

He was gentle with every touch, his hands finding every part of me that ached to be seen. It was like he knew exactly where to go, how to unravel me without a single word.

And when we got locked into each other, that was all I lastly remembered before morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morning

My body was aching a bit from last night's fun and I was bare on the bed. It was obvious I had a nasty night with a stranger.

Sunlight stabbed through the dusty blinds. My head throbbed and I blinked slowly from the rays.

The bed was cold beside me.

I looked around the room and it seemed empty.

He was gone.

He left no note. No trace at all.

I stared at the ceiling, nausea curling in my stomach. Not just from the alcohol.

From the truth.

I had given myself to a stranger to forget another man who had destroyed me.

And I still felt broken, even worse now.

Because I can't even tell what came next.

I just grew more stupid every passing minute.