Chapter 3: Motel Secrets

Now I really get what they mean by, ‘A fallen millionaire still has more than most.’ Marcus still acted like a king, tucking a crisp hundred into the bellhop’s palm at the Maple Heights Motor Lodge—faded Route 66 sign flickering outside, the hum of the vending machine in the hall, and the stale scent of old carpet hanging in the air.

I can’t stand rich people. They move through life like everyone else is scenery, their problems never as big as yours. Marcus ordered room service without looking at the menu, and I rolled my eyes at his casual confidence.

He booked the best room, asked for hot water, showered, changed. The maids whispered about his bruised face, glancing at me like I was his parole officer or maybe his keeper.

I waited on him, and he tossed me a fifty-dollar tip without looking up from his phone. But his eyes—always on me, never letting his guard down.

He said he only had a little pocket money left and couldn’t pay back what I spent yet. The words sounded like an apology, but there was calculation in his gaze—money for comfort, not for debts. He was still playing chess, and I didn’t even know the rules.

Fine. The debtor makes the rules. I bit my tongue and pocketed the tip, trying to keep my pride intact.

He sat by the window, silent in the glow of the lamp. The diner’s neon sign blinked across the parking lot. Marcus stared into the dark like he was waiting for a miracle.

I worried he might be thinking about ending it. I’d heard stories—when you lose everything, silence gets heavy.

If Marcus died, my money was gone for good. That thought made my palms sweat. I needed him alive, at least until I got paid.

I had to say something to cheer him up.

"Things have been crazy for years—one day a big shot falls, next day it’s someone else. No surprise your family’s turn came." I tried to sound light, but my voice wavered.

"Don’t be sad. As long as you’re alive, there’s always a way back."

"Aren’t all those girls in town nuts about you?"

"Later, you can charm them, get by, and plan your comeback." I forced a grin, hoping to spark some hope—or at least keep him talking.

I felt ridiculous, but I kept talking—anything to keep him from slipping away, from giving up. My throat was dry, but I pressed on, praying he’d latch onto something.

Marcus finally reacted—a twitch of his eyebrow, a tilt of his head. Maybe he didn’t catch everything, deaf in one ear now, and frowned a little.

I leaned in, speaking slower. The air smelled like stale coffee and old books.

"Think about it, you’re lucky it’s just your hearing. If they’d broken your hands, you’d need help with everything. If they’d broken your legs, you’d need someone to hold you up just to get to the bathroom. Even worse."

He listened, exhaling slowly, chest rising and falling, a little spark returning to his eyes.

Marcus asked, "How did your granddad talk my granddad into arranging our engagement in the first place?"

I sighed. "Right? Why did Grandpa insist on this? Besides your looks, what else did you have going for you? Now you’re half-deaf, even less so. Whatever, let’s not talk about it. I came to Maple Heights to break off the engagement. Didn’t expect any of this." I tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow.

Marcus stared at me for a while, his voice cold: "Send me to Savannah, then we’ll go our separate ways."

I rubbed my hands and hedged, "Savannah’s far—it’ll take two or three months to get there." I glanced at the map on my phone, thinking about gas money and cheap motels.

Marcus snorted, "Once we get there, I’ll pay you back ten times over."

I straightened up, grinning. "Forget Savannah, I’d take you to Boise, Flagstaff, wherever. Money’s no problem, you’re my fiancé after all." I winked, trying to lighten the mood.

He tossed me a silver money clip. The initials M.C. glinted in the lamplight.

"If you need anything, just say so." I grinned, already planning how to stretch it—gas, food, maybe a real bed for a night.

Marcus just said, "Enough."