Lass Ride: Crossroads

Chapter 4

Becky wasn't sure why, but she usually found it more difficult to sleep in the rental houses than in hotel rooms. There were all sorts of horror stories about hotel rooms, of course, but there was a sense of blankness there as well; it was meant to feel comfortable, but not homey. Even though their current rental was very obviously a second house bought to generate income, staying there felt more like trespassing somehow. There weren't any personal items on display, but it still felt like a home. In some ways, that also made it feel more secure. She didn't have to worry about a fan—well-intentioned or otherwise—discovering her hotel room number and sliding something under her door. All her friends were close by, and she could walk across the hall in her underwear without worrying about having her picture taken—except maybe by Charlotte.

Everything good about the house seemed to amplify its opposite, however. The arrangement should have felt like an adult slumber party, but Becky felt incredibly isolated, partly by her own design. The ambience was cozy, but it just made her miss her own home that much more. The intimacy of the setting left her longing for the other things that should have come with it: a dog curled up on the sofa, comfortable amounts of clutter, a partner to cuddle and watch a movie with. You could have the last one if you wanted it, her traitorous brain said. Though Roman had tried to put Seth in a room as far from Becky's as possible, it was still a medium-sized house; it wouldn't have been hard to sneak down the hall and knock on his door. The biggest obstacle in her way was herself.

And a certain secret. All through their late dinner, Becky agonized over telling the others that she had seen Hunter and Randy at the event. But she said nothing at the restaurant or on the ride back to the rental or even during their late-night drinks, when the camaraderie made some of her tension ease. Even Seth was laughing, seeming more comfortable with Dean's teasing; once he realized that Dean did that to everyone, he started retaliating. "Don't, Renee had groaned, grabbing a bottle of wine and dumping the rest of it in her glass. "Now he's going to be even worse because he has more people to bother."

Dean, on the other hand, had grinned like a madman. "I knew there had to be something Irish saw in you, Rollins."

It had taken Becky a moment to even register the innocent comment and to her relief, no one called him out on it. It was probably because they were all tired and pleasantly buzzed, but she decided to take it as a partial victory anyway. In vino veritas, she recited as she helped clean up the living room. The sooner their evening amicability would carry over into daytime, the better.

When she retreated to her room to sleep, though, Becky felt all the nagging doubts creeping back in, twisting the effects of the wine to their advantage. She tried making herself tired by catching up on some email and then reading, but it was well past two when she finally fell asleep. Her dream had two distinct halves: an absurd extravaganza of colour and music in which Naomi, one of the girls she missed the most from WWE, was leading an all-girl dance troupe through some generic small town in Ireland accompanied by Christmas llamas; and a far simpler tableau in which Seth came to her room and wanted to talk. As much as Becky wanted to see how the second half progressed, the more raucous first half kept taking over.

So when there was a knock on her door, she didn't stir right away, assuming it was part of her dream and that the Seth portion had finally managed to usurp the dance parade long enough for something to happen. It wasn't until she heard her name that she realized it wasn't a third dream trying to start, but someone at her door. "Yeah?" she mumbled, trying to peel her tongue free from the top of her mouth. She had forgotten to bring a glass of water in with her, and her bedroom didn't have an en suite.

"Hey, Becks. Can I come in?" It was Roman's voice, as warm and comforting as the cinnamon toast he made so well at breakfast.

"Yeah," Becky repeated, turning over onto her side and cuddling under her blankets. Because there were so many other people in the house, she was wearing pyjamas, but she was still cold. I should get my circulation checked, she thought as Roman stepped inside. Still in the dregs of her dream, she had a moment in which she thought it was Seth: dark eyes, long dark hair, tall. Roman was only wearing pyjama pants, though, so his sleeve tattoo was plainly visible. "I'm not getting out of bed yet," she warned as he shut the door behind him. "I'm comfy."