6. Thorne
SIX
Thorne
City sidewalks, busy sidewalks / Dressed in holiday style / In the air, there's a feeling / Of Christmas.
I-95 North, Providence, Rhode Island
11:58 am
The evergreen trees on the right side of the highway are almost hypnotic, but my mind is too wired to relax. We only have about an hour and a half more to go. I can do this. Then I can't wait to get a long hot shower and muscle through the home stretch of this nightmare.
I glance at Woodley out of the corner of my eye. She's focused on the road, her brow furrowed in concentration. She's sharp, I'll give her that. And more curious than I expected. Almost a little too nosey, earlier, but otherwise, she hasn't been that annoying today.
The car's Bluetooth pings, interrupting the silence, and my phone screen lights up on the dashboard.
"Robert Chilton." My dad.
Fuck, how does this rental car know how to tap into my bluetooth and see my contacts? No hiding this one.
My jaw tightens instinctively.
I clear my throat and swipe the screen to answer, keeping my voice steady. "Hey, Dad."
"Thorne, where are you?" My father's voice comes through, direct as always. "I got your text this morning about you two pulling over for a few hours rest en route. That was smart. It's nasty out there."
"Yeah, thanks. We both needed it. We have just under two hours left now."
"I've been tracking the storm. What's the weather like where you are?"
I shift in my seat, glancing at Woodley, who pretends not to listen but clearly is. I keep my tone casual. "Shitty, but Woodley is a beast on the road. We're making good time and will hopefully get there before the worst of it."
"You're making her drive? Come on, Thorne. I taught you better than that."
I hope she can't hear his booming voice. I don't want to get into that conversation with her prying ears. I laugh off his annoying suggestion of some kind of archaic chivalry.
There's a pause, and I can picture him checking his watch, calculating our ETA against the pitch. "Anyway, you should have plenty of time to go over everything still today, but don't cut it too close. I don't have to remind you that the meeting tomorrow is critical."
I roll my eyes as my test tightens. "I know, Dad. We're good." Christ, I stayed at a hole-in-the-wall and driving through the Storm of the Century. And I'm doing it all with my least favorite person in the office—he has to know I'm taking this seriously.
"You guys be safe. It's important to get there, but more important to get there in one piece."
There's a brief flicker of something like concern in his voice, and it surprises me. My father's not one to dwell on personal stuff, at least not when business is involved, but I can hear it. He's checking in, making sure I'm okay, even if he doesn't say it outright.
"We're fine," I say quickly. "No problems."
Another pause, and I can sense Woodley's presence next to me even though I'm not looking at her. Just knowing she is there is making me self-conscious. He has to know there is no privacy in a car for a conversation. I wish he would relegate our conversations to text.
"Alright, Son," he finally says, his voice lowering a fraction, "Let me know when you get to the hotel safely. And make sure you don't blow this off. Go over everything with your colleague. Keep your focus."
I wipe my sweaty palms on my knees, irritation creeping in. "Yeah, I know. We've got this, Dad. Go to a Christmas party or something and let us do the heavy lifting." I try to lighten the mood, hopefully putting him off my back until I'm done. These brief check-ins are really annoying.
"Good." His tone shifts again, all business now. "This is important. ValorTech is a long-term play for us, and this campaign is going to set the stage. I'll stop bugging you. Shoot me a text when you arrive, and let's talk tomorrow when you're done."
I swallow, feeling the familiar pressure settle on my shoulders. It's always like this with him—a mix of concern and expectations, wrapped up in the constant reminder that if I fuck up I'm letting everyone down. T-ball and million dollar ad campaigns, it's all the same level of pressure and expectations.
"Will do. I'll let you know when we get there," I say, trying to end the conversation before it drags on any longer.
"Alright. Stay safe, Thorne. Kick ass and then get home for some eggnog!"
The call ends with a soft click, and the car feels too quiet all of a sudden. I glance at Woodley, who's still staring at the road, pretending not to have heard every word. Maybe my pressing the phone on my ear muffled it enough to keep it private.
I clear my throat again. "Sorry about that. My dad can be neurotic sometimes."
She shrugs, a faint smirk on her lips. "No big deal. You're the guy with the big important pitch, right?"
I roll my eyes, but there's no real heat behind it. "Something like that."
"You okay?" she asks, keeping her tone casual, but I can hear the curiosity under it.
I nod. "Yeah. I'm just ready to get there."
She's quiet for a moment, and I think that's the end of it. But then she speaks again, her voice a little softer. "Does he always put that kind of pressure on you?"
I don't look at her, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. "It's part of the job."
"Is it?" she asks, and there's a hint of something in her voice that is different from her holier-than-thou persona. "Seems like a lot."
I grit my teeth, not sure how much I want to say. The last thing I need is to open up more than I already have. But at the same time, something about her makes it hard to just brush off.
"Look," I say, keeping my tone even, "he's just an intense guy. He's probably already had a few milk punches by now and is excited. That's all."
Woodley glances over at me again, her brow furrowed. "I'm glad to know he gets with it before noon. Sounds like he really wants you to snag this."
I shrug, trying to keep my guard up. "Yeah, well, when your family's been running a company for decades, it's more than just a job to all of them. He has a financial stake in this, but it's also a matter of wanting me to make something of myself in his eyes."
There's a pause, and I wonder if she's going to drop it. But she doesn't. "Do you feel like you have to live up to his expectations?"
I let out a short laugh, more bitter than I intended. Of course I do, he's my father. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
She doesn't push further, and I can tell she's thinking, processing what I've said. Part of me is peeved that she's digging into the dynamics with my father and worrying whether or not his expectations are too much. But another part feels relieved that someone sees the pressure I'm under.
I glance over at her. "What about you? What's your family like?"
Woodley's hands tighten on the wheel, and I see her shift in her seat, like the question hit a nerve. She doesn't answer right away, and I wonder if I've stepped on a landmine.
"It's complicated," she finally says, her voice quieter than before.
Oh, I see how it is. She can dig into my shit, analyzing my family dynamics, but she shuts down when it comes to her's. Now that I've turned the tables, I want to see her squirm a little like she did to me. "Complicated how?"
She exhales, and I see her fingers flex, like she's trying to shake off the tension. "Let's just say I chose to keep my distance. For good reasons."
There's something in the way she says it that's firm, but with a trace of something raw underneath. I decide to drop it, as much as I want to see her flounder some more.
"Fair enough," I say, trying to sound like I'm letting it go. I'm guessing her family life was quite a bit different than mine. We obviously suffer different kinds of pressure.
And honestly, I wouldn't even know what to say if she said something like, "we didn't have food on the table," or, "my parents had me out panhandling," or some shit like that. So I let it go, more out of self-preservation than to protect her feelings.
We fall back into silence, but it feels different now. Like we've both said just enough to open a door but not enough to walk through it. There's a weird sense of connection, even though neither of us is willing to admit it.
Suddenly, I realize I want to know more about her. I want to know what makes her the way she is.
She glances at me from the corner of her eye, and for a split second, I think I sense the magnetic pull that brought us together in the middle of the night in that shady motel.
"I guess we've both got our family issues, huh?" she says, and there's a faint smirk on her lips.
"Guess so," I mutter, trying not to think too much about what we just shared.
The Grand Meridian Hotel, Boston, MA
1:47 pm
The moment we step into the hotel lobby, the change in atmosphere hits me like a breath of fresh air. After the last place—the freezing motel with its flickering lights and stiff beds—this feels like stepping into the Plaza Hotel.
The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, warm and inviting, and Christmas music drifts from a small stage in the corner where a trio is playing holiday classics on string instruments. Everything here feels... familiar. Comforting. Nostalgic.
I've always liked the holidays, even if I don't admit it out loud. The decorations, the lights, the warmth of it all reminds me of simpler times. Before things got complicated with work and family expectations, I used to look forward to this time of year.
Woodley walks a few steps ahead of me, and for the first time today, I see her smile. A real one, not the sarcastic smirk she likes to throw my way.
"Wow," she says softly, taking in the sight of the hotel's grand staircase, which is decked out with garlands, twinkling lights, and a toy train set running through a snowy village at its base. "They really went all out. I guess if we have to work so close to the holidays we could be stuck in a worse place."
I nod, my eyes lingering on the train scene. "Yeah. It's... nice."
Nice is an understatement. The hotel is elegant, with high ceilings, chandeliers, and holiday decorations on every surface. The lobby's centerpiece is a massive, intricately decorated Christmas tree that towers over us, ornaments sparkling in the soft glow of the lights. The scent of fresh pine from the tree mixes with the warm cinnamon from the holiday display near the fireplace.
For the first time since this insane trip started, I feel myself relax. Just a little, but it is a marked change.
Woodley turns to me, her eyes twinkling a bit more than usual. "Look at the hot chocolate station and the Christmas craft room. I could totally lose myself in here. Too bad we are here to work."
I smirk. "A little better than last night's accommodations, right?"
"Just a bit."
As we approach the front desk, I feel something between us shift. It's almost as if the cold barrier erected between us is starting to thaw. Maybe it's the atmosphere, maybe it's just exhaustion, but for once, we're not looking at each other like rivals.
"Welcome to the Grand Meridian," the receptionist says with a warm smile. "I have you in neighboring rooms on the tenth floor. Both are king-bed rooms. Is that acceptable?"
I glance at Woodley, who shrugs. "Works for me."
"Same here," I say, taking the keycards she hands us.
We step into the elevator, and for a moment, there's a comfortable silence between us. I lean against the wall, watching as the floors tick by. There's even a warmth in the elevator. It's amazing what a change in scenery and light at the end of the tunnel can do for the mood. I take a deep breath, happy for the peace that has finally settled over us.
When we reach our floor, Woodley looks at me as the doors open. I had her one of the key cards with the sleeve indicating she will be in room 1015. I look down at the other one, room 1017.
"I think I'm going to take a long, hot shower," she says with satisfaction. I think she has the right idea.
I chuckle. "Same. I feel like I've been on the road for a week. Want to meet up to go through all of this at some point?"
She smiles, and it's not forced this time. "How about we meet in an hour? Down at the lobby bar? We can grab some real food and go over everything."
"Sounds like a plan." I hold up my keycard. "Room next door if you need anything."
She nods and steps toward her room, the door clicking behind her as I make my way into mine.
Inside, the room is warm, inviting, and a world away from the cold motel room last night. The bed looks like heaven—a king-sized masterpiece with fluffy pillows and a comforter that practically begs to be slept in.
I can still hear the faint murmur of Christmas music from the hall. God, I'm so glad to be here after everything.
I can't wait for a proper, hot shower. I need to wash off this trip—literally and figuratively—before I head downstairs.
As I step into the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the tension still etched on my face. We're almost there. One more day, and this pitch will be behind us.
But it's not just the pitch on my mind anymore.
It's Woodley, too. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Turning on the water, I inhale the sweetness of a nice, modern hotel room. The sound of the shower a siren call for my weary body. I strip away the layers of clothes, each piece a discarded memory of the journey here. I step under the showerhead, letting the water cascade over me.
The heat is a shock to my system, but it's a welcome one. It's like I'm shedding more than just dirt and sweat. I'm washing away the tension, the frustration, the relentless pressure that's been riding me since we left. And with each droplet that runs down my body, I feel a breath of happiness, a sense of relief to have made it here, to this moment of solitude.
As the water pounds against my skin, my mind drifts to the night before with Woodley. It was unexpected, a wildfire of passion that consumed us both, and now, standing here, the memory of her hot body against mine ignites a flame that refuses to be doused by the spray.
For the first time since I experienced it in the flesh, I close my eyes, the steam enveloping me, I allow myself to relive the moments with her. The way she moved, the noises she made, the feel of her skin—it's all too vivid, too intoxicating to ignore. I reach down, my hand wrapping around my growing erection, and I begin to stroke, each motion fueled by the memory of her touch, her taste.
My breaths come quicker, matching the rhythm of my hand as I let the fantasy take over. I can almost feel her lips on mine, her nails clawing at my back, her legs wrapped tightly around me. My strokes become more fervent, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo.
I brace one hand against the tiled wall, the other working faster, the water providing the perfect friction as I chase the release I desperately need. And then it hits me, a wave of ecstasy so intense that my knees nearly buckle. I jerk forward, my body shaking as I come, the sensation washing over me like a tidal wave, carrying away the last of the built-up anxiety.
The relief is palpable, a floodgate of tension opening and spilling out of me in hot, pulsating waves. It feels so fucking good to let go, to release not just the physical buildup, but the emotional weight that's been pressing down on me.
As the orgasm subsides, I stay there, leaning against the wall, the water still beating down on me. I feel lighter, more clear-headed than I have in days.
I convince myself that this release will make me more productive downstairs when Woodley and I go over our slides for the meeting tomorrow. It's a necessary reset, a way to ensure that I can focus on what's important without the distraction of unspent desire clouding my judgment.
I take a few deep breaths, the steam slowly dissipating as I regain my composure. With a final rinse, I turn off the water and step out of the shower, a towel waiting for me on the rack. As I dry off, I catch sight of myself in the mirror, a hint of a smile playing on my lips.
Tonight, I'll sleep well.