Ride or Cry

T⁠he Bl​ue Towe‌l I​ncident ‌

RIDE OR CRY

"I don't understand why I can't use the blue towel," Maya said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, holding up the offending item like a peace offering. "It's a towel. They're meant to be used."

Jesse leaned against the wall, his expression a mix of horror and amusement. His nose ring caught the dim light as he shook his head slowly, like she'd just asked him why water was wet. "It's Ghost's towel. You touch it, you deal with Ghost."

"Ghost isn't even here."

"Ghost is always here. That's the point." He pushed off the wall and walked closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information. "He's probably watching us right now. He's probably been watching us this whole time. He's like a f*****g ninja with trust issues and a questionable attachment to bath linens."

She stared at him, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. "You're telling me that the quiet, creepy guy who never speaks is going to lose his mind over a towel?"

"I'm telling you that the quiet, creepy guy who never speaks once made a man cry over that towel. And not like, 'oh, I'm sad' cry. Like, 'I'm genuinely terrified for my life' cry. Like, 'I'm going to need therapy for the rest of my life' cry. Like, 'I'm going to write a country song about this trauma' cry."

Maya looked at the towel in her hands. It was just a towel. Blue. Faded. Slightly frayed at the edges. Nothing special. Nothing threatening. Just a piece of fabric that had probably cost five dollars at a discount store years ago. "This is ridiculous."

"This is Nowhere." He grinned, his teeth white against his tan skin. "Welcome to the family. We're all a little broken here. But the towel thing? That's next level."

She was about to respond when a shadow fell over them. A cold draft swept through the hallway, raising goosebumps on her arms. Ghost appeared at the end of it, his pale eyes fixed on the towel in her hands. His expression didn't change, but something in the air shifted. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. The lights flickered once, twice, three times, like the building itself was reacting to his presence. A door creaked somewhere in the distance.

Maya felt a chill run down her spine. Her fingers tightened around the towel involuntarily. Her heart started pounding.

"Hi, Ghost," Jesse said cheerfully, his voice unnaturally bright and chipper. "Maya was just, uh, admiring your towel. She was thinking of starting a collection. You know, towels. Very normal. Very boring. Nothing to see here."

Ghost said nothing. Just stared. At her. At the towel. At her again. His eyes were unblinking, like a predator sizing up its prey. Like he was deciding whether to eat her or just scare her half to death.

"I was going to put it back," Maya said quickly, her voice higher than she intended. "I was just—I didn't know—it was an accident—"

Ghost took a step forward. Then another. He moved like smoke, silent and fluid, his footsteps making no sound on the wooden floor. He stopped a few feet away and held out his hand. His fingers were long and pale, with calluses that spoke of a life of violence and hardship. There were scars on his knuckles, old and faded, souvenirs from battles she'd never know about. He looked like he'd been through wars she couldn't imagine.

Maya placed the towel in his hand with the care of someone handling a live grenade. Her fingers brushed his for just a second, and his skin was cold. Unnaturally cold. Like he'd been standing in a freezer.

Ghost took the towel. Held it for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he turned and walked away without a word. He disappeared into the shadows at the end of the hallway like he'd never been there at all. One second he was there, the next he was gone.

Maya let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. "What the actual f**k?"

Jesse was laughing so hard he was crying, his body shaking with the force of his amusement. He had to lean against the wall to stay upright. "I told you. I f*****g told you. I told you he was weird about that towel. I told you he'd lose his mind. But you didn't believe me. You just had to see for yourself."

"That's not normal."

"Nothing about this town is normal." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't think I will."

"Oh, you will." He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Because you're not leaving. None of us leave. It's like a cult, but with better beer and more leather and fewer weird rituals. Well, except for the towel thing. That's definitely a ritual."

She didn't know what to say to that. So she just let him guide her back downstairs.

The bar was empty when they got there. The regulars had gone home, the jukebox was silent, and the only light came from the neon sign in the window. It cast everything in a red glow, making the room feel like something out of a noir film. The shadows were long and deep. Knox was behind the counter, wiping down the same spot he'd been wiping when she arrived. He was still wearing that leather vest, still looking like he owned the world.

"She touched Ghost's towel," Jesse announced gleefully, like he was reporting a major crime.

Knox's hand stilled. The rag froze mid-motion. "She touched the towel?"

"She touched it. She held it. She almost used it. It was beautiful. I'm so proud. I'm going to tell my grandchildren about this moment."

Knox looked at Maya. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. Amusement? Concern? She couldn't tell. "You touched Ghost's towel?"

"I didn't know," she said quickly, defensively. "I was just looking for a towel to dry my hands and it was there and I didn't think—"

"It's fine," he cut her off. "He didn't kill you."

"Yet," Jesse added cheerfully. "Give it time. The night is young."

Knox ignored him. "You're sleeping in the room upstairs. It's small, but it locks. Towels are in the closet. Use the white ones."

"The white ones," she repeated.

"The white ones. Trust me."

She nodded slowly. "Noted."

"Go get some sleep," Knox said. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I haven't."

"Well, now you can." He tossed her a key. "Room at the top of the stairs. Don't lose it."

She caught the key, her fingers closing around the cold metal. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet."

She turned and climbed the stairs, her legs heavy with exhaustion. The room was at the end of the hall, small and cramped. A single bed with a faded quilt that had once been blue but had faded to a color she could only describe as maybe. A wooden dresser with three drawers, one of which was stuck permanently. A window that looked out over the gravel parking lot, cracked at the corner and sealed with duct tape. The moon cast pale light through the cracks.

And a closet. She opened it. Empty hangers. A spare light bulb. A dusty copy of a romance novel from 1997 that she definitely wasn't going to read. And a stack of white towels.

No blue ones.

She closed the closet door carefully and sat down on the bed. The mattress sagged under her weight. The springs creaked in protest. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

What the hell had she gotten herself into? A town called Nowhere, a bar that smelled like regret, and four men who were either going to save her or destroy her. A ghost who guarded his towel like it was made of gold. A joker who never shut up. A mountain who barely spoke. And a president who looked at her like she was already his.

She didn't know which one she was hoping for.

End of Chapter 3