"Are we almost there yet?" Hope asks, squirming in her seat. Ben's snoring next to her, Sky's singing along to the music, and Jessica has been attempting to make small talk with everyone—including me—the entire ride.

Hayden keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead as the GPS announces our upcoming turn. "Five more minutes," he mumbles, turning the steering wheel and getting onto the exit ramp.

This has been the longest and most awkward car ride ever.

So many different personalities crammed into one vehicle. Amazingly, no one has killed anyone yet—though there was one close call earlier when Hope and Jessica argued over who ate the last of the snacks, but it was quickly diffused.

The sun sets, painting the winding road in gold as we search for a place to stay.

Street lamps flicker to life as we enter the small town—the sign above reads "Welcome to Hollows Creek." It even sounds creepy—the perfect place for a huge Halloween store.

Hayden takes a left onto the main street as Hope and Sky start reading the building signs aloud.

"Hollows Creek Thrifty Way, Liquor Barn, Hooties Grill, Sugar Shack—" Sky stops, pointing to a faded sign on the side of a building, "Hollows Creek Cove Motel," and a smaller sign attached below, "Rooms available—seventy-five dollars a night."

Being the first available hotel we've seen so far, Hayden puts on his blinker and turns into the parking lot. There are a handful of cars parked outside, and a single person walking into the lobby.

Finding a spot in the back, he pulls in and kills the engine. The sudden silence is a welcome change from the constant noise of the ride.

"Okay, let's get this over with," Hayden grumbles, rubbing his eyes and swinging open the door.

Hope shakes Ben awake—still groggy from his hour-long nap—and I climb out of the passenger seat, stretching my cramped muscles. Everyone else pies out, yawning and stretching as they grab their belongings.

The streetlights in the parking lot are broken and flickering nonstop as we huddle around the trunk, grabbing the last of the luggage.

"This place is creepy," Jessica whispers to me as we get ready to walk toward the building.

"Yeah, I know," I mutter, looking up at the old, cracked wooden sign creaking gently in the wind. The lights surrounding it aren't working, and you can barely make out the faded letters.

We head toward the hotel as a group—an old brick building with dusty windows and a ripped white awning flapping in the wind. It blows the leaves in the parking lot into miniature whirlwinds, sending them tumbling across the ground.

A single dim light above the door casts a faint glow on the cracked sidewalk. We hesitate at the entrance, exchanging uneasy glances.

Who's going in first?

Hayden finally steps forward and pushes the door open. The hinges groan, making us all jump, as we step inside.

The lobby is just as run-down as the outside. Dust and cobwebs cover the old furniture, and the faded carpet is stained and dirty.

The air smells stale and musty—a perfect mix of old cigarette smoke and mildew.

A worn, wooden desk sits in the back. Behind it, an old TV plays an infomercial on mute. And beside it is a bookshelf, overflowing with dusty leather books and random items.

On the back wall is a black-and-white photo of the town from years ago—the building we're in looks new, and the main street is bustling with people.

Jessica taps the bell on the desk, which lets out a loud, piercing ring, and a few seconds later, a light in the back room comes on. The door creaks open, and an old man hobbles out of the doorway.

His gray hair is thinning and combed over to the side, and his bushy eyebrows are thick and gray above his tired, brown eyes. A few days' worth of stubble covers his chin, and a pack of cigarettes—Marlboro Reds—sticks out of his old, yellow-and-white plaid button-down shirt.

"How you folks doin'?" he asks, his heavy country accent coming through as he makes his way to the desk, using a thick, wooden cane to steady himself.

"We're doing fine, thanks," Sky says, stepping out from behind Hayden—who's busy looking around the room, a scrunched-up expression on his face.

"Well, what can I help ya with tonight?" The old man's eyes travel the group, lingering on each of our faces before moving on to the next one. "You folks look like you've been driving for a while."

He sets his cane against the desk and reaches for a pen, wincing slightly as he bends down to grab a worn, old leather-bound book from the shelf underneath.

"Um, yeah, we're on a little mini road trip," Sky says, smiling awkwardly. "We need three rooms for two nights," she adds, looking back at us for confirmation.

"Okay, three rooms for two nights," he repeats gruffly, nodding to himself as he flips through the dusty pages, his eyes scanning the dated, handwritten entries. "Okay, I got a room available on the second floor, and two on the ground floor," he says, pausing to rub his tired eyes.

"And I can give ya a discount, since you folks are staying for two nights," he says, attempting a weak smile as he scribbles some notes in the book. "We'll do fifty a night for each room, so that comes out to three hundred, total," he says, looking up at Sky, who's rummaging in her bag.

Pulling out her wallet, she counts through her cash, handing him three hundred-dollar bills. His hands shake as he takes them from her before opening a small cash box under the counter and placing them into it.

"Alright, if you want to follow me, I'll show you folks to your rooms," he says, grabbing a set of keys off a rusty old key hook in one hand and reaching for his cane with the other. He shuffles out from behind the desk and heads toward the long, dimly lit hallway to the left.

Limping in front of us, he leads the way down the hall, pointing out the ice machine, the laundry room, and the vending machines as we pass by. "Breakfast starts at seven, in the dining room down the hall, and ends at nine," he calls back over his shoulder before stopping in front of the first door on the right.

"Room 105," he reads the brass numbers tacked onto the dark green door. "Okay, here's the key for this one," he says, finding two small silver keys and unhooking them from the large, cluttered keyring. The numbers 105 and 118 are written on each in faded, black permanent marker.

"And the other room on this floor is room 118. It's at the end of the hall on the right, second to last room," he says, lifting his cane and using it to point down the hall toward the back of the hotel.

Handing them to Sky, he finds the next key—a square-shaped golden one with the number 211 engraved into it—and holds it out to Sky. "And that one's on the second floor, right at the top of the stairs. I can show you where it is if you'd like," he offers, his eyes squinting as he leans against the doorframe for support.

"Thank you, but I'm sure we can find it," Sky says, smiling, with all of us nodding in agreement. "You've been very helpful already," she adds, looking around at the faded, peeling wallpaper—with a repeating pattern of red roses on a cream-colored background—and worn, grayish-brown carpet with a few visible stains.

"Okay then, if you kids need anything, you can find me in the office, or dial zero on the phones in your rooms," he says, flinching as his free hand moves to hold his lower back while turning to walk back the way we just came.

"You folks have a good night, and I hope you enjoy your stay," he calls over his shoulder as he shuffles along.

"You too, and thanks again," Hope calls out after him as we stand there watching him disappear around the corner.

"Okay, how are we doing the rooms?" Jessica asks, breaking the silence.

"Well, obviously, Hope and I are sharing one," Sky says. "We'll take this one," she adds, holding up the key for room 105.

"What about if the boys take one and the girls take the other?" Hope suggests, laying her head on Sky's shoulder, yawning.

Jessica fidgets beside me, glancing at Ben. My heart sinks—if she doesn't want to room with me, who does she want? I think I know. And I bet he feels the same.

"Umm..." Jessica stammers, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I-I was thinking maybe Ben and I could share one? If it's okay with everyone, that is," she stutters, avoiding everyone's eyes. "If not, I don't mind sharing a room with Bex," she quickly adds, noticing the shocked faces staring back at her.

"But if we do that, then that leaves Bex and Hayden sharing a room," Sky points out, frowning, her eyes flicking between me and Hayden, who hasn't said two words. The wheels in her head are clearly turning—trying to figure out how to fix this awkward situation.

And without speaking, I know what she's thinking—how bad of an idea this is, but what choice do we have?

"Babe, it's only two nights, and everyone is exhausted," Hope mumbles. "Plus, the rooms have two beds, so it's not like they're sharing a bed or anything," she points out, trying to reason with Sky. "It shouldn't be a problem, we're only going to be sleeping here anyway."

Sky doesn't answer, just fixes me with a look—a silent warning.

She's doing this for everyone, not for me.

"Oh my God, can you guys come the fuck on?" Hayden snaps. "I've been driving for hours, and I'm fucking exhausted. This is fucking stupid! Shit, if Jessica and Ben want to share, then let them. What's the big deal, shit?" he growls, adjusting the bag over his shoulder.

His face is red, annoyance written all over it. Is it the whole situation, or just me? I drop my gaze to a brown spot on the carpet, questions swirling.

"Come on, babe, I'm tired. We can deal with this later, if we have to," Hope says, tugging on Sky's arm, wanting to get settled in already.

Sky hesitates for another moment before shrugging and reluctantly agreeing.

"Fine, whatever," Sky snaps, handing Jessica the key for room 118 and Hayden the one for 211. "I'm going to bed," she mutters, unlocking her door and walking inside, Hope following close behind.

"Goodnight, guys," Hope says as the door closes behind them.

"Well, that was awkward," Ben says, breaking the tension and making Jessica giggle. "I guess we'll see you guys in the morning. Night," he mutters as they walk off toward their room, leaving Hayden and me alone in the hallway.

"Let's go find this damn room," Hayden mutters, starting toward the stairs and leaving me to follow. My stomach twists into knots with each step as we head up the creaking staircase.

I run my fingers along the rickety banister, eyes tracing the cracked walls and flickering lights. Everything here is patched up and barely holding together. Just like me.

Reaching the top, Hayden stops and looks around, not knowing which way to go.

"That way," I point, reading the faded sign on the wall, directing us to rooms 210–220. Walking in silence, we follow the arrows until reaching the room.

Sliding the key in, the door creaks open, and he walks in first. Feeling around on the wall, he finds the light switch and flips it.

The room is old and out of date—with two single beds covered in thin, red comforters, a nightstand between them that has a brass lamp on it, and an old, floor-model TV in the corner.

Choosing the bed closest to the wall, I set my bags down on it. "It's, err, nice," I lie, patting the firm, stiff mattress.

"It's okay. It serves its purpose," he groans, opening the small microwave sitting on top of the mini fridge and closing it back.

"So do you want the first shower?" he asks, coming over to stand beside me, placing his duffel bag next to mine. "Or we could take one together, to save water and all," he teases, unzipping his bag to grab a towel and his shower bag.

"I doubt that taking our own showers will kill the planet," I reply dryly, snatching my bag and darting past him to the bathroom. "I'll go first," I smirk, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it.

Switching the light on, I lean against the small porcelain sink, looking around at the small room.

There's an oval, cracked mirror above the sink, a single dust-covered window above the toilet, and a wire wicker shelf in the corner—with three bottles of shampoo, two conditioners, and a bar of soap.

Several thin white towels hang on the towel rack, with a faded, black sign above it: "Do not remove towels from the room."

The stand-up shower is big enough for one person, with a clear plastic curtain—stained with soap scum—and held up by rusty metal rings. Water slowly drips from the water-stained faucet onto the white-and-blue bath mat below it.

It's definitely not the cleanest bathroom, but I need a shower. I feel like I have a layer of grime all over my skin after that long car ride and walking through the dusty hotel.

Turning on the faucet, I adjust the water to hot and peel my dirty clothes off, tossing them onto the floor.

Stepping under the warm water, I let out a sigh as the dirt and sweat are washed away.

I take my time, lathering my loofah and scrubbing my entire body—under my feet, behind my ears, and the back of my neck—before rinsing off.

The warm water pummels my body, beating against it.

Washing and conditioning my hair twice, I quickly run my razor over my legs, armpits, and pubic area before scrubbing my face with a washcloth.

When the water starts to get cold, I turn the faucet off and step out of the shower, quickly drying off. Wrapping my towel around my body, I open the door, releasing a giant cloud of steam into the room.

"Damn! It's about time. Did you save me any hot water?" Hayden whines, laughing as he takes in my dripping hair and the faint red glow to my skin.

"You'll see, won't you?" I snap back, rolling my eyes as I walk past him and start digging through my bag for some clothes. "Boy, go get your dirty ass in the shower," I mutter, pulling out a thin blue matching set of pajamas—shorts and a button-down top—and clean panties.

"Yeah, yeah," he laughs, opening the door and closing it behind him.

The sound of the water turns on, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Having a moment to myself, I quickly rub lotion all over my skin before getting dressed.

Brushing my hair in front of the dusty square mirror sitting on the nightstand—next to an antique, black rotary phone with a frayed, long, tangled cord—I braid my wet hair into a single French braid and pin it to the side of my head.

Picking my things up and putting them away, I stow my bags in the tiny closet—with a broken, hanger-less rod—and walk across the room to adjust the temperature.

It's an older, large unit that controls the AC and heating—mounted into the wall, with a large dial and two buttons. Turning the dial until it clicks, I adjust the temperature to sixty-eight degrees and press the "on" button.

The unit roars, shaking and rattling before blowing out cool air.

It's loud, but it's better than sleeping in a hot, stuffy room.

Unplugging my phone from the charger, I grab the remote for the TV—playing a static-filled rerun of "Friends"—and power it off.

Before climbing into bed, I switch on the table lamp, turn off the overhead light, and grab my book off the nightstand. Pulling the covers back, I slip under them, get as comfortable as possible, and begin reading.

"Always reading," he mumbles, reappearing from the bathroom, wearing a pair of gray mesh basketball shorts and using the towel around his neck to dry his wet hair.

Despite seeing him shirtless multiple times before, my stomach does a flip as I glance over at him. His smooth chest and abs glisten with water beads, and the dark lines of ink above his waistline and down his sides make my skin tingle.

"You read too much," he complains, tossing his damp towel over the back of the wooden chair sitting in the corner of the room by the window. His face is still flushed from the hot shower, and his damp hair curls slightly at the base of his hairline.

"And you watch too much TV," I shoot back, returning my eyes to the page, but unable to focus. He's too much of a distraction, with his freshly shaven face and the slight scent of his body wash wafting over to me.

Staring at him over the top of my book, I watch as he takes his phone out of his bag and plugs it into the charger on the nightstand, before coming to stand beside my bed.

"Ahem, excuse you," he grumbles, clearing his throat.

My heart races as he leans in, his warmth and gaze impossible to ignore. "Can I help you?" I stutter, biting my lip.

"Yeah, scoot over, so I can get in," he answers casually, gesturing to the space between me and the wall.

"What do you mean? This is my bed." I clutch my book to my chest, confused and a little defensive. "You've barely spoken to me in weeks, and now you want to sleep here?" I nod toward the empty twin bed. "That one looks just fine."

Running his hand through his damp hair, he sighs. "Yeah, I've been distant, but it's not you. It's Sky. I saw how she reacted at the bonfire, and I know how she can be," he whispers, staring at the ground.

"We've been down this road before, so I figured she'd already gotten in your head. And told you the whole 'Hayden this, and that' spiel—I've heard it before, you know, it's nothing new," he responds, pulling his eyes from the floor and looking at me.

"Besides, it's not like you tried to talk to me, either," he adds, shrugging his shoulders.

Why does he have to be so aggravating? I think, frustrated at how easily he can flip my emotions—somehow making me feel sorry for him, even though he's a complete ass most of the time.

But I also know he's not lying.

Maybe, since they're twins, she can only see one side of the story—the bad side.

I know how it feels to make a mistake—one that no one will let you forget—and when they see you, that's the only thing that comes to mind—the past. It's not fair.

And he's right—I didn't make an effort to talk to him.

"Okay, but don't get too excited. It doesn't mean I forgive you," I mutter. "It just means I'm tired and cold—and you give off a lot of heat," I throw in, moving toward the wall to give him space, and pulling the covers higher up over my body.

Why am I lying to myself and him?

Deep down, I know it's not just because I'm cold. The real reason is that I want to be close to him—and feel his skin against mine.

Because whether I can openly admit it or not, I'm falling for him—hard.

And I know how dangerous this could be for both of us—especially if Sky ever finds out.

Hesitating for a moment, he looks almost unsure before taking my book and tossing it on the nightstand. He turns the light off—plunging us into darkness—and slides in. The worn-down bed dips under his weight, and the springs whine and groan as he settles in beside me.

Moving closer, he wraps his arm around me and buries his face in my hair like he's done before. But this time, I don't pull away.

It feels right—like I belong here.

The AC unit in the corner rattles and clunks as his chest rises and falls, pressing against my back. And his thumb brushes against my stomach, stroking my skin, I lie motionless, staring into the dark and listening to his breathing.

Wondering where I went wrong and replaying everything that's happened since I arrived at college.

Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the old window and making the sign outside creak louder. Somewhere down the hall, a door slams, echoing through the thin walls.

I close my eyes and try to shut out my thoughts, but they swirl anyway—memories of laughter and secrets, of mistakes and what-ifs, all tangled up with Hayden's steady breathing at my back.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. My mind slows, and the room fades away. For the first time in weeks, I let myself feel safe, even if it's only for tonight.

Tomorrow, everything might fall apart. But for now, in this strange, haunted little town, I just let myself belong.

Sleep finally comes, heavy and dreamless.