Ethan finds his trip delayed after a heavy snowstorm in Nebraska keeps him overnight in a hotel with a man who does the opposite of testing his patience. Here, Ethan learns a few things about himself.
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thanks in advance for reading. this story is about 16,000 words, with a lot of build up to the sex. you can skip to that if you want, but I like establishing characters a little bit. please enjoy.
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I thinks it's funny that I remember little things. Simple things that nobody really would think to recall. Like the fact that my father told me once, maybe twice, "Evan, don't ever take a plane from a local airport." Those podunk little local airports that you have to know about beforehand, or find out about through a friend. It's not like I took this advice as sound, or had it at the top of my head, but as soon as I arrived in that tiny little Nebraska town and my Google maps was having a hard time with placing me, I knew I'd fucked up.
It began snowing around 11am. That should've been red flag number one that I should maybe halt my complicated plan to eventually end up in Vancouver for a trip with my friends before Thanksgiving.
I had seen snow before in Texas, but I knew it paled in comparison to the snow more up north. I decided to land in Nebraska to meet up with a friend before rerouting to meet with a group in the cabins. Before I knew it, Trent was canceling on me last minute as I landed in his state.
My father's words ring in my head as I stand at the desk. The short woman behind it wears a sweater that's too big. I want to say maybe she should get clothes that fit and maybe she wouldn't be so cranky, but I realize that I'm the cranky one, and she's just doing her job.
"I just want to get a ticket, ma'am. Even if you don't think the plane will take off. If it happens to take off I don't want to miss out on your 'ticket-purchasing' window," I say through my teeth. "Please. I will pay three hundred dollars, I don't care."
In her Midwestern accent, she sighs and says the same version of what she's been telling me since I got to the desk, "Sir, we are a local airport; tickets are usually significantly less. I do not feel that it is in good faith to sell you a ticket for a plane that is probably not going to take off due to inclement weather. Sir."
"I swear, you do not have to feel guilty, because there is NO CONFIRMATION that the flight is canceled. Ma'am. So just let. Me get. My ticket. Please."
"So that you can return it or exchange it and I can get you at my counter for round two? No thank you, Sir," she stacks her papers. "If you want to purchase a flight for over twenty-four hours from now, I can help you with that."
"I don't have anywhere to go for tonight, for a flight for tomorrow. I want to just get a ticket for--"
The guy behind me chimes in, "She said she can't do it, dude."
"The flight isn't officially canceled, 'dude,'" I say over my shoulder. "Ma'am. Please. I can meet my friends in Vancouver by tomorrow if I leave tonight. I swear I don't mean to be a pain."
"Well, you're bein' one," the guy says from behind me. The woman raises her eyebrows. I ignore the guy.
"I've worked here for twenty-one years, I am sure I know when a flight will be canceled due to the weather. I can't help you." As soon as she finishes her sentence an announcement comes over the PA.
"ALL FLIGHTS FROM PATRIOT HILLS LOCAL AIRPORT ARE EFFECTIVELY CANCELED FROM NOW, NOVEMBER 18TH AT 5PM THROUGH NOVEMBER 19TH AT 8AM, WITH UPDATES TO COME. WE ARE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE."
The woman just looks me in the eye through the duration of the message, and I clench my jaw closed, gathering myself before quietly going to sit down. I don't blame her for being smug as well as the tall guy behind me, and I immediately begin to regret my fussing with her for those few minutes. A series of unfortunate events, it seems. I thought planes flew in the snow. I look outside and see that the snow does seem to be sticking and falling a bit harder than before, but still spacey. I could've sworn I've seen a plane in this kind of weather.
"Are there any hotels around here?" the guy behind me asks very sweetly in a low voice, a stark comparison to my more frantic tone.
"There's a flyer with a little catalogue over by the bathroom. I would call first, make sure they have something available," the woman replies. I figure that's probably my next move. I've decided that this local airport is not going to help me get to where I need to go, and seemingly is in the middle of nowhere anyway, with only about ten planes. The amount of detours I've planned for myself just to have Trent ditch out on me. I get angry all over again at the failure of my traveling thus far, but then calm myself down with the idea of a hot bath and a new plan starting tomorrow. I had planned to be a day late to Vancouver anyway, so I can still use up my time.
A little while after the sandy-blonde haired man grabs a hotel guide, I go to get one, and start with the phone calls. This is what just about everyone is doing in the lobby, all twenty something of us, it seems. Before long, I see people start to head out, and realize many of them must be locals who have called friends to come pick them up. I'm starting to lose hope that I'll even be able to find a place to stay for the rest of the day, or until the snow dies down. The hotels have warned me that their influx of calls or reservations is high, and by the time I arrive they might not have rooms available.
I don't know if this town is called Patriot Hills, or if that's just the airport. Either way, the hotel that says it has four rooms left is forty minutes away, and the next Uber has the same arrival time. I sigh at the fact that it will take me at least an hour and a half to be able to settle down, but I decide this is my punishment for uprooting simple travel plans to meet with stupid, flaky Trent.
I'm one of the last people left at the airport, when I notice a couple leave, and I realize that the rest of the people there must be staying overnight, given their determination to get comfortable on the seats, or even the floor. I shake my head in disbelief.
My Uber arrives in forty minutes, and the trip to the hotel takes another fifty. At first, I'm wary that the snow is picking up so bad I can't see anything, but then I realize there's nothing to see. Just snowy, flat, country land. We travel on a straight road with few lights, and I briefly wonder if my driver has plans to kill me because of how he seemingly takes me nowhere, but he doesn't seem that determined. When we pull up to the 'hotel', I realize that I'm definitely not in my element.
It's a single building, long, straight. Kinda small. Two stories. It almost looks like a bowling alley. There's only a few cars parked out front. I wonder if it's more of a country-type bed 'n breakfast, and feel myself get hungry. I only have some granola and half a bag of chips, some trail mix. I wonder if you can even order food out here.
My Uber drops me off without a word, and I trudge into the building with my big suitcase and carry-on. As I shake the snow from my head, I realize that it's been coming down harder for the last hour and a half, and am glad with my decision to get warm and recoup.
As soon as I step into the lobby, the woman at the desk looks up, and gets a concerned look on her face. I look around, but don't see anyone else except a man with a hoodie on, sitting down. "Hello," she says timidly. She reminds me of the older lady at the airport, and I tell myself not to have a left-over attitude.
"Hello, ma'am. I called earlier? I didn't make a reservation or anything, but I-I was wondering if you have a room still available? I have cash and everything. Or a check, or-or card--"
"I am... so sorry Sir. I just gave our last room up," she says sadly. "We have a room that needs repair on the second floor, but it's in bad shape."
"I-I don't mind! I don't mind a fixer-upper, I just want somewhere to settle--"
She shakes her head. "It's snowing in the room. The window, the roof... I'm sorry I couldn't let you freeze in there," she says. "But there was one young lady who might be leaving tonight, I should know in a few hours."
I can tell I look defeated, and don't know if I should start looking at other places, but given that there's absolutely nothing surrounding the hotel, I don't know how much luck I'd have. Not to mention the piling snow. "I... I don't have anywhere to go... I'm not from here...I'll even stay in the lobby." I feel the words leave my mouth before I think about them.
I can tell she considers it. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she says. Then I hear a familiar voice.
"If you don't care to room with a stranger, I don't mind sharing a room for a few hours," the guy says. His voice is deep, but smooth and gentle. I turn, and see the sandy-haired man from the airport. He sees my face, and I know he recognizes me too, because he turns red. "I-I mean... if there's no issues. Because I don't want trouble, I just know what it's like to be kinda stranded," he says softly.
"There is a pull-out sofa in the room," the woman says with a shrug. "I know everyone is trying to escape the snow. I'll offer a lower rate?"
"I... couldn't do that to you. Impose. I don't want to be a bother, I mean," I say, testing the waters. The guy shakes his head.
"No. I don't mind. As long as you're not crazy, or something," he says with a chuckle.
I look at the man to see if he's sure, because I'm not seeing my options here, and I finally thank him. "I swear, I'll just read my book and be asleep by ten," I sigh. He shrugs. "I'm Evan."
"I'm Ethan."
I chuckle, "E names."
"Meant to be," he says with a laugh of his own.
We wait relatively quietly for the room to be ready, and finally an older man comes with the key. "You've got to go outside and around the corner a bit. Your room is all the way on the end," he says to Ethan. We both thank him, and head out to room 6, at the end of the building.
"I... I'm sorry you saw me like that at the airport," I say while we're outside. Ethan looks at me curiously. "I didn't mean to be one of those people. I've just had that kind of day."
Ethan nods. "I understand."
"I swear you didn't offer your room to an asshole," I chuckle. "I'm nice. Well. I try to be nice."
Ethan smiles. "I believe you. But nice people don't have to say that, you know."
I just laugh, embarrassed, but we enter the room and I think the subject changes as a result. It's small. Very small. There's one bed, as promised, and one couch. Both very ancient. Ethan and I take in the view, the two-hundred-fifty or so square feet. There's a small section of the room blocked off with curtains, and I think it's one of those toilet-shower situations. There's curved tile underneath. Ethan and I give each other a Look and then bust out laughing.
