I stared at him, wondering when today was going to make any sense, and whether this was him trying to get me to stop talking. It worked, and before I knew it we were back in the foyer I’d run through earlier.
“Penny will help you now. Excuse me,” Bryan left my side to deal with another guest, so I headed to the desk and to an expectant Penny, who passed me a small envelope with my room number on the outside.
“Room thirty-seven,” she said.
I handed her my credit card, but she didn’t take it, and instead waved a hand. “We don’t need a card, sir. All the rooms for the event are paid for.”
“What about a security deposit?”
“Each room has an allocated budget for sundries.”
“Oh, okay, thank you." I was still a wedding guest—even if I’d never sent back my RSVP, but I’d be sure to pay Declan back.
“You're welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Can I leave a message here, in case Dec—Mr. Grady tries to leave… I mean not tries to leave; I mean if… jeez.” Heat climbed my face, and I channeled all the politeness that normally helped me get things done. I was renowned for knowing what to say at all the right moments, and that made me a good cop-in-training, but right now, I was just lost. “I mean, if he checks out of the hotel?”
She nodded, with her hands poised over the keyboard, waiting for me to talk. What did I say in the note? Please don’t go, we need to talk. I’m sorry. Please talk to me, so I can explain. I know I fucked up. Hell, none of that would make Declan stay at all. Then inspiration hit.
“Can you say…” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “DC is better than Marvel. Fight me.” Without comment Penny dutifully typed the message. She didn’t ask what I meant, or why it was such a stupid message, and I was glad of it, because I had a lot I needed to say. I hoped the words were enough of a connecting memory that maybe Declan would at least give me the time to talk.
At least if I was staying here, I had some hope I could meet with Declan face-to-face, and find out what the hell had happened.
I might have missed my chance to rescue him as he’d asked, but if Declan’s world had somehow turned upside down, then I was sure he’d need a friend.
Maybe that was what he needed from me right now.
Even if after everything, it turned out this was a lot less than I wanted to give him.
Chapter Four
DECLAN
"Say again?"
The young man behind the counter—Louis— examined the screen again as confused by the message as I was at first, but dutifully re-read from his screen the note that Patrick had left me.
“There’s a message for you.”
“I heard that. Can you say it again?” I couldn’t have heard right.
"Uhm, okay. It says to tell you that DC is better than Marvel. Fight me."
It was early evening. I’d just woken up after less than five hours sleep, sprawled on my bed still in my wedding clothes, my mouth feeling like the bottom of a birdcage, and my head pounding. At first, all I could think about was the pain, and then I was sick, and then it hit me that I’d never gotten married, and hot on the heels of that was that Patrick was here in the hotel.
I didn’t know which was worse.
Probably the part featuring Patrick.
At least I wasn’t as drunk as I had been, although I was still wobbly. That was one positive, I guess, even though I was in this hotel and really wanted to leave.
Gone was any nebulous thought I might move to another room, and stay here the next two nights to chill and draw. Instead, I had a sense of purpose that I needed to get out of this hotel tonight before I had to face Patrick. Packing didn't take long; given this honeymoon was supposed to be spent in bed, on walks, and in the hot pools on the mountain, I didn't have much in the way of clothes to worry about. All the fancy stuff Lennox thought I needed to own for this event, or that meeting back in Denver, was in our apartment there. I brushed my teeth, drank water, and left everything apart from what was in my case. Then, because all I wanted to do was get out of the hotel, I'd headed downstairs as soon as I could before I could second-guess myself, into a foyer milling with kids and adults.
Which was when the receptionist—Louis—had told me there was a message waiting for me, and it was one Patrick knew would have me stopping and recalling all those times we’d debated this very thing. He'd always known that one way to pull me out of my head was to restart the heated conversation until I forgot whatever was causing me stress. This familiar tactic might have worked at college, but it wasn't going to work here in a hotel in the mountains when he wasn't even supposed to be there.
"It's not,” I said with confidence.
Louis frowned. "Sir?"
"DC isn't… Never mind."
He paused for a moment and then cleared his throat. “The car is confirmed for seven, sir. We have a bar for drinks, or the coffee nook will still be open.”
The concept of drink made my stomach churn. I glanced at the darkness outside, and then at the clock behind the reception, six thirty-seven, which gave me precisely twenty-three minutes to kill before I could escape. The stupid, irrational part of me imagined I could stand outside to wait for the car, staring into the night and nursing the pain in my heart—or at least inhaling the icy air to clear my head.
Only the call of coffee was a siren song dragging me and my lone case through the foyer and to a nook just off the restaurant, where there was a coffee place where people could fill thermoses for outdoor events or get a coffee from the cheery barista. I could get two cups of coffee in if I was lucky, so I sidled in and ordered two cappuccinos, craving the sweet creaminess that never failed to make me smile.
It was dark outside the windows—the end of a bright, sunny but cold, day—and snow on the patio reflected muted light from a million tiny reflective crystals. Despite the blurriness in my vision, and the weird flashing lights in my eyes, I looked around The Retreat with new eyes. When I’d arrived, I’d been so wound up in doubts that I’d seen nothing. It was rustic, but along with the generous amount of wood being used in many guises, it was a modern place that felt warm against the snow outside. There was the soft buzz of chatter from a couple of guests and staff enjoying dinner or coffees, and I was thankful that there was no sign of Patrick—thank god. But then, I’d told him to go. I didn’t have time for his disapproval, or the fact he knew me so well, because he’d see through the cracks in my lies, straight to the pain underneath.
Lennox had left me.
No, I’d left Lennox, but not until he’d gotten there first.
We’d left each other.
Shoulders back, I headed straight for a corner table, stirring extra sugar into my first cup and trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. When I checked with caution, no one was staring, or smirking at me, and there was no one whispering behind their hands, but I bet any and all of them were thinking the same thing—what had this man fucked up so bad that his fiancé had left him, and what was he still doing here in the hotel?
Jesus. I bet half of them had heard about the argument on the curb. Me, pleading for a reason, and Lennox, distracted and searching for his brother, and me, standing there watching him and his entourage leave.