“Okay, 1225,” I muttered and slammed the receiver down, mistakenly with my cut hand. It started bleeding again.
Shit.
I grabbed another clean towel from the bathroom and held it tight around my fingers. The mess of shattered glass on and around the table caught my eye, and I grabbed a washcloth and swept it all into the trash basket at the end of the table.
There was a soft knock on the door. I glanced around, realizing there was nothing more I could do to cover my fit of rage. I’d ransacked the minibar and the table. Thankfully, there wasn’t much else.
When I opened the door, Charli was slumped over, bracing herself on the frame. As she stared at my feet, I did my best to hold my shit together. I told myself to be stoic, impermeable, resistant to her charms. I had to be ...
And then she looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen, narrow slits, really, and her face smeared in black mascara. She was a mess, and the sight of it devastated me.
I pulled her against me and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. She was wet, damp from the rain, her hair a blond bird’s nest. I’d never seen her like this—broken—and I couldn’t take it.
She sobbed into my chest, and I already hated myself for comforting her. I couldn’t control my body; my hand started to stroke her back as I walked us backward into the room and closed the door.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sobbing. “It doesn’t even cover it; it’s not enough. I’m just so, so, so sorry.”
Her apology soaked right through my shirt, taking up residence in my heart.
“My mom,” she said between hiccups, “told Garrett I’d go to this thing with him, and then showed up here. It doesn’t matter, I still agreed to go. But it didn’t mean anything.”
I hadn’t said one word yet, afraid I might spit out something hateful, and at the same time, scared to reveal how broken I was from seeing her with another man. I couldn’t be mean, yet I didn’t want to be a pushover either.
I leaned against the table in the entrance of my room—I think they call it a crescendo like where our relationship was. A peak, where something was going to happen. Oh no, they called it a credenza. I remembered that’s what the nursing home lady said about my parents’ room ...it has a lovely credenza.
My mind had gone elsewhere. Somewhere safer. A place where I couldn’t hurt anymore.
Charli continued to cry into my chest, mumbling, apologizing. When she grabbed my shoulders and shook me, I realized I wasn’t listening.
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers. “I’m sorry. I zoned out. Honestly, I didn’t hear a word you said. I’m not right ... right now.”
She hugged me tight. “I said I was sorry. I know this is my doing, and it was foolish. But it didn’t mean anything other than getting my mom off my back. She’s been crazy and I couldn’t handle it. She doesn’t think you’re right for me. How could she not?”
Charli dropped to her knees at my dirty Chucks, and it didn’t feel right. I wanted her to make her way up to equal footing. This wasn’t me. Or her.
“How could she think that?” she cried. “I love you, Layton.”
My ears perked up. Afraid I was hearing things, I yanked her to her feet and stared her straight in the eye. “What did you say?”
“I love you.” Her eyes welled up again, sending more mascara sliding down her cheeks.
I couldn’t stop myself—I kissed her hard.
“That’s what I flew here to tell you,” I said into her lips, not breaking free. It was messy, her tears mixed with mine, but I kept at it, loving her mouth.
She pulled free and said it again. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said, still fuzzy on what happened with that dude but too relieved to care. Something with her mom ... Who the hell knew?
“But you kind of stink, Lay.”
Tucking her wild hair behind her ear, I admitted, “I had a run-in with the minibar.”
“I can smell that.” She turned my hand, which was resting gingerly on her hip. “What happened here?”
“I had a run-in with a glass.”
“Come on, let me get you cleaned up.” She took my good hand and led me to the bathroom, where she turned on the shower.
