The elevator stops, and the doors open.
Crunch time!
We step out, moving down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. When we reach the suite next to the penthouse, Johnny presses my key card to the reader.
The door clicks open.
And suddenly, it feels like the oxygen has been sucked from the air.
My blood runs cold.
I have no idea if Colt is inside. If he’s waiting. If I’m about to walk straight into the eye of the damn storm.
I can’t breathe.
“Don’t worry, Dee,” Johnny says, his voice calm, certain—too certain. “He’s in the penthouse suite. You can get sorted, and then when you’re ready, we can head next door.”
Relief. Instant, undeniable, dizzying relief.
My body sags with it, but the moment I step inside, that relief shatters.
The room is a disaster zone.
There are empty bottles of Jack cluttering the floor, some upright, others tipped over, the amber liquid staining the carpet. The bed is a tangled mess of sheets, and on the nightstand are little, crumpled, discarded baggies.
I swallow hard, my stomach twisting.
The concierge sets my luggage down carefully, his expression unreadable, but I feel his judgment seeping into the room like poison.
I knew it wasn’t good.
But seeing it? Smelling the stale liquor, witnessing the wreckage of his self-destruction firsthand? It crashes into me like a wrecking ball.
“Would you like me to send someone up from housekeeping?” the concierge asks, his gaze flicking over the disaster of a room.
I can’t even form words. My throat is tight, my chest too heavy.
All I can do is nod.
He gives me a polite, almost pitying look before turning and wheeling the trolley—loaded with Anna and Johnny’s luggage—out the door.
As soon as he’s gone, I swallow hard. My voice barely comes out. “Is this… from last night?”
Johnny exhales and nods.
My knees give out, and I slump onto the bed, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands. Anna sits beside me without hesitation, wrapping an arm around me. Her warmth is the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.
“You see why we had to come get you?” she says softly. “This is from one night, Dee. Some nights are worse than this. So much worse.” She squeezes my arm. “He needs you. Desperately.”
This is too much.
Too big.
Too heavy.
How does one manneeda woman this badly?
This borders on obsession.
