Chapter 37
Maeve
Shittiest night’s sleep ever. I spent half the time talking myself out of sprinting downstairs to check on Kellin.
Yesterday, I declared my fervent desire to never see him again.
After eight hours with zero contact, I realize how wrong I was. That revelation reinforces what I believed to be true last night.
I’m in love with Kellin Brennan, body, mind, and soul.
I text Brody as I plunge both feet into my Hugo Boss pointed-toe pumps, or what I refer to as my wedding-day shoes.
They’re elegant without requiring five-inch heels. If I had to run a marathon in them—which can happen on wedding days—I could.
I text my brother again. Radio silence.
I leave my room for the chaos of the lobby, one of my dad’s men following behind me. Fun.
Somehow, I manage to focus on my work and not on the prisoner in the basement below me.
One and a half hours into helping Lola-Grace and Lenora with last-minute check-ins and juggling minor emergencies, Brody still hasn’t responded.
As soon as Lenora and I can get over the hump of replacing crushed flowers, reordering a case of Cristal that came in shattered, and finding another tux for one of the groomsmen who’s been plastered since he arrived… As soon as we snuff out all these little fires, I have to go downstairs and lay eyes on Kellin.
I spot one of my father’s new guys looming in the lobby again, which irritates me to no end. I’ve told Brody a hundred times, if they must be here, they should at least blend in.
It’s that damn new guy that replaced Shout.
Shout. I shake my head in disgust and then force thoughts of that creep out of my head.
I hope my brother vetted this weirdo better.
When my phone buzzes in the pocket of my double-breasted dress, I stop everything.
Relief floods through my bones.
Kellin is fine. I’m with him now.
My heart rate doesn’t stabilize for long.
Now, every thought centers on Kellin.
How much pain is he in? Has he eaten? Had anything to drink? Has he slept? Did they unbind his wrists? Punch him again after I left?
I may not like the answers to these questions.
Once I find a moment to step away from the counter, I press my forehead to the cool lobby wall and whisper a promise into the air. “Kellin, I’ll come and check on you soon. And if you aren’t okay, I’ll get some EMTs on scene.” I don’t care if I blow up the Weaver-Deaver wedding or get the authorities involved, what with a badly beaten man zip-tied in my dishware room. I’ll find him help, and my father will have to deal with the consequences.
So will I. But oh well.
With every passing second, my willingness to risk everything to save Kellin crystalizes a little more.
His behavior still infuriates me. The man has a lot of explaining to do.
But love is love.
I never believed that until today.
