I stop dead in my tracks.
My breath catches. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’tthink.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a second.
It’s enough.
I feel the world stutter.
And then, out of nowhere, Brad is at my side, a quiet lifeline. “Rhea. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes,” I manage, grasping at the anchor. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
He turns toward the bar, but I follow, watching the bartender make my drink as though everything is happening in slow motion. Brad takes the drink and turns to hand it to me with that same steady kindness he always carries.
I thank him, murmur something about leaving my phone in my room, and step away, toward the lobby, then the corridor, then the elevator.
Back to my room.
Back to safety.
Back to anything butthis.
I press the button once, and then two more times for good measure.
That’s when I feel it—a hand on my shoulder. Soft. Gentle.
I turn.
Spencer.
“Rhea,” he says, my name a question in his voice. His tone is low. Tentative. Maybe even concerned. Neither of us speak for a beat, but our eyes lock again.
“How are you?” he asks, tipping his head.
What is that? Concern? Confusion? Hurt?
My tongue is heavy. My mouth won’t work.
Then, with a hint of apology, he says, “I had no idea Carter was your brother,” as ifIunderstand how the hellheis connected to Carter.
I don’t. I don’t think I even want to.
And then I feel it—hot and sharp—the sting of tears pressing behind my eyes.
Just in time, the elevator dings, the door opens, and I step inside.
I don’t look back.
Upstairs, I pace the room like a caged animal.
What just happened?
What the actual hellishappening?
There are twenty-five minutes left before I’m supposed to be back downstairs for the rehearsal. I can’t face him. Can’t see him withher, whoevershe is.
