“No regrets, right?”
I shake my head, even though I’m all alone. Though it feels like the fibers of my soul have been severed with little hope of being repaired, I’m confident that my decision today will put me on the path to correctthat.
“No. I just think the fantasy is so much better than reality in this case,” I say, just as there’s a knock on my hotel door. I ordered room service about thirty minutes ago, desperate to eat a meal alone so I can act like a trash panda and not worry about being judged.
“But the fantasies include red carpets and award shows,” Lennon says as I stand from my bed and make my way toward the door.
“Those can still exist, Lennon…” My words die on my lips as I open the door to find the last person I was expecting. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Lennon…I have to go.”
“Are you okay? Is it a murderer?”
“No. It’s Henley.” I end the call and drop the phone from my ear, vowing to call her back later while staring up at the tower of a man hovering over me in the doorway.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“I—uh—” Pushing my hair from my face, I manage to form a sentence. “Um, what are you doing here, Henley?”
“Is this a bad time?”
I peer back into my empty hotel room. “Well, as you can see, I’m entertaining about one hundred people.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Fuck, I missed you, El.”
But I don’t know what to say to that. The last time I was standing in this position with this man, he was telling me to leave, and now he’s here? In Los Angeles? And we haven’t spoken all week.
“How did you get up here? How did you know what room I’m in?”
“I have my ways,” he says, pushing the door open further and waltzing right into my room like he owns the place. He has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s wearing dark jeans and a plain black shirt under his unbuttoned flannel.
Damn him and those flannels.
“What are you doing here, Henley?” I ask again as he places his duffle bag on the chair in the corner, stripping off his flannel next and tossing it on top. When he turns to face me, his smile almost steals the breath from my lungs.
He looks lighter, like a dark cloud finally stopped following him around. He seems taller too, his spine straighter and his stance more grounded.
And then he says something that makes me forget how to breathe.
“I love you, Elodie.”
I gasp, covering my chest with my hands. “I’m sorry. Did you just say that you…love me?”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, followed by a low chuckle. “That wasn’t what I planned to say to you the minute I got here, but it just…came out.”
“I haven’t spoken to you since I left and…You—you love me?”
His feet carry him across the room to me, stopping when there’s only an inch of space between us. “I do. I think I finally realize what that word means because the second you left my life, I felt like a piece of me went with you. All I could feel was your absence. And when Meghan signed over her rights to Remy, all I could think about is how you would never do that, how you’ve loved my daughter like she was your own since the day we met.” He reaches up to cup my face, pulling me into him by my hip with his other hand. “Can we talk?”
Tears are threatening to spill from my eyes, but I manage a nod. He grabs my hand and leads me to the bed, where we sit facing each other. “What else could you possibly have to say after that speech?”
He laughs, then nuzzles his nose with mine. “Oh, I’m just getting started, El.”
El. Sweetheart.
The terms of endearment that have haunted my dreams during our time apart sound like a melody coming from his lips that was only made for me.
