I merged onto the off-ramp, the city skyline rising like a circuit board of light and steel in the distance.
Get to the hotel, I told myself.Check in.Go from there.
The lobby of the Marriott was chaos.
A collision of two distinct ecosystems: the frantic, caffeine-fueled energy of the math symposium and the loud, sprawling confidence of a hockey tournament.
I wove through a group of track-suited athletes, my rolling suitcase bumping over the marble floor.My wool coat wore me instead of the other way around.I clutched my confirmation printout like a shield.
I reached the front desk.The clerk, a man named Todd with tired eyes, tapped at his keyboard.
“Name?”
“Lovell.Austen.”
Tap.Tap.Tap.
Todd frowned.“I don’t see a reservation.”
My stomach dropped.“I have a confirmation number.”I held up the paper.“Booked last month.Standard king.”
“I see the record,” Todd sighed, not looking at the paper.“But the system shows it as canceled yesterday.”
“I didn’t cancel it.”My voice pitched up—a frequency I recognized.Distress.“I have a presentation at eight a.m.tomorrow.I need a room.”
“We’re fully booked, sir.There’s a hockey tournament and the math convention.I can try to find you something at our sister property near the airport.”
“The airport is forty minutes away,” I said, my hand gripping the counter edge until my knuckles turned white.“My presentation is—”
“Problem?”Luke’s voice asked.
I exhaled, the breath rushing out so fast I went dizzy.I spun and my knight in goalie armor stood before me.“Luke.Hi.The system ate my reservation.”I gestured helplessly at Todd.“He says it’s canceled.It’s an error.”
“It’s not an error, it’s a lack of inventory,” Todd droned.“Like I said, the airport Hilton might—”
“He’s with me,” Luke said.
The clerk paused.I froze.
“Excuse me?”Todd asked.
“He’s with the team,” Luke lied.His voice was smooth, bored, utterly convincing.“Administrative support.Tutor.He’s supposed to be on the rooming list.”
He pulled out his wallet and slapped a team per diem card on the counter.Meaningless plastic for this transaction, but the gesture carried the weight of authority.
Luke looked at the clerk with his game face—the one that stared down slapshots.
“Put him in my room,” Luke said.“Carter.Room 412.”
Todd blinked.He looked at the line of hockey players forming behind Luke—Ryan, Javier, a wall of navy blue.He looked at my desperate face.
He decided the math wasn’t worth the argument.
“I can add him as a guest,” Todd muttered, typing furiously.“Here’s a key.”
He slid a plastic card across the marble.
Luke grabbed it.He handed it to me.His fingers brushed mine—electric, grounding.
