It takes a full minute of silence before I realize he’s actually waiting on an answer. Staring at my lap, I shake my head.
“Look at me.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. My chest is squeezing too tight, my throat trying to close over, and this whole night feels like an out-of-body experience. Nothing about this is normal, and adding a pissed-off Kennedy to that only sharpens the experience.
I hate the way he sighs.
“I checked the weather, and this storm is supposed to be here for another few hours. I’m not driving back in this.”
That’s fine since I was prepared to walk all the way back anyway.
When it’s clear to him that I’m not planning on answering, he pulls back onto the road. We’re only driving for a minute or two before he turns into another parking lot.
I squint through the window at the glowing sign, blurred by the rain.
“We’re staying here tonight. I’ll book us a room.” He unclips his seat belt and sets his hand on the door to open it when he pauses. Kennedy turns serious eyes on me. “Be here when I get back. Understand?”
As much as I want to bolt again, I’m shivering, soaked through, and wanting nothing more than to make Kennedy happy. So I stay while he ducks inside, dreading whatever comes next.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
KENNEDY
I’m tuned in to every noise from outside as I check into a room and leave my credit card details on file. I’m dripping all over the floorboards, and I don’t remember a check-in ever taking so damn long, but the seconds drag by with me expecting to walk out of here and find Ziggy gone again.
I’m not sure what’s going through his head, but I’ve got whiplash, and between him running off and me finding him again, it’s been the most confusing half hour of my life. I’ve gone from worried I offended him, to being kissed senseless, to thinking I fucked-upagain, to pissed off that I’m feeling that way at all.
Whatever that was, I enjoyed it, and if Ziggy didn’t, well, he needs to tell me that. It doesn’t have to be out loud, but it’s time we started to understand each other for real. I’ve spent most of my time trying to interpret his silences, but I’m not sure he’s ever tried to interpret my words. It needs to go both ways.
“Enjoy your stay,” the middle-aged man says, handing over a room key with a large number fourteen stamped onto the wooden tag.
I thank him and hurry back to the car, only feeling like I can breathe properly again when I see Ziggy still sitting inside it. He’s not looking my way, so I venture back into the rain and open his door. “Let’s go and get dry.”
He doesn’t look at me as he climbs out, and I don’t know if he’s mad at me for something or if he regrets everything tonight as much as I do, but I’m going to find out. Maybe this storm will be good for us.
He follows me up the rickety stairs and to one of the second-floor rooms. We catch some stray rain being blown in sideways, but it’s not like it matters at this point. I’m drenched, feeling heavy in my limbs, and still spiraling over how the hell we got to this point.
The room is basic with navy carpet, white bedding, and one queen bed standing proudly in the center.
I probably should have paid more attention at check-in. Saying there were two of us could have been more specific. I sigh and toss the keys onto the chipboard desk, eyeing the tiny chair in the corner to work out if it’s large enough for me to curl up on or whether I should head back out there and request another room.
Ziggy closes the door behind us and dulls the sounds of the storm.
Fuck it, I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to. I just want to get dry.
I switch on the lamp and cross to the small closet, hoping to find towels or spare sheets, but instead, we get ridiculously lucky. There are two white robes hanging side by side.
I take one and hand it to Ziggy. “Go shower and warm up. We’ll talk once you’re done.”
He hesitates, gaze warily sliding from me to the robe. Then he takes it and closes himself in the bathroom.
I really should shower next, but the thought of dragging out this talk any longer is rattling me, so instead, I peel out of my wet clothes, hang them over the hanger in the closet, and then dry off with a towel as much as I can.
I’ve just pulled the robe on when the bathroom door cracks open, and Ziggy walks out in his. Considering I didn’t hear the shower, I’m guessing he couldn’t wait either.
“S-sorry,” he whispers.
