A postal counter, stacks of letters. My father laughing—just for a second—before clutching his chest, his face contorting, his body collapsing.
Strangers shuffling around him in a panic, calling for help, the glaring overhead lights humming too loudly.
A heavy stillness.
And I’m not there…
I startled awake.
Darkness stretched across the room, the only light seeping in from the crack beneath the hotel door. My stomach rolled, a sickening, sluggish wave, and before I could think, I was pushing myself up, stumbling toward the bathroom.
I barely made it before the nausea hit full force.
After I’d finished losing the little I’d eaten today, I slumped over against the side of the tub, my forehead pressed to the cool porcelain as I tried to catch my breath.
I felt clammy. My limbs weak.
I knew I needed to drink something, but the thought of putting anything into my mouth had my stomach rolling again.
I’d rest for a few minutes, then order…something.
Knock, knock, knock.
Wait, I hadn’t already ordered room service, had I?
But then?—
“Luna!” That was…Noah? “Are you in there?” His voice was firm. Not quite a demand, but close enough.
For a second, I considered ignoring him. Just stay right here on the floor…
But then he knocked again, and…yeah. That wasn’t happening.
Although the floor wobbled beneath me, I shuffled out of the bathroom.
My fingers fumbled with the lock—slow, clumsy—but after a few tries, I finally managed to crack the door open.
He took a step back as soon as he saw me. “Oh, shit, sorry. I should have realized you were sleeping.” His expression was a little sheepish, like maybe he’d come here on a whim.
“What time is it?” I managed to ask, squinting.
He stood there, one arm braced on the side of the doorframe, and I had to tilt my head back to see his expression.
He glanced at his watch. “A little past eight.”
Even in my diminished state, I thought he looked ridiculously attractive. His hair was slightly rumpled, like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.
“What—” I swallowed, my throat raw. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced down the hall, away from me. But then shrugged. “I thought you might want to join me for a drink. Babs said you didn’t come down for dinner.”
When he looked at me again, his eyes narrowed—just slightly—flicking over my face, noticing my wrinkled shirt, and maybe the way I was white-knuckling the door to hold myself up.
And just like that, the casual, easy look in his eyes disappeared. His brows pulled together, his mouth tightening. “What’s wrong?”
I opened my mouth to say nothing, but then immediately closed it. Because he already knew.
And honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him.
