Tucker sets a supportive hand on Carl's shoulder. "Rory, I promise he's fine. He just needs to be alone for a bit. He'll come back. Trust me," he assures me, and I hesitantly sit back down.
I frown. Just leave him alone? When he's upset?
No, that doesn't feel right.
I stand back up, and with Carl's guard down, I get a distance away. I know she's scowling at me, but no one comes after me, so they can't be too worried about Sam's anger.
I head straight to the elevator, idly aware that I didn't bring my bag or even my shirt. One other person is in the elevator with me, and belatedly I realize he was one of the guys with that slurry asshole that pissed off Sam earlier.
He looks me up and down and I ignore him, pretending not to notice.
"Where's pretty-boy? Your tough-guy boyfriend left you all alone?" he taunts.
I try to hide my startle and my anxious swallow. The old Rory would just murmur that he's not my boyfriend, I don't think, and perhaps cower in the corner. But I've had plenty of self-defense classes and I'd have no qualms about kneeing this loser in the balls. He'd never see it coming. "Fuck off," I growl instead.
"Ooh, we have a live one," he sneers, "Well, shit. I guess he didn't teach you to watch your fucking mouth when you talk to men."
I narrow my eyes. "No. But he taught me how some men treat girls. And I know how to handle those men. So unless you want to see how a crazy bitch reacts when she's backed into a corner, I suggest youFuck. Off." I say carefully.
The only boyfriend I've ever had did teach me how some men treat girls. And because of that, I took the classes. Loser's eyebrows shoot up through his forehead. He was just expecting to bully me a little and then walk away. And it's not like he's going to beat on a teenage girl in a public elevator equipped with a camera.
Ding.
The elevator arrives at his floor, and with a scowl but without another word, he turns and exits the car. I breathe a tremendous sigh of relief when the doors close and the lift begins to rise. I hadn't quite realized how anxious I was. But I didn't freak out. I didn't panic. I was strong.
And I know who has helped to make me that way. To give me this confidence. Who offered me comfort when I was upset. And nowhe'supset, and they all want me to just leave him alone?
Hell no.
I get out on our floor and head straight to Sam's room. I know how it feels to want to be alone, and his hotel room is the only place he can do that here in Miami.
I knock, and wait.
And knock, and wait.
And knock.
And knock.
And wait.
After five minutes of knocking, I go next door to my own room, grateful that I happen to have the room key in the pocket of my shorts. I open the door that leads to his room. The door on his side is closed, but when I turn the handle, I find it isn't locked.
I go in. OfcourseI do.
"Sam?" I say hesitantly.
I look to my right, where the living and kitchen areas are.
Empty.
I take a few steps toward the bedroom door and say his name again. Nothing.
I make my way back in the other direction and notice the sliding balcony doors are open, so I step tentatively through them.
Sam is leaning on the rail, pensively looking out at the ocean, his back to me. "Sam," I say timidly, worried I may be intruding after all.
He doesn't turn. "Sorry about that, Ror-y. I just need a few minutes, okay?"
