I park and sit in the car with the engine running. My phone shows six thirty AM. This is insane. I should turn around. Drive home. Pretend this never happened.
Instead, I text him.
Me: What room are you in?
I wait. Watch the phone. No response.
He's asleep. Of course he's asleep. Normal people are asleep at two thirty in the morning.
I'm about to start the car when my phone buzzes.
Ethan: 612. Why?
Me: Open your door.
The dots appear and disappear. Appear again. Finally:
Ethan: Callie…
Me: Open your door, Ethan.
No response. But five minutes later, I'm standing in the hotel hallway outside room 612. My bag is in my hand. My heart is in my throat.
The door opens.
Ethan stands there in jeans and a t-shirt, hair disheveled like he just woke up. His eyes widen when he sees me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I don't know."
"You drove twelve hours in the middle of the night."
"Apparently."
He stares at me. I stare back. The hallway is empty and quiet. Just us and the hum of the ice machine down the hall.
"You should've called," he says.
"Would you have answered?"
He doesn't respond. We both know the answer.
"Can I come in?" I ask.
He hesitates. I watch him war with himself, and then I watch the moment he gives up fighting.
He steps back.
I walk past him into the room. It's neat and impersonal. Bed made. Laptop closed on the desk. No signs that anyone actually lives here.
The door closes behind me. I hear the lock click.
"Callie." His voice is quiet. Careful. "Why are you here?"
I set down my bag. Turn to face him. "Because I'm tired of this. I’m tired of pretending I don't want you, and tired of letting Luke's opinion matter more than what we both feel."
"Luke gave me his blessing."
