Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Tom
Y ou know that feeling when you’re in a movie theatre, trying to open a packet of sweets without drawing everyone’s attention? That’s exactly how I feel right now. Every little thing makes a noise, each mundane action accompanied by its own unwelcome sound effect. The bed covers rustle obnoxiously, the floorboards creak, and the zip on my jeans boasts a deafening roar that ricochets around the room. Thank God Paisley sleeps like the dead.
Yesterday, we spent another afternoon exploring the sights of Vegas. We had lunch to say goodbye to Dee and a very nosey and smug Gloria, then hurried through a trip to the Fountains of Bellagio so we could fall back into bed and spend the rest of our limited time wrapped around each other.
But now I need to say farewell to Vegas and return to reality.
When I woke at the ungodly hour of five a.m. for my flight, my first thought was whether to wake Paisley or simply slip away and leave our memories undamaged by an awkward goodbye.
Spinelessly, I’ve chosen the latter option.
I take one last look at Paisley, at her tempting body barely covered by the rumpled bedsheets, and reluctantly leave her behind. When the door clicks shut behind me, I curse myself for being such a coward. Now, locked on the other side of her room, I wish I’d stolen one more kiss, one more embrace, even if the price was an uncomfortable goodbye. I release a shaky breath, straining my ears for any signs of Paisley stirring behind the door, but I’m met with nothing but hollow stillness. So, with my heart in my shoes, I leave.
It’s time to reunite with my long-lost stags and spend the next however many hours grovelling for my absence and explaining my whereabouts, all while trying to unravel the knot Paisley’s left me in.
I pull out my phone in the elevator and turn it on for the first time since leaving the Eiffel Tower. There are a few missed calls from Anthony, the groom, but the lack of messages sours my mood even further. Seriously. Not one text from Anthony all weekend. Not one from the best man or even the maid of honour, who messaged us at least three times a day leading up to our flights.
Nothing. Not one text.
Not one text…
Except our group doesn’t text. We use WhatsApp. An app that needs an internet connection. And an internet connection in a foreign country needs data roaming enabled. Which you don’t do if you’ve got a crappy phone contract…
Oh, shit.
The elevator spits me out into the lobby, and I hurry to the first sign I can find with the hotel Wi-Fi password.
And then, the messages come flooding in. Texts from Anthony, the stags, and even Emma, the maid of honour. Her words escalate from anger to worry to some hybrid emotion in between at an alarming rate.
I quickly reply to Anthony, letting him know I’m alive and that I’ll meet him at the airport. I also ask if he’ll grab my luggage from my room, though if he ignores me and leaves it behind, it’ll be nothing more than I deserve. Luckily, Anthony replies almost instantly.
Anthony: Where the hell have you been? There better be a bloody good story. Do you remember where the airport is? Or do I need to draw you a map?
Me: I’m pretty sure the taxi driver will be fine…How mad is everyone?
Anthony: You’re in the fucking kennels, mate.
Me: I’m sorry. The first round is on me.
Anthony: I can speak for us all when I say we won’t be drinking today. Just be on time and don’t get lost!
At least he doesn’t seem that upset with me. Though clearly, I’ve got a lot of making up to do. Like, a lot. I missed his whole stag do, for Christ’s sake.
But first, I’ve one last pitstop before I face the music. Namely, the little coffee cart across the street that Paisley visits every morning. Thank God things open earlier in Vegas than back home.
“Hey, man,” I say, startling the tired barista. “Can you do me a favour?”
“I guess,” he replies hesitantly. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I prepay for someone’s coffee? A woman called Paisley. She’s British, blonde, petite, about my age. She’s super smart, she’s even got a PhD, and?—”
“Dude, chill. I saw you guys here yesterday. I’ll recognise her.”
“Great. And could you give her a message, too?” I ask, handing over a twenty.
“Okay...”
“Tell her that next time, we’re starting with The Philosopher’s Stone.”
The guy looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. London is a big city, and the chances I’ll ever bump into Paisley again are impossibly small. But you never know. This morning, I’m choosing to keep the hope alive.
I easily find a taxi and spend the short drive to the airport with my phone in hand, reassuring everyone and their dog that I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth.
I only need a quick glance around the airport to spot my weary friends. They’re certainly worse for wear. Jamie, the best man, looks green, and Emma seems almost haunted. What the hell happened last night?
“There he is!” Anthony shrieks the second he spots me. “Where the fuck have you been?”
It’s showtime.
Throwing my arms wide, I walk towards them with the cockiest grin I can manage.
“Hi guys…Did you miss me?”