Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Anna and I follow closely behind, our steps quieter.
Behind us, the concierge trails along, effortlessly pushing our luggage trolley, as if this is just any other check-in, as if my entire world isn’t about to tilt on its axis.
We step into the elevator, and the doors slide shut with a quiet ding.
Then, we ascend.
With every floor we pass, my stomach churns, the bile rising higher in my throat.
My body betrays me—my hands tremble, my knees lock, my chest tightens.
I’m physically shaking.
Without a word, Anna slips an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in, her warmth a silent reassurance. I lean into her, but nothing—no amount of comfort—can quiet the storm inside me.
I’m all over the place.
I feel like crying.
I feel like I am losing it.
But I try to keep myself together.
The elevator stops, and the doors open.
Crunch time!
We step out, moving down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. When we reach the suite next to the penthouse, Johnny presses my key card to the reader.
The door clicks open.
And suddenly, it feels like the oxygen has been sucked from the air.
My blood runs cold.
I have no idea if Colt is inside. If he’s waiting. If I’m about to walk straight into the eye of the damn storm.
I can’t breathe.
“Don’t worry, Dee,” Johnny says, his voice calm, certain—too certain. “He’s in the penthouse suite. You can get sorted, and then when you’re ready, we can head next door.”
Relief. Instant, undeniable, dizzying relief.
My body sags with it, but the moment I step inside, that relief shatters.
The room is a disaster zone.
There are empty bottles of Jack cluttering the floor, some upright, others tipped over, the amber liquid staining the carpet. The bed is a tangled mess of sheets, and on the nightstand are little, crumpled, discarded baggies.
I swallow hard, my stomach twisting.
The concierge sets my luggage down carefully, his expression unreadable, but I feel his judgment seeping into the room like poison.
I knew it wasn’t good.
But seeing it? Smelling the stale liquor, witnessing the wreckage of his self-destruction firsthand? It crashes into me like a wrecking ball.
“Would you like me to send someone up from housekeeping?” the concierge asks, his gaze flicking over the disaster of a room.
I can’t even form words. My throat is tight, my chest too heavy.
All I can do is nod.
He gives me a polite, almost pitying look before turning and wheeling the trolley—loaded with Anna and Johnny’s luggage—out the door.
As soon as he’s gone, I swallow hard. My voice barely comes out. “Is this… from last night?”
Johnny exhales and nods.
My knees give out, and I slump onto the bed, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands. Anna sits beside me without hesitation, wrapping an arm around me. Her warmth is the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.
“You see why we had to come get you?” she says softly. “This is from one night, Dee. Some nights are worse than this. So much worse.” She squeezes my arm. “He needs you. Desperately.”
This is too much.
Too big.
Too heavy.
How does one man need a woman this badly?
This borders on obsession.
I am his obsession.
But then again…
The temptation of him is overwhelming.
He needs help. And if I’m the reason he’s falling apart, then maybe—just maybe—I am the only one who can put him back together.
“Dee, do you want me to bring Colt in here so you can talk privately?” Johnny asks.
Oh shit! Instantly, I start to panic.
“No, I don’t think I can do this alone. I’ll come to the penthouse if that’s okay?”
“Whatever you want to do is fine by us. We’ll be here no matter what.”
Anna stands. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”
I want to say, “Never,” but that’s not what this is about. And even though I want to run and hide and pretend it’ll all go away, I know that’s not the answer. This is one of those scenarios that is best handled like a Band-Aid. You have to rip it off and get it over and done with.
I stand and straighten my clothes. “Right! Let’s do this.”
We walk slowly to the penthouse suite. My breathing is rapid and shallow when I reach the door.
I stop and stare at it for what seems like an eternity until Johnny touches my shoulder, bringing me back to the here and now.
“You can do this, Dee. I believe in you,” Johnny murmurs, his voice steady as he presses the key card to the reader.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
And my stomach immediately revolts.
A wave of nausea slams into me, so intense I have to grip the doorframe. I want to throw up. Everywhere. Like a possessed Regan from The Exorcist, head spinning, projectile vomit, and all. The stench of stale booze, cigarette smoke, and something bitter—chemical, wrong—chokes the air.
Bodies are scattered across every available surface, passed out, twisted in unnatural positions. The floor is a wasteland. Bottles. Shattered glass. Burned-out cigarette butts. Tiny plastic baggies—dozens of them, ripped open, used, discarded like trash.
I swallow back bile as we walk inside, moving carefully, stepping over limbs, over people who look barely alive.
This is worse than I imagined. So much worse.
Johnny exhales sharply, then jerks his chin toward a room at the back.
I don’t ask.
I already know… Colt is in there.
Waiting.
Or worse… not waiting at all.
What the hell is in there?
My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud it drowns out everything else.
I’m scared of what I might see.
Terrified.
I wouldn’t call myself religious, but right now, I’m praying like hell that Jessi isn’t in there with him. Because if she is, I might not make it out of this room in one piece, so I hold my breath as Johnny nudges the door open.
It creeps, agonizingly slow, like a horror movie, just before the monster is revealed.
And then—
I see him.
My bottom lip trembles.
He’s sprawled out on his stomach, stretched across the bed like he’s been dropped there, barely covered, dressed in jeans and one lonely sock.
It’s like I’ve been smacked in the chest with a sledgehammer.
I stumble, the air sucked straight out of my lungs.
He’s clutching an empty bottle of Jack, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. On the nightstand, there is a dusting of white powder. Remnants of a high that’s long since burned out.
I don’t recognize him.
The man in front of me—the man I love—isn’t him.
This isn’t Colt. This is what’s left of him.
From here, I see his ribs jutting out, his cheeks hollowed, his skin pale in an unnatural way. He looks like a ghost of himself.
A ruin.
A hand touches my back, grounding me for a second, and I glance over to see Anna smiling softly, offering silent reassurance.
But it doesn’t work.
It can’t.
A tear slips down my cheek, my heart breaking piece by piece.
“Do you want us to go?” Johnny whispers.
I widen my eyes and shake my head adamantly, then move over to the bed and sit next to him.
I’m scared to touch him, but I hesitantly move my hand toward his head and slowly run my fingers through his hair.
And with this one small gesture, I fall in love with him all over again.
I lie down on the bed facing him, and he stirs slightly.
When he rubs his nose, I freeze, his face twitching, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
I move my hand to caress his face, which has a full beard.
My breathing slows as I take him in.
This man is not the same as the one I left.
He’s not the Colt I know.
And that hurts me more than when he didn’t call.
His spark and energy have vaporized.
I lean my forehead against his. The smell of alcohol on his breath is overpowering, but I don’t care.
He sniffs, and his arm around the Jack bottle moves and wraps around my waist, pulling me to him.
I still, waiting for him to open his eyes, but he nuzzles into me instead.
My breathing has escalated, and my heart rate is rising.
I don’t know if I should say something or let him wake up on his own.
I’m so out of my depth. I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do.
All I know is that the touch of his arm around my waist sends a shiver down my spine.
The familiar surge I feel when he touches me is there, and it is making itself known.
I stare at his pale, gaunt face, and even though he looks terrible, he still looks beautiful.
Colt sniffs again, moving his hand from my waist to rub his nose.
I bite my bottom lip, waiting for him to open his eyes, but he doesn’t, and a slight pang of disappointment runs through me.
“Colt, wake up,” Anna says loudly.
I look at Colt and wait for him to open his eyes, but he sniffs again and then nuzzles back into me.
“No, Anna. I can smell her. She’s here, and if I wake up, she’ll be gone again. I can’t take it,” he says.
That voice! His deep timbre causes me to tingle all over.
“Colt, you’re not dreaming. Dee is here. Open your damn eyes. She’s right next to you,” Anna replies.
I reach my hand out to touch his face.
He leans into my hand and inhales sharply. “No! Go away, Anna. I can feel her. I can smell her. She’s right here with me, and I’m never letting her go,” he says, pulling me to him.
I can’t hold back the tears that fall, yet he still hasn’t opened his damn eyes.
“Colt, I’m right here,” I softly say.
His eyes shoot wide open.
He looks at me—his chest heaving.
His hands are all over me.
“Anna… Anna… I feel her. What the hell is wrong with me?” He sits up on the bed, and I sit up as well. He’s looking at me, but he seems confused.
I furrow my brow.
What’s wrong with him?
“Colt, she is really here,” Anna says.
“No, she can’t be. She left me. She left me, Anna. She’s not real. She can’t be. Anna, what’s happening to me?” he rambles, backing away from me to the other side of the bed.
My bottom lip quivers.
My heart feels like it’s being ripped from my chest.
I shake my head and reach out for him, but he backs further away.