Chapter Thirteen
I wander through the hotel in search of self-medication with my vices of choice: food and wine. I stumble upon a semi-deserted bar overlooking the lobby with windows running along one side.
Finding a table near the edge, I sit and watch a wedding party posing around the central fountain for photos. They’re full of smiles, the bride’s the biggest. Something twists in my chest as she kisses her groom with googly hearts sparkling in her eyes.
“Can I get you a drink?” a server asks, appearing at my side.
“Several.” His smile stretches with a knowing look. “I’ll have a glass of wine.” I point to something on the menu, and he walks away.
Rain lashes the windows, where I can see the blowing trees and the dark, churning ocean. My mouth turns dry as a massive crack of lightning flashes across the horizon.
“Is this seat taken?”
I turn to find Rafe with his hands braced on the back of the chair beside mine.
“Shouldn’t you be overachieving somewhere?”
Rafe ignores my question and sits down as the server returns with my wine. He orders something as I pick up my glass and drain half of it in one gulp.
“You may as well bring another one now,” I tell the server, and he nods.
“You hungry?” Rafe asks, picking up the narrow laminated cardboard menu from the table. I give him a wry look. “Right. Silly question. What do you want?”
I eye the storm and the clouds tumbling over one another. “Whatever. Something decadent.”
I don’t hear anything as he places an order with the server, who’s returned with his beer and my second glass. A ball of anxiety is forming in my stomach as I continue to watch outside.
“You okay?” Rafe asks, concern in his gaze. “I’m sorry about what that idiot said.”
My gaze snaps to him. “How do you know what he said?”
“I asked him what happened, and then I told him off.”
I frown. “Why are you apologizing for him? You should apologize for what you said. Are you sure you want to be seen with me, given I’m not subtle ?”
Shame flashes across his expression. “Yes, I’m sorry for that, too. I seem to be apologizing a lot lately.” He leans forward and stretches out a hand but pulls it back, balling it into a fist. “I said that wrong. What I meant was it’s hard to believe you’re an introvert because you shine in every room you enter.”
My mouth parts with a breath of surprise. I forget every last word in the English language, but Rafe’s not quite done tying me into knots.
“There’s nothing unmissable about you. That’s all I meant. That there isn’t anywhere you could go where everyone wouldn’t notice you.”
This is what he thinks?
“And I’m apologizing for every idiot who has ever treated you that way.”
There are too many things occurring at once.
“You really think that? About me?”
“Yes,” he says, penetrating me with his gaze. “I do.”
My chest tightens and loosens at the same time.
There’s a lot to unpack here, but I can’t seem to get it out right now. “You’re one to talk. You claim you’re a real introvert, but you walk around schmoozing everyone like you’re running for Senate.”
Everyone but me , I don’t add.
He smiles. It’s been only a day since this has become my reality, but I already know the brilliance of that smile will never diminish. That every single time will feel like the first one over and over. I’m so far in over my head that I’m standing at the bottom of the sea.
Rafe stares out the window as another brilliant flash of lightning forks across the sky.
“They think a pretty severe tropical storm might be gathering.”
“What?” My stomach drops. “Shouldn’t we evacuate? Why are we just sitting here?” Panic claws up my throat as the water swells and the wind picks up, tugging at the palm trees fighting against its strength.
“It’s okay,” Rafe says, scrutinizing me. “They almost never hit the mainland here—it’s more than likely to stay over the water. There’s no reason to worry.”
I nod, trying to calm the racing in my heart and the tingling at the tips of my fingers and toes.
That’s when a giant seafood platter arrives with steaming mountains of lobster and shrimp and an awkwardly angled pile of crab legs. A tub of melted butter is nestled in the forest of shells, and on any other day, a pack of wild wolves wouldn’t stop me from inhaling every bite. But my stomach roils as apprehension saws on my nerves.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I whisper.
“But you’re always hungry,” he jokes, and it almost makes me smile.
Hotel staff are scrambling across the beach, gathering lounge chairs and umbrellas, securing everything with ropes, and stuffing them into storage bins. I take a large swig from the glass of water Rafe just ordered and wipe my mouth with my forearm.
“Tris, are you okay?” A hand settles on my back for the briefest flutter before it pulls away. He rubs his palms on the fabric of his dress pants, and I’m not sure what to read into that.
“Rafe,” I say quietly as my emotions swing.
“Attention all hotel guests,” comes a disembodied voice over a PA system. “We’re expecting some strong winds over the next few hours. Please move to the ballroom level and away from the windows. All hotel guests should take cover. Please move in a calm and organized manner.” The tinny voice is calm and detached as it repeats the missive again.
Blood drains from my limbs. I can’t let go of the chair arms, my knuckles white and my hands aching from the effort. The surrounding diners rise from their seats, moving together in a flow like a school of minnows.
“Tris? What’s wrong?” The concern in Rafe’s voice almost makes me break as I inhale a jagged breath.
“I don’t like storms,” I whisper, prepared for him to mock me. To take this and use it against me.
His response, though, is a solemn nod. “You’re white as a ghost. Let’s go. It’ll be okay. This hotel is made of concrete and safety glass. It’ll withstand this weather. It’s built for this.”
Logically, I know this. There are building codes and standards that must be followed. They would have accounted for the worst case scenario. But fear isn’t logical.
With a tenderness I would never have expected, Rafe wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me through the restaurant, uttering assurances that everything is fine.
Organized chaos unfolds before us as we migrate to the ballroom level, where they’ve requisitioned each massive room as makeshift shelters. I’m amazed at how quickly they put this all together, but I guess they’ve known the weather was off for the past few days.
Rafe is holding my hand, and he leads me into the largest of the rooms, where we find Lan and Gabrielle seated with a group of other WMC employees. I’m so freaked out that I barely have the capacity to register: Rafe is holding my hand.
He pushes me against the wall and presses gently on my shoulders. I sink to the ground while he crouches before me.
“Wait here, okay?” He looks at Gabrielle. “Watch her. She doesn’t like storms. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” Gabrielle says, scooting closer and linking her elbow with mine. My skin feels like ice, further exacerbated by arctic blasts of industrial-strength air-conditioning.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as she rubs my arm. Her voice is soft and soothing.
“I don’t have a pleasant history with weather like this.”
“Okay,” she says, smoothing back my hair. “I guess you’re not used to this, huh? In Florida, this is a weekly occurrence.”
“Remind me to never go to Florida.”
She laughs and squeezes my arm tighter. “Then I’ll come visit you instead.”
“The cold might kill you,” I reply, closing my eyes while a headache builds in my temples. I scramble for my purse, worried that I’ve lost it, only to find it slung across my body. I dig for my pills, shake two out, and cradle them in my hand.
Gabrielle laughs again. “That’s true. You’ll have to teach me how to dress.”
I smile at her and lean my head on her shoulder.
“I’ve been through this kind of thing a thousand times. Don’t worry—I got you.” Gabrielle then whispers in my ear, “Or maybe it’s someone else who has you.”
A shadow falls over us, and I open my eyes to find Rafe laden with blankets, a pillow, water bottles, and brown paper lunch bags. He’s the Mount Doom of hospitality. He places everything on the floor as I pop my painkillers in my mouth and swallow them down.
Rafe gets to work setting up camp, laying out the blanket and gesturing for me to get on top. He passes around water bottles and snacks to Lan, me, and Gabrielle.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me the pillow, touched but also wildly confused by his behavior.
As more people stream into the room, WMC takes up a large quadrant of the space. The mood is boisterous and lively. To everyone else, this is a party as visitors travel between blanket islands like we’re having a giant picnic.
The WMC executives have also found their way down and have somehow secured a set of wide leather chairs they’ve arranged in a circle facing one another. They pay little attention to their surroundings as they talk and plot what I assume is world domination. Maybe I can get Diane on her own in this mess, but I’m far too jittery to move right now.
Thunder booms outside again, and I imagine the walls shaking.
“Are you okay?” Rafe asks, leaning on the wall beside me, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. “You must be cold.”
Rafe pulls up the second blanket and drapes it over my lower half.
“Thanks,” I say. “You… don’t need to do all this.”
Why is he doing all this?
He shrugs and closes his eyes in what feels like a transparent attempt to appear casual.
“How long do you think we’ll be in here?” I ask to the muffled sound of thunder as I latch onto his arm with a firm grip. He covers my hand with his, and something about his warm skin settles my pulse.
He holds up his phone and shows me his screen with his other hand. “I just looked it up, and only a tiny handful of tropical storms have ever made landfall. I promise we’ll be fine. They’re just being cautious.”
I stare at the page he’s showing me and then point to a line at the bottom, reading it out loud. “Climate change has resulted in an increase of extreme weather incidents in recent years.”
I glance up at him with a dubious look.
“We’ll be fine,” he repeats before he clicks the button, darkening the screen. “Is there a reason this bothers you so much? Did something happen?”
My gaze swings to him, impressed at his perceptiveness.
“I was in a cyclone once,” I say. “My family was vacationing in India and we were spending a day at the beach. The wind picked up. It felt very sudden, and my dad was out in the water, and he—”
My chest constricts. I was eight years old, but I still vividly remember that day. We were lounging on the beach, having a wonderful afternoon. My brother was six at the time, and we were building sandcastles when someone started shouting for my father to come in from the water. It was like a switch had gone off. One moment, everything was calm, and the next, it was like the world was ending.
The wind swelled, and the waves were rolling, and I still remember my father going under, disappearing beneath the waves. My mother was screaming his name over and over. It was the longest few minutes of my life. I don’t know how long he was missing, but somehow, he surfaced and came out of the sea, collapsing on the beach. I remember people helping us, trying to revive him as the rain pelted us like stones.
We ran for cover and then had to hunker down as the storm raged for two days. The sounds of the wind and water and the buildings groaning and collapsing are still stamped on my memories. My mother held me and my brother the entire time, but it was the most terrifying thing I can remember.
“I was so scared,” I say to Rafe as he listens intently to every word. “It’s not like I’m paralyzed with fear—I just get nervous.” My tone is sharp, daring him to make fun of me, but he shakes his head.
“I didn’t think anything scared you, Malik.”
My eyebrows draw together. “Everyone fears something.”
“I suppose, but you’re always so confident.”
I test the words in my head, searching for a barbed meaning woven into the syllables. But I detect nothing. Still, I’m suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It’s a compliment.”
Another one. Why is he doing this? He’s trying to lure me into complacency. To let down my guard, and when I’m at my weakest, when I’m a wounded dragonfly plastered to his windshield, he’ll flick the switch and smear me against the glass.
“Me? I’ve literally never met anyone who thinks as much of himself as you do.”
That doesn’t offend him at all. In fact, he grins, and I have to look away as I’m mortally wounded by that dimple. “I can see why it might seem that way when you’re as obsessed with me as you are.”
My mouth opens. “I am not obsessed with you. I cannot stand you.”
As the words leave my mouth, I feel them for the lie they are. A few days ago, it was the incontrovertible truth—well, the second part, anyway—but today, I’m less confident about where I stand on the matter.
“That’s why you used to pass by my desk a hundred times a day?”
I blink. He noticed that? It was years ago when we worked in different areas of the building, back when we used to bicker and needle each other with harmless pranks. “How could you possibly have known that? You’d need to look away from the mirror for more than ten seconds.”
“So you don’t deny it?” he counters.
“Your office was on the way to the bathroom. Get over yourself.”
Strictly speaking, I could easily have avoided passing by his office if I wanted to, but I’ll die right here before I admit that.
“Did you ever see a specialist?” Rafe asks. “No one should pee that many times a day.”
“I hate you,” I say, and he laughs.
After that, we both fall silent as we sit side by side, observing the chaos.
“Plenty of things scare me,” I say after a while.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Honestly. Literally everything sometimes.” I hesitate, wondering if I should reveal this much of myself. But Rafe is looking at me with trust in his expression, and I allow my truth to fall. “Never being good enough. Never figuring out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Knowing that what I’m doing here isn’t the right path for me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve stagnated. How many promotions can I be passed over for before I finally give up? I’m doing the same job and making almost the same salary as I was the day I started five years ago.”
Rafe’s lips press together. “You don’t really think that? You know you’re smart and capable and talented at what you do. They picked you for this, so they see it too.”
I scoff. “Your father picked me in some misguided attempt to even out the field.” I cast a hand over the crowd.
“So? That’s what he should have done all along. It doesn’t make you any less deserving. As you said, I’m only here because of who my father is. It’s not because I’m better at my job.”
I open my mouth and then close it, shocked to hear him admit any of this.
“I thought it was because you’re a better team player?” I ask, referring to his comment from the Ferris wheel challenge.
He rubs his face and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that—I didn’t mean it at all. But…”
“But we’re good at pissing each other off,” I finish, and he offers me a rueful smile.
Rafe leans in closer. “Between you and me, the entire exec team got their hands slapped by the new board chair. She’s not happy with WMC’s hiring and succession planning, and all their asses are on the line if they don’t make some big changes.”
I arch an eyebrow. That explains why David was so amenable to my travel requests. “But they still chose you and the other nepo babies?”
He shrugs. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And I only agreed to come here to keep the peace with my dad. If I’d refused, it would have caused so much shit between us, and my mom always gets caught in the middle trying to be the peacemaker. I didn’t want to cause her any more stress than I already do.”
There’s something he’s not saying buried in the layers between those syllables.
“Do you cause your mom a lot of stress?”
His jaw hardens and he gives a small shake of his head. “Sometimes.”
Then, his gaze shifts to his father sitting across the room, where he swirls a glass of whisky in his hand. Rafe opens his mouth and then closes it, clearly changing his mind about whatever he planned to say next.
“Rafe!” someone shouts.
I recognize one of the men from our session earlier. “They’re opening a bar in the next room. Come have a drink with us.”
“Wanna go?” he asks, and I hold back my surprise that he’s including me.
I slouch against the wall. “No, thank you.” The last thing I want is to be surrounded by bros and their male self-satisfaction.
“I’m good,” Rafe replies, raising a hand.
“You can go,” I say. “I don’t need you to stay here with me.”
“What if I want to stay here with you?”
“Do you?”
“Do you want me to?”
I glare. “Stop it.”
He snickers and waves them off.
As they walk away, a huge crash jolts me from my skin, and my hand clamps onto Rafe’s bicep with an iron grip.
“Shit,” I breathe as my heart races, and I press a hand to my throat. “That was loud.”
Rafe shuffles closer, and that does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. He takes my hand, folding it in his large, warm fingers, and this isn’t good. I mean it’s good . But it’s not good.
I tell myself over and over that I hate this. That this is a bad idea, and I don’t want him touching me. I should tell him to stop. But I scoot in closer so our bodies are fused at the sides. His hip is against mine, and his thigh leans on my leg, and I almost forget the storm along with my name.
“You sure you don’t want a drink?” he asks, giving me a crooked smile that I mentally catalog into the list of Rafe’s smiles I’m currently building. The half smile. The full smile. The snarky smile. The genuine one that lights up his face. I need to take pictures. “Might help calm those nerves.”
I shake my head. My pills aren’t working, and my temples are still pounding. “No, I don’t think that will help tonight. But seriously, if you want to go, I’ll be fine. I have Gabrielle and Lan.” I turn to look at them, but at some point, they abandoned their blanket island and are now across the room chatting with another group of people. “Well, they’ll be back.”
Rafe smiles again—this is his baseline smile—though there is absolutely nothing ordinary about it. “I’m good. I’d rather stay here, if that’s okay?”
Once again, I search for some alternative motive or meaning, but it isn’t there unless Rafe is a really good actor.
“Okay. This is kind of freaking me out.”
I’m not sure if I’m talking about the storm.
With that settled, we sit back, our arms and shoulders pressed together, and our fingers still twined. Now it truly registers: Rafe is holding my hand. I casually implode.
As the night wears on, the ballroom lights flicker, and I swallow the lump in my throat. At another loud crash, they go dark. An arm comes around my shoulders, and I move closer to Rafe, torn between fear and… something else.
I think about what I confessed to him last night—that I was looking for someone who made me feel safe. Why did I never realize that until now?
A mouth ghosts against my ear. “The generator probably was hit by lightning. A hotel this size will have a backup. Might just take a minute for it to fire.”
His breath warms the exposed skin on my throat as he pulls me a little closer, still whispering assurances.
Dim lights flare in the ballroom, casting everyone in an orangey glow. Hotel staff pass through the crowd, handing out more food and water, reminding us that everything will be fine. As the hours wear on, a hush falls over the room as people doze off.
My head is pounding. I grunt as I dig my fingers into the base of my skull, trying to relieve the pressure.
“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks.
“It’s my head. I get headaches. It’s kind of my thing.”
“Do you want me to…” He trails off as his warm hand rests on top of mine where I’m massaging my nape. I look up at him, noting the crescents of amber light reflecting in his eyes.
“Sure,” I say, my voice soft. “That would be nice. Along the outside of my spine.”
I show him the spot, and his strong fingers dig into the tendons. A shiver spreads like tree roots over my skin. He kneads the muscle for a minute as I tip my head back.
“Sit here,” he says, spreading his legs and patting the ground. The look on his face is unreadable, his jaw tight. I lift myself up and settle between his thighs, taking care to leave a small space between my butt and his… Not thinking about that.
His hands find my neck again, and he digs his thumbs into the tense meat of my traps and shoulders. My eyes roll to the back of my head because he’s a goddamn magician.
A moan escapes my lips as he finds a spot that releases ninety-nine percent of my tension. He works away as I make encouraging sounds of appreciation. I’m so caught up that I don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed.
Again, I feel the brush of his breath against my ear.
“Are those your sex noises, Tris?” he teases, and I’m sure he’s messing with me. He’s trying to take my mind off the storm and my pain, but two can play this game.
“No way. I’m much louder during sex.” His fingers seem to miss a beat as his breath stutters like a needle skipping across a record. He clears his throat and resumes the massage, saying nothing. I think I might have actually stunned Rafe Gallagher into silence.
“You’re really good at this,” I say after a few more minutes. He’s abandoned my neck and is working his way down my back, and I don’t mind this one bit.
“Not too rough?”
I give my head a tiny shake. “I like it hard.”
I realize what he’s just said and what I’ve just said. Why does everything sound dirty right now? But I’ve hopped on this train and want to keep blowing the whistle. Crap. Even my internal thoughts are rife with filthy euphemisms.
“I didn’t expect you to be so good with your hands,” I groan as he presses his thumbs into the ridge on either side of my spine with his fingers braced against my rib cage. It’s exquisite.
But I’m also very aware that the tips of his fingers are so close to brushing the sides of my breasts, and I’m grateful it’s too dark for anyone to witness my expression. We’ve crept over the line I’d so carefully drawn between us.
“Better than that battery-operated friend of yours,” he says, his voice rough.
We’re into the weeds with flashlights and fishing nets now. “Gosh, you think a lot of yourself,” I quip, and I feel the exhale of his dark laugh against the nape of my neck. His hands drop lower, working the tender flesh at the bottom of my spine, fingers digging into my hips to give him leverage. It. Feels. Amazing.
His thumbs trend downward, and as he touches the top swell of my butt, my entire body tightens.
“How’s your head feeling?” he asks.
My head. Right. That’s what started this.
I shift to relieve the stiffness in my legs, and my butt brushes between his thighs. The touch is so brief that I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying this, too. Knowing this might be turning him on sends a shower of heat rushing to my stomach.
“A lot better,” I breathe, trying to regulate my voice. “Thank you.” A yawn stretches from my throat. “These pills always make me so tired.”
I’m not sure who makes the decision. If it’s Rafe, or if it’s me, or some divine benevolent hand controlling the universe, but a few moments later, I’m lying against him. My cheek is pressed to his chest, and his hand rests on my thigh while the other continues working circles at the base of my skull.
My hand lies against his heart, and I fight the urge to explore the planes of his torso, settling on rubbing the material of his shirt between my thumb and forefinger. I’m lying on a hard floor in a drafty ballroom, but this might be the most comfortable I’ve been in my entire life.
I inhale deeply, taking in gulps of his fresh, clean scent layered with something smokier and richer, like moonlight and campfires.
“You smell so good.” The words fall from my mouth on a slipstream of drowsiness as I feel Rafe’s chin drop to the top of my head.
I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what to name this.
So, I try not to analyze it too closely.
His arm pulls me in tighter, and the last thing I remember is the scruff on his neck gently scratching my forehead before I drift off to sleep.