Chapter Twelve
Beckett
Nine months. I could be gone for nine months.
Had I got this call before I met Noelle, I’d be sprinting to the airport to get the hell out of here and away from my car crash of a life, but now, having been with her she’s changed everything.
I know that’s crazy; I’ve known her a day, but something feels different.
It’s a connection you can’t explain with words.
It’s just a feeling, and it’s going to hurt like fuck to tell her I have to go.
But I want to explain to her as much as I am able, give her my real name and my number, a promise of another night when I return, if that’s what she wants.
I managed to set up in the hotel bar with my laptop, confirm my travel arrangements, and read my brief. The kitchen staff were kind enough to cut a slice of mahogany cake and put a candle in it for Noelle.
Balancing two take-out coffee cups on top of each other, a plate of cake and my overnight bag slung over my shoulder, I make my way back up to my hotel room.
I tap the door with my foot, waiting for Noelle to open it. I wait and wait. I tap again, and nothing. I set down the coffee and use my key card. Maybe she’s still asleep. We did go a few rounds last night; she must be exhausted.
Something feels off the minute I enter. The faint smell of her floral perfume lingers in the air, but there are no clothes on the floor, and the bed is empty, and the knot tightens in my stomach.
I place the drinks and the plate on the dresser and drop my bag to the floor.
“Noelle?” I call as I enter the large white bathroom. Nothing.
I rush across the hall to her room, banging frantically on her door. Fuck, I hope she doesn't think I just left her.
“Noelle,” I yell, banging my fist against the hard wood.
A door next to Noelle’s opens. “Can you keep it down? It’s Christmas. What’s with all the yelling?” an old man in a green robe grumbles.
“I’m trying to find my girlfriend.” The term slips out so easily. “Have you seen her?”
“If you are referring to the pretty little blonde that was banging around a few minutes ago trying to get her bags out the door, then yes. She was heading toward the elevator. I had to tell her to keep it down too.” I sag with relief. I still have time to catch her and explain.
I decide to miss the elevator and take the stairs, running down them two at a time to reception.
“The blonde, room 305. Is she still here?” I yell, louder than I need to.
“I’m sorry, sir, the guest in room 305 just checked out, and a cab was called for her.
” I don’t hear what else the woman says.
I run to the main entrance, slipping slightly as I go down the icy steps.
I frantically search up and down the street, but nothing.
All I see through the morning mist and the snow-covered streets are headlights disappearing into the distance, and I know in my heart that’s her.
That’s her, and I’ve fucked it all up and lost her.
Merry fucking Christmas.