Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Luke says nothing when he finds me seated on a chair in the hotel lobby. His only reaction is a flash of surprise, then irritation. I don’t know if it’s at me or himself.
I push up from the leather chair to follow him toward the elevator, and our pact of silence continues on the awkward ride up. Even Aiden must sense the tension, because he’s uncharacteristically quiet.
The sound of walking has never been so loud, the distance to Luke’s suite so long.
The click of the lock is deafening.
He leaves the door open after entering to let me know I’m welcome to follow.
“I’m sorry,” I say once we’re inside.
“Don’t.”
“Luke…”
“ Don’t, ” he hisses, turning on me. “You of all people will not apologize to me. Ever. For anything. Got it?”
I wince and avert my gaze to the tile floor of the foyer.
His self-hating response only makes me feel more guilty .
I sense his gaze and almost choke when I meet it. It’s all there. Raw and messy.
The pain. The love. The regret.
How much he’s missed me, needs me, and is so fucking grateful I showed up. But he has no clue how to say it. And I have no clue how to acknowledge it.
So I swallow the words he doesn’t want to hear and pack them away with all the other unspoken truths poisoning our relationship.
I love you too, brother.
I miss you.
I wish you’d let me in.
I need you too. So damn much.
He blocks any chance for a heartfelt confession when his addiction to numbing the pain pushes him toward the bar.
I watch with a cracking heart as he fills a glass and kills the moment with an 80-proof bullet.
“You heading out soon?” he asks. I can’t tell if there was fear or hope in that question. Does he want me to leave or stay?
“Flight leaves at five. Have to get back for the Calisto Festival.”
He nods, but I can’t read his expression. “Since I ruined breakfast, order whatever you want from room service.”
“French toast?”
He doesn’t smile at my joke but I can tell he wants to.
“I’m going to lie down. Room key is on the island if you want to use the gym or pools.”
He won’t meet my eyes before disappearing down the hall with the crystal-glass best friend that’s replaced me.
I have zero intention of hanging out in a suffocating hotel room alone while Luke drinks himself into a stupor. A workout sounds promising, so after changing into gym clothes, I head to the onsite facilities to blow off steam.
It feels good to strain my body instead of my soul for a while. With each machine and movement, I’m in control again. Only when my muscles are shaky with exertion and my mind is focused, do I let myself leave the gym.
I’m a new man when I head back to the room with a clear head and a few sandwiches.
The main area of the suite is still abandoned, the television droning from some remote corner. It’s like I never left it. I could probably leave and come back a hundred times and Luke wouldn’t know.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the island countertop. It hurts to think this is what my gifted, once-vibrant friend does all day. If not for his breakfasts with Callie, he probably wouldn’t have any break from the isolation.
It makes me wonder what made him go to that café in the first place. Why come to the city that broke you, if all you’re going to do is hide from it?
I head to the guest room and strip off my clothes for a shower.
For some reason, this room has two of them—a regular shower in the attached bathroom, then some custom deal in the bedroom itself.
Lined with a spa’s worth of jets, its slate tiles stretch across the entire wall that backs up to the real bathroom.
For a guy accustomed to every luxury this world has to offer, I’ve never seen anything like it.
Clearly, someone with too much money and a kink for group bathing arranged for this.
Bet that girl Callie would love to make fun of the absurd contraption. Shit like this is exactly the kind of indulgence she was teasing us about.
The thought brings a smile to my face as I opt for the cozy stall shower in the neighboring bathroom.
I’m still thinking about her when I dry off, wondering what happened with her and Luke after I left. I wasn’t waiting at the hotel long before he showed up, so he must have bailed soon after I did.
The thought doesn’t sit well with me. We just left her there. Two moody divas stalking off to nurse our wounds while she… what? Waited? Cursed us out? Is she pissed? Sad? Scared?
As I run a towel over my hair and return to the bedroom, I have an overwhelming urge to ask Luke if he has her number. He must if they coordinate meeting for breakfast every day.
Then again, maybe it would freak her out if I messaged her. There were times it seemed like she was flirting with me. Other times, I don’t know. She’s probably just one of those people who’s nice to everyone.
Doesn’t matter. I’d only be sending a quick text to make sure she’s okay and understands all that bullshit had nothing to do with her. I doubt Luke took the time to reassure her before he skulked away.
I throw on some sweats and make my way down the hall toward Luke’s room. His door is closed so I knock and wait. After several long seconds, I hear, “Yeah?”
Well, he’s alive at least.
I poke my head in and suppress a cringe.
The room reeks of alcohol. Bottles and glasses line every surface of the furniture.
He must not allow housekeeping back here very often, because this space is the opposite of the pristine condition of the rest of the suite.
Except for the empty glasses, you’d never know someone was living in suite 403.
Until this room.
“What is it?” he asks, impatient. Guess I’m interrupting the “nothing” he’s been doing all morning.
“You talk to that girl from the diner since we left?”
His expression pinches into confusion. “Callie? No. Why would I?”
“I don’t know, because we acted like assholes? ”
His eyes shift like maybe he agrees, but he only shrugs. “Sorry, man. I don’t even have her number.”
The irritation spreads into frustration, and I step into the room. He returns a cold look.
“So how do you meet her for breakfast every day? How do you know when— if— she’ll show?”
He shrugs again and turns his attention to the TV like he actually cares about whatever reality garbage is polluting the screen.
“She just does,” he says finally.
“So she magically appears each morning, even though she has no idea if you will?”
“I guess.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know. A couple weeks. Why does it matter?”
His indifference is really pissing me off. I march forward to block his view of the screen.
“What the fuck?” he grunts.
“Exactly what I’m thinking. Don’t you see how messed up that whole situation is?”
“What are you talking about? We have breakfast together, so what?”
“That’s all it is. Really,” I say dryly. “Just two people grabbing some calories to start the day.”
His glare is a welcomed reprieve from the apathy.
“Yes, Casey. That’s all it is. What’s your problem?”
“My problem? My problem is you. My problem is this! ” I wave around the room.
“I don’t have to know a damn thing about that girl to know she deserves better.
She cares about you. I have no idea why, but she does.
And you shrug her off like she’s a coat rack at the café.
You want to blow me off and treat me like I don’t exist, fine.
I’m fucking used to that. But not her. If you can’t be a decent human being to that woman, you need to leave her the hell alone.
You sure as fuck don’t let her fall for you. ”
He averts his gaze, and I soften when he does.
“I do,” he says quietly.
“You do what?”
“Care about her. I mean…” He hesitates, and my heart pounds. “The last thing I want is to hurt her.”
My thoughts return to images of her adoring expression when she looked at him. How it stung way more than it should have. She’s a stranger. I’ll probably never see her again. But he will, and that’s the problem.
“Then treat her like you care. Make sure she knows how important she is to you. Don’t leave her alone in some random diner every day, waiting like her world should revolve around you. Let her into your life or don’t. Make up your damn mind.”
I don’t wait for a rebuttal, but stalk away, slamming his door behind me.
I’m a half block from the diner with my carryon backpack when I realize I’ve walked back to the scene of the breakfast drama.
I don’t even know why I came. It’s not like Callie will be here.
Even if our paths did cross for some reason, the more I reflect on our encounter, the clearer it becomes I misread everything.
If what Luke said is true, she must care about him beyond a casual breakfast acquaintance. No one is nice enough to sit around waiting for a chance to be nice.
That can only mean one thing: she’s in love with him.
I don’t know why that makes me so angry. I’m trying to tell myself it’s because she deserves better. Maybe she does, but technically, that’s not my problem. Luke’s made it clear that nothing in his life is my problem anymore.
“Hey! Excuse me!”
I flinch at the tug on my arm and turn to find an employee wearing a Jemma’s shirt. Her eyes are filled with stars as she gazes up at me.
“You’re Casey Barrett, right? Luke’s drummer?”
Luke’s drummer.
I wince from the sting.
That’s me. The Drummer.
“I guess so. How can I help you?”
She grins and holds out what looks like a stack of branded sticky notes.
And a pen.
“I’m Ailee. I saw you this morning but didn’t want to interrupt. I was hoping you’d come back. Would you mind?”
“Sure,” I mumble.
I scribble my name on the top sheet and hand the packet and pen back to her.
“Thank you!”
She’s still staring at me, like she wants to say something else. I’ve been in this situation enough to know what that thing is. I’m about to let her down preemptively when I realize she might be helpful.
“Hey, um, just out of curiosity, this whole Luke and Callie breakfast thing, how did that start?”
She shrugs, pleased to have my attention. “I don’t know, exactly. Kind of just happened. Luke had been coming in to stand around for some reason, but we didn’t know who he was. Then one day that other girl showed up and they started talking. Then they started sitting with each other and?—”
“Hang on, he came in to stand around? What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. He didn’t say or do anything. Would just go to a spot in the café and stand there.”
I squint at her, replaying the morning in my mind.
“Why, though?” I ask. “What was he doing?”
Ailee shrugs. “No idea. She was the only one who ever talked to him. ”
“Callie?”
“Yeah. We didn’t know he was Luke Craven from Night Shifts Black or we would have been more accommodating.”
Of course they would have. I suppress an eye roll.
“What do you know about Callie?” I ask.
She furrows her brows through a flicker of jealousy. “Not much. Never really spoke to her.”
No surprise there.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Hey, wait!”
I turn back, and cringe at the look on her face. Here it is.
“Do you maybe want to come in for a cup of coffee or pie or something?”
I twist a polite smile. “Thanks, but I have to catch a flight. I appreciate the information. Good luck with everything.”