Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Alex
I don’t make it upstairs and into our bed like I said I would. Instead, I drink the night away in my office. Occasionally, I slip into sleep vertically, but altogether, my shut-eye comes in under an hour. Easily.
Less easy has been the fight to stay out of her bedroom. I’ve walked up to the door no less than ten times. I opened it once but stopped myself from looking in. I’m struggling between wanting to make these last days the best we’ll ever have or starting the shift as soon as possible.
I love Emma. That isn’t the question. I don’t think it ever has been.
The question is whether we’re right together.
Or more so, whether I’m right for her. Whether I’m good for her.
A question I debated all fucking night long, still arriving at the same answer as I had yesterday afternoon: I wasn’t good enough for her.
Rubbing the lack of sleep out of my eyes, I take a swig of the rocks glass in front of me, draining it.
At the sound, Delta prances into the office carrying his bone. He sits in front of me, drops his bone, and starts whining.
“I’m gonna miss her too, bud,” I sniff, pulling the stray water droplets back into my eye sockets, refusing myself the release.
I pat him on the head and stand, venturing to the kitchen to find Becks. She’s always up by six, starting the coffee or reading the news on her phone.
“Morning,” she says, more friendly than she’s ever been to me.
“Morning,” I say back, reaching for a mug myself.
She sets down her phone before starting. “I think Emma probably doesn’t need me anymore. I think it’s probably time to terminate my contract.” I tense at her suggestion. That would mean her losing Blanks, Becks (her only friend), and us in a matter of a week.
“Would you be interested in staying on in a different capacity?” I ask, still facing the coffee machine.
“I’m a nurse, Mr. Palomino.” She never could call me Alex.
“Emma might not need you physically…” I sigh. Luckily, she picks up.
“But emotionally?” I nod, turning around to face her.
“She needs someone to drive her still. Take her to the grocery store, that sort of thing.”
“And that couldn’t be you because…?” Becks angles an eyebrow at me.
“I might have to start traveling for work again.” Lie.
She nods, renouncing the friendliness because she knows. “Twenty-five percent pay increase and I’ll stay.”
“Done.” I leave the kitchen and head straight upstairs to pull out my tux for the cleaners. When I get to the bottom of the stairwell, I can hear she’s up. Probably doing her yoga stretches.
The next week is going to be fucking torture, and I contemplate walking in and ending it right now.
No. She’ll end it with me. In due time, she will. I can wait.
Emma
The fucking worst week of my life…and I’d spent weeks in a coma.
Alex had been…different. He’d been cordial, at most. Just polite enough.
Just barely affectionate enough so as not to raise any real concerns.
But we hadn’t been alone in a room together once this week.
We’d hardly talked at all. And at the last minute, he invited Becks to join us on our trip to D.C.
She was the one who held my hand during take-off. And landing.
Standing beside him at the hotel reception, I’m actually surprised to find out he didn’t book separate rooms for him and me. So, I guess we will be in a room alone today.
He takes my tote bag off my shoulder and carries both our bags once Becks heads in the opposite direction towards her room.
Once we do drop our bags, I’m nervous about what comes next. Will he leave? Will we just sit there in silence and stare at the walls? Watch meaningless TV?
When he opens the door to our room, a suite actually, I know why he didn’t need to get us separate rooms. We likely wouldn’t cross paths once in the expansive space. My heart cracks instead of soaring over the beautiful rooms.
There would be no cozy hotel hangout sessions. He’ll go to his corner, and I’ll go to mine. Just like at home.
Even in all my pity, I can’t help but audibly gasp at the view of the Washington Monument and rush towards the window in awe. D.C. is a different kind of pretty. It’s not my cup of tea, but palatable in small doses. I can see that.
“This view is amazing. Come look!” I turn and gesture for him to come closer.
“You enjoy it, I’ve seen it before.” Right.
I turn away from the view, taking a seat on the edge of one of the sofas in the living space.
This was going to kill me. I stare at my Converse against the plush luxury rug and wonder what the hell I’m doing here.
The question mark is back, hanging over my head, smothering me. I wonder what he’s doing here with me?
Even a fool like me can see he’s obviously not where he wants to be.
“If you’re done, just tell me,” I say with as much resolve as possible.
He runs a hand over his beard and sighs. He doesn’t immediately deny it.
Suddenly, there’s a weight pressing against my chest, and my hands grow clammy. This is the end.
Even though he looks like crap from not sleeping for a week, and even though he looked like the unhappiest man alive, he was still going to look handsome in his tux. And I’m already hating that I won’t get to see it.
I would miss seeing all the other versions of him because he’s done. I know it.
“I’m done, Em.” Wow. My eyes blow wide open in shock. “I wasn’t planning to do this right now…” Planning? He had been planning.
I stand. “Wow. Okay,” I say shakily, panicking.
There’s just one thing I need to hear, and then I would leave. Just one thing.
“Okay, tell me you don’t love me anymore. O-or tell me what I did wrong.” He doesn’t say anything back. “I just need a little bit of closure so I don’t lose my mind, okay? Just give me an answer, an-and I’ll go.” Where will I go? Becks’s room, maybe?
“Alex!” I startle him when he gives me nothing. The last thing I need is to end up a pathetic 35-year-old, still obsessing over why her first love dumped her. He just needs to give it to me straight.
“I don’t love you anymore.” I nearly bow over from the forceful pain his statement incurs. Eviscerated. His words destroy me. His words lay waste to my being. His words…are entirely void of any emotion. There’s nothing there, no callousness, but also no kindness. There’s no guilt and no shame.
Maybe he doesn’t love me, but the Alex I know would at least feel bad about that.
He’s lying to me. Unbelievable.
I scoff, then walk towards the door to grab my tote.
“You’re a fucking liar, Alexander.” My legs are wobbly, and my voice feels the same.
I shuffle through the bag for my phone as he towers over me, and I’ve never felt so small or insignificant in my entire life.
“Where are you going?” he asks, sounding nervous. Or maybe that’s me hoping he doesn’t sound completely indifferent. His indifference would kill me.
“For a walk,” I huff. “And then, probably to an airport.” I finally find my phone and slip my tote over my shoulder.
I don’t even have a wedding ring to give back to him. Our ending feels anticlimactic that way. We aren’t at home where him or me leaving would mean something. There are no suitcases to pack. They hadn’t even been delivered to our room yet.
It’s just...goodbye.
I stare at him, giving myself this one moment to see him. He’s almost nothing like the man who stood with me in a cold parking lot in Las Vegas. He’s changed for the better. And maybe that was my only purpose here. To get him to the other side.
Fine, universe. That’s just great. Not my time. Got it.
I turn away from him, then reach for the doorknob and leave.
Walking towards the elevator, I commend myself for not crying. At least not yet. At least not in front of him. Sure, my hands might be shaking, my ears are ringing and hot, and I might be weak in the knees, but I’m still standing and not hyperventilating.
I press the down button and wait.
I don’t even have time to process what’s happening when my back is slammed against the corridor wall. His hands are hard, and his mouth is on mine. It’s feverish and manic and rough. He pulls at my hair and slams his body flush against mine, where I can feel him hard, straining for me.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says while fighting back tears. “I didn’t mean any of it.” He kisses my forehead and my cheeks. He kisses away the few stray tears that had run away after all.
I don’t know whether to thank him, or punch him, or ask him to fuck me right now.
He takes the decision out of my hands, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. He walks us back to the room where the door is still propped open by the lock. He kicks it inwards, throws my tote on the ground, and walks us backward towards the primary bedroom.
He’s panting by the time we’re standing in front of the bed, his forehead pressing against mine.
“Say something,” he commands me.
But I can’t. I shake my head against his.
With one hand under my ass supporting me, his other hand comes up, clamping around the back of my neck as he lowers me slowly to the bed.
He places me there almost reverently, never breaking eye contact.
I feel our connection so intensely; it’s a nearly tangible attachment to him, even though he’s severed us emotionally.
“Please, baby,” his voice quakes as he begs against my lips, kneeing my legs apart. He’s making room to cage me in on the bed.
I say the first thing that comes to mind, “I hate you.” And I mean it. And then he’s kissing me hard again. He lifts my pelvis up, and his hard length runs back and forth across my covered slit.
My words say, “I hate you,” but my body says, “I can’t get enough.” My tongue seeks out his, and my hands are gripping tightly onto his biceps. There’s hardly enough room to fit a single piece of paper between us.