Chapter 23 Tish
TISH
The bathroom door barely shuts when another knock echoes through the room, forceful enough to make the security chain rattle.
My breath catches as I press against the cold tile wall, watching Jake’s silhouette through the gap beneath the door.
“Who’s there?” His voice remains calm.
“Good evening, sir. Hotel front desk. I have some messages for Jake Sorenson.”
Relief floods through me. Just hotel staff, not journalists or the team discovering what we’ve done.
Professional exchanges drift through the door about confirmations and tomorrow’s breakfast before the door clicks shut.
“All clear,” Jake says softly.
I crack open the bathroom door and step out, suddenly realizing I fled without my clothes.
Jake notices too, his gaze drinking me in while he stands there in only his pants.
Heat flashes through me as I remember my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, lips swollen from his kisses. Panic creeps in as I hurry to dress.
“Let me walk you back—”
“That’s not smart.” The refusal comes quickly. “Too many people might see. And Becky’s waiting.”
“Right.” His hand starts toward my hair, wavers, then falls back.
“Thank you for tonight. For the dancing. Everything.”
“Yeah.” His wicked smile makes heat bloom across my cheeks again.
The room feels too charged for more conversation. I slip past him and crack the door open, peering in both directions. The corridor maintains its late-night stillness, Christmas wreaths hanging between wall sconces, garland spiraling along the handrail. Snow drifts past the window like confetti.
My return journey isn’t hurried, just a measured pace that pretends the adrenaline is residual energy from the club.
I silently plead with each wreath: Please don’t let anyone come out of their rooms and see me.
A laughing couple stumbles from the elevator, too absorbed to notice me.
Perfect.
My keycard slides in, green light flashes, and I’m inside the privacy of my hotel room.
Becky sleeps peacefully, chocolate hair spread across white pillowcases, her small mouth slightly open.
A stuffed snowman from the gift shop leans against her shoulder. The room carries gingerbread scent from a “Holiday Cheer” candle. I kiss her warm forehead, and gratitude fills me like a blessing.
The babysitter struggles with her coat by the window, wreath light creating a golden halo behind her.
“How did everything go?” I whisper.
“Animated Nutcracker movie and too many candy canes,” she grimaces. “She wanted to wait up, but I convinced her with a bedtime story.”
I thank her and she leaves with Christmas wishes. The door closes with the softest click.
I need a shower. The hot water washes away club perfume, replacing it with peppermint-cedar soap.
I had sex with Jake Sorenson.
The realization crashes through me, my traitorous body tingling everywhere he touched. I force the memory away and focus on the water.
Clean and in Christmas tree pajamas, I climb into bed, but sleep won’t come.
My mind replays everything, from Jake spinning me on the dance floor, his eyes darkening as he backed me against the wall, to the reverent way he whispered my name.
Then unbidden thoughts drift to Ash. Our kiss by the broken bus, how he held my face like I was precious, the conflict in his brown eyes as he pulled back like he’d been burned.
Two men. Two completely different men who both make my pulse race.
Jake with his easy charm makes me feel young and carefree. Ash, steady and protective, looks at me like he wants to shield me from the world while consuming me whole.
The rational part knows this is insane. I’m their PR coordinator.
Getting involved with one player would be complicated enough.
But having feelings for two?
Well, three if I’m honest, because there’s definitely something with Carl too.
What kind of person does that make me?
But I can’t deny the truth.
Jake makes me laugh and reminds me to be spontaneous.
Ash makes me feel safe, protected.
Carl represents reliability, steadiness.
All of them are incredibly attractive in different ways.
The problem is, I can’t have any of them. Not really.
Even if they wanted more than a fling, I have Becky to consider. I can’t risk bringing someone into our lives who might leave when things get complicated.
The memory of Mica surfaces, making me shiver. How charming he started before becoming possessive and controlling.
The threats he made. His determination to find me after I left.
Even with him safely in prison, thinking about him makes my skin crawl.
But Jake isn’t Mica, my mind reminds me. Neither is Ash or Carl. They’re good men who would never hurt us.
Maybe not physically, I argue back. What happens when Jake gets bored?
When Ash decides a single mother isn’t worth the complications?
When Carl decides I’m too young? Becky’s already lost one father figure. I won’t put her through that again.
The clock glows 2:47 a.m., as my thoughts continue to spin in circles. Outside, snow continues falling past the window.
Christmas is nine days away, and I wonder what it would be like to spend holidays with someone special.
Someone to help with decorations, wrap presents, and drink hot chocolate while snuggled up watching movies.
But that’s just fantasy with no place in my reality. I’m a single mother with a job and a daughter to protect.
The irony isn’t lost. I’m obsessing over three men when months ago I couldn’t imagine letting anyone close.
The walls around my heart had seemed impenetrable, forged by years of running and hiding. But somehow they’ve started crumbling.
Maybe it’s how Jake makes Becky giggle, or how Ash ensures she has extra hot chocolate.
How Carl treats her like his granddaughter.
They treat her like she matters, not like an obstacle to getting what they want from me.
Or maybe I’m just tired of being alone, carrying everything myself, and pretending I don’t need anyone.
Because I do need someone.
Not to take care of me, but to share the load, be a partner.
But wanting something and having it are different things. Sometimes the things we want most can hurt us most.
At 3:15 a.m., exhaustion finally pulls at my consciousness. As I drift off, Becky murmurs in her dreams, and I smile despite everything.
Morning arrives too soon with my phone’s chime and pale sunlight.
Becky sleeps deeply while I move quietly toward the bathroom.
Last night feels dreamlike, but my tender lips and Jake’s lingering cologne serve as real reminders.
Then something stops me cold. There on the tile in front of the door lies a manila envelope that wasn’t there last night.
Probably from Carl, last-minute materials that couldn’t wait. I tear it open, expecting paperwork.
But when I pull out the contents, my blood turns to ice.
Two 8x10 photographs slide into my hands. The first shows me and Jake on the dance floor, intimate and romantic. The second one captures me and Ash by the broken bus, in the exact moment his lips met mine. Crystal clear, leaving no doubt.
My hands shake violently as I lean against the doorframe to keep from collapsing.
Someone is watching me.