Chapter Twenty-One
Lula
The private jet was stunning. All cream and gleaming dark wood tones. Friendly pilots. An attentive personal flight attendant who somehow disappeared from sight when I didn’t need her.
It was something I’d always dreamed about.
But I couldn’t even enjoy it.
Because my mind wasn’t forty-five thousand feet in the air. It was on solid ground. It was in the backseat of a town car with Raff still inside me, with his arm holding me tight, with his breath in my ear.
I shook those thoughts away, even as I crossed my legs because I could still practically feel him inside me several hours later. I sipped my champagne as I pushed up the window shade and looked down at the impossibly blue sky and cotton candy clouds… and felt nothing.
Well, nothing but something suspiciously close to regret.
But what part did I regret exactly? Sleeping with Raff? Or leaving right after?
I knew the answer.
It was just easier to pretend I didn’t.
Neater.
More predictable and controllable.
I don’t know how long I stared out the window, trying to imagine my thoughts and feelings were as high as the clouds, but eventually the flight attendant was beside me, picking up my empty champagne flute.
“We’re starting our descent now. We should be touching down in about fifteen minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you before we descend?”
“No, thank you.”
She offered me a smile. “Please buckle up and keep your belongings secure.”
When I stepped off the plane twenty minutes later, there was this small, irrational voice inside my head telling me to turn around, to run back into the plane, to demand they take me back to Miami, that it felt wrong to be a whole country away from Raff.
But it was just that—irrational.
And I couldn’t entertain it.
Besides, Raff probably wasn’t even in Miami anymore. And if he was, he was likely out with his Golden Glades buddies—hitting the beach, peeling off bikinis…
No.
I shook that thought off as I was walked from the plane to my waiting car.
“Thanks,” I said to the staff, then the driver as I ignored the rolling feeling in my stomach and slipped into the backseat.
The drive back to Shady Valley was objectively short but felt impossibly long without Raff’s constant, easy conversation to fill the cabin of the car.
I turned my face away from the window as we rolled into town, directing the driver to pull behind the motel to drop me off.
“Home sweet home,” I sighed at the building as I moved through the back door with my bags and heavy heart.
“Look who’s back,” Jack said, glancing over from where he was knelt down filling the vending machine.
“Hey, Jack. Thanks for keeping my room for me. I’ll pay you as soon as I unpack.”
“Pay me for what? Covering your car?”
“For my room.”
“Your room is paid up for three months.”
“Wait, what? How is—”
But the question fell away. Because I knew how. Of course I did. Raff. Being the good guy. Once again.
It would be easier to stop thinking about him if he would stop being so damned frustratingly kind.
“Oh, okay.”
“Hey,” Jack called when I started to walk past.
“Yeah?”
“Here. Take this,” he said, tossing something at me that I instinctively caught out of the air. “Looks like you need it,” he said, closing the front of the vending machine and locking it before walking away.
I looked down at my hand to find a chocolate bar. The universal Band-Aid for an aching heart.
How did he know?
He didn’t. That would be absurd. I probably just looked rough from lack of sleep and a six-hour plane ride. That was all.
Each step toward my room felt heavier than the last. Some part of me wanted to justify it as my superficial, high-maintenance side not wanting to stay in such a seedy place.
But I knew it was more than that. Because returning to my motel room felt like closing a chapter, like everything that had happened on the road trip and down in Miami were over, that I could never feel that way again.
I kicked closed the door then did a quick sweep of the room to make sure no creeper had moved in while I was away, then I did the only thing I could think to do.
I got busy.
I unpacked my clothes, took them to the washer to launder them.
I straightened up my room, doing a bathroom scrub, freshening up my bed, organizing all the little trinkets I’d picked up on our travels.
Or, rather, that Raff had seen me admiring and bought or picked out himself for me.
I knew the healthy thing would have been to get rid of them or at the very least stick them in a drawer so they weren’t a constant reminder.
But I didn’t do that. I lined them up in order on the dresser and let myself relive the memories, one by one.
I reached for the bracelet he’d made me, remembering sitting at that little hotel room table working on the one I’d given him. The one he hadn’t taken off since. Not to swim. Not to shower. Not to sleep. Nothing.
There was a sharp sensation in my chest I tried to ignore as I slid the bracelet on my wrist before forcing myself to move away from the trinkets—both literally and figuratively.
I needed to get out. Get some food for the room. Clear my head.
I took a few moments to apply some very careful makeup—hiding what was left of my bruising behind it, then changed into a dress that didn’t smell like coconut-lime-rum, grabbed my purse, and made my way out of the motel.
I found myself immediately drawn to The Bog, letting myself in the back door and walking into a kitchen that was just starting to buzz.
Dishwashers were setting up their station.
Bartenders were collecting fruit into big plastic containers from the walk-in to slice at the bar.
Two servers were standing near the schedule board, chatting, likely trying to rearrange their schedules to fit in some sort of event one had to go to.
“Lula. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” a voice called. Turning, I saw Rian Murphy standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the doorway to the front of the bar, blocking the way for anyone else.
But that was Rian for you. Cocky, confident, maybe a little inclined to think the world revolved around him.
Like fucking some random girl on a coworker’s desk.
“What? You couldn’t find someone pretty to bend over my desk lately?”
“To be fair, I didn’t bend her over your desk. It was more like I had her like this,” he said, gesturing like he was holding up someone’s legs.
“Oh, God. Don’t finish that sentence.”
Rian shot me a smirk. “You look good, girl. That vacation did the trick, huh?”
Oh, my ‘vacation’ did a lot of things. Some of them irrevocable.
“I got my head back on straight,” I said. “Just wanted to drop in and tell Cillian I’m back.”
“He’s not here.”
“He’s not here?” I glanced at the clock. “It’s getting close to opening time.”
“Yeah, he’s been… busy lately.”
My stomach dipped.
I reached out, grabbing Rian around the wrist and tugging him into my office so we wouldn’t be overheard.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“If you wanted to pull me in here for some afternoon delight, that’s all you had to say, doll.”
“Be serious,” I demanded. “Is there some kind of threat or something that I should be aware of?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“But Cillian hasn’t been at work?”
“I’m every bit as surprised as you are.”
“Only because him being gone means you actually have to work.”
“That’s definitely part of it,” he agreed. “It’s probably good for him, though. He’s been working too hard his whole life.” Rian paused. “Kinda like someone else I know.”
“I’m not working right now.”
“Says the woman at her workplace on her time off.”
“I’m not here. I was just trying to talk to Cillian.”
“Sure. Sure. But since I have you here,” he said, waving a hand out.
Turning, I saw it.
The desk I’d shopped for and printed out and stuck to the notification board the brothers used to leave one another notes before I’d left. I guess Rian could take a hint.
“Oh, wow. It’s even more gorgeous in person,” I said, running my hand over the burl wood surface. “Where’d my old desk go?”
“I gifted it to someone.”
“Your sex desk?”
“It was one time!” he said, shaking his head at me. “If I fucked someone up against the bar wall, would that make it my sex wall?”
“Kind of.” He shot me a wince and rubbed the back of his neck. “You whore,” I teased. “Do you ever take it to the bed?”
“Beds are fun. Other places are fun too.”
Unbidden, the memory of riding Raff in the backseat of the town car while driving through traffic came flooding back.
I’d never done anything like that before.
And Rian was right—there was something exhilarating about it.
“Well, on that note: my new desk is off-limits for your sexual exploits.”
“That thing cost a small fortune. Having to replace it is deterrent enough. Well, I gotta… work,” he said, waving out at the bar.
“You don’t even know what you’re supposed to do, do you?”
“I figure I can fake it until Sean, Conor, or Eoin come in to actually do what needs to be done. It’s nice having you back, doll.”
With that, he left, and I took a moment to admire the desk that, a week or so ago, would have been something to keep my spirits up for months. But I didn’t feel much of the excitement as that weird sinking sensation inside me only grew stronger with each passing moment.
Determined not to harp on it, I left my office and walked across the street to the grocery store, browsing the sad selection of premade foods to get me through the next few days.
No more loaded hot dogs, authentic tacos, or jambalaya. No amazing fresh coffee.
It’s not forever, I reminded myself.
In fact, it could be a lot shorter than I’d originally thought. If Arty was as good as everyone claimed. If Drake was more gullible than he thought he was.
I could be just weeks away from things being much more on track. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more sacrificing everything that gave my life even the smallest bit of joy.
And once I had that money back, I would have a lot of planning to do. A lot of things to distract me from all these thoughts and memories and feelings I didn’t want to confront.
Until then, though, I was stuck vacillating between thoughts of what we’d shared… and what he was up to now that I was gone.
I sat on my bed, stabbing my fork into a limp chicken caesar salad as I tried to focus on the cheesy reality TV show on my laptop. But all I could think about was being curled up in a soft bed with Raff, pretending I hated his silly romance movies while my heart positively melted in my chest.
It was the same feeling I got when Raff or I shared something funny, sat too close, touched.
“Ugh!” I snapped, slamming the lid of my laptop closed and dropping my half-eaten salad onto the nightstand as I felt the stinging in my eyes.
I wasn’t going to cry.
Except it was too late.
And now that I let the floodgates open, I wasn’t sure I would ever stop flowing.