24. Emery #3
The last thing I was going to do was look at Noah. I could tell from the earnest way he was currently looking at me, he wanted to say something. He wanted to stop me. But I couldn’t have him do that. I would crack the moment he asked me to stay.
Faking a marriage was not the solution to my problem. I should have never suggested it. It had been an innocent request but with real world consequences. I could take on the struggle of my real feelings, but confusing Timothy? That was the last thing I wanted.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Abigail was in the process of standing up from the booth. She looked earnest and concerned.
That was the last thing I wanted. Right now, being alone was the best option. Spending time with Timothy where I wasn’t going to be expected to explain what was going on or trying to interpret why I’d acted a certain way was how I was going to sort through my feelings.
I needed…time.
“Please, stay and eat. Timothy and I will be fine.” My voice was firm. I wanted Abigail to know that this wasn’t up for debate. I needed space and I was going to require that she give it to me.
She studied me. I could see her desire to push back, but then she nodded and settled back onto the booth.
The pressure on my lungs lessened as I stood there with Timothy. Noah had returned to his seat and Bash was closest to the wall so couldn’t get out even if he wanted to. Abigail seemed to resign herself to stay which meant Timothy and I were going to be able to make an unabated exit.
That was what I needed. Freedom and the chance to breathe.
I didn’t say anything as I took Timothy’s hand and weaved through the tables and patrons to the door. Once we were outside, I realized that Noah had driven and I had no car. I ushered Timothy from the front of the restaurant to the side as I shakily pulled my phone out of my purse.
Timothy began to whine, stating that he was hungry and he didn’t understand why we had to leave. I hushed him as I swiped my phone on and began to search for my ride share app.
“Here.”
Noah’s deep voice had me looking up. He was standing in front of us with his hand extended and the key to the car nestled in his palm. His gaze was dark and his expression pained as he studied me. I could see hesitation in his eyes, and on the edges, fear.
Hating that I made this man feel this way, I just nodded and ignored the electric pulse that rushed across my skin when my fingertips brushed his palm as I removed the key.
I feared how I would sound, but I wasn’t going to let him go back inside without thanking him. After how I acted, I was impressed that he came out here to begin with.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he continued to study me. Then he nodded. “Abigail and Bash said they’d give me a ride back later.”
“Good.” What was I supposed to say after that? The last thing I wanted to give him was excuses. He deserved someone who was ready. Who could leap without fear or anxiety holding her back. I was not that woman. And the last thing I wanted to do was trap him in my world.
“Text me when you get to the hotel so I know you’re safe.” His voice was low and commanding and it halted any protest I was about to give him.
“Okay,” I said with a resolute nod.
He studied me for a moment before he nodded. “Okay.”
And then he was gone and I was alone with Timothy. Thankfully, he didn’t fight me as I held his hand while we crossed the parking lot to the car. He climbed in and buckled and I did the same.
When we got back to the hotel room, he barreled inside, jumping on the bed before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing the TV remote.
I called down for room service and while the restaurant hadn’t officially opened yet, they told me that the chef was in the kitchen testing some new recipes and they were happy to send us up some of the samples. I thanked them.
Exhausted, I collapsed on the bed next to Timothy and closed my eyes.
Timothy shifted next to me. I peeked through one eye to find him staring down at me with his eyebrows knit together and fear in his gaze.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice small.
Regret coated my chest as I pushed myself up to a seated position. With my back against the headboard, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and pulled him next to me. I held him close, anger filling my chest that I let my son think that he’d done something wrong.
“No, no,” I whispered as I hugged him close. “You did nothing wrong.” I closed my eyes as warm tears brimmed my eyelids and threatened to fall.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but if Timothy heard, he didn’t move to respond. Instead, I felt him relax against me and I could only assume he’d moved on to whatever cartoon was playing on the screen.
With him sufficiently distracted, I let my mind settle. So much had happened in the last few days, no wonder I was a mess.
But no longer.
Timothy deserved better and so did Noah.
If I was going to survive, I needed to be stronger. I was done with being weak.
I was ready to take my life back.