Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
We’re veering into dangerous depths, inch by inch, lowering ourselves so that, here in a second, we won’t be able to easily swim our way back to shore again. Not back to where we’ve been, not to the safety of all our unspoken words and misread feelings, the cloaked banter and the disguised love. We’re going to unmask the truth, and then what?
It doesn’t matter. The unknown is our only path forward now that Paige thinks I’m going to fire her. She won’t believe me until I tell her all of it. Every. Last. Detail.
“The correct question is who.”
She furrows her brows.
“Who did Todd threaten recently that forced me to finally dig deep enough, care enough to figure shit out? I’d been somewhat lazy, I admit. The first few years on the job, I was learning. I knew Todd was horrible, but I didn’t think he was illegally horrible. Then he started in with these layoffs. Some were warranted, fine. The clown, Annabelle . . . it’s why I went through with them. But not you.”
There’s a hard set to my jaw, a determined edge.
This is more information than she bargained for. She doesn’t look like she’s slowly recognizing and reconciling the truth. It’s like she’s rejecting it. A shake of her head, then another. She’s up off the windowsill now, moving back and forth, not quite pacing but shifting her weight with agitated steps like she’s a computer that’s been forced to do too many commands at once. She needs a reboot.
“I don’t believe you. Why would you do that?” Her eyes are so wide now, blinking in the sight of me like she’s never seen me this clearly before. “Go through all that trouble for me?”
Lightning flashes outside—a colossal, deafening boom shakes the windows—and then the TV and lights cut out all at once, right along with the AC. We’re plunged into darkness, and I wait for the backup generators to kick in. Any minute now would be great. I’m holding my breath, I realize, and I’m forced to exhale as we settle deeper into the dark.
“Shit.”
“Shit,” she says, nearly in tandem with me.
Chapter Eighteen
PAIGE
Just when we need them the most, the generator gods have failed us. We shouldn’t be standing here in a darkness so intense I can’t make out my own hand waving in front of my face. Doors slam out in the hall. Worried voices carry through our door. People are already starting to panic.
Cole and I don’t say a word. It’s like we reject this reality. We want another one. A brighter one.
If only we stay frozen, the lights might flicker back on.
Please, oh please, turn back on.
It’s disorienting to say the least. My head is spinning, but then, of course it is. Hurricane and power outage aside, Cole just laid it all on me. I was ill prepared to hear that confession. I mean, it was a confession, right? The beginnings of one, at least . . .
He’s trying to take Todd down for me?
My heart starts racing so fast I feel like I need to clutch my chest.
“Paige?”
I turn toward his voice. “I’m here.”
“You’re being quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About the storm?”
Oddly, “No.”
I’m unpacking his last few words. Everything he said before the lightning strike. His timing is truly impeccable. I wonder if there’s a Hallmark card for declaring your feelings during a natural disaster.
“Are you okay?” he asks like I’m this close to losing it.
He’s correct in his assessment.
“I think?” It’s half statement, half question. Maybe he could tell me if I’m okay. Is he okay? Is anyone in this hotel right now truly okay?
Oh, so this is what existential dread feels like . . .
I listen to him start to try to feel his way around the room. His toe gets stubbed on something hard, and he lets out a sharp guttural groan. There’s more fumbling after that, less gentle now that he’s already in pain. No doubt he’s trying to recall from memory how exactly I had everything stacked. There was the chair, end table, pillows, lamp. Lamp!
Too late.
He bumps it slightly, and it crashes down on my side of the room. The bulb shatters, and I jump back with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal.
“Don’t move!” he shouts.
I go stock still.
“There’s going to be glass shards everywhere. You took your shoes off when you first came in. I don’t want you cutting your feet.”
I pinch my eyes closed as I berate myself for being so ridiculous. Why did I have to make this so hard on us? I essentially created a death trap obstacle course for him to navigate. “I’m sorry.”
It’s so faint, I’m surprised he hears it.
“You didn’t knock it over,” he assures me, trying to steal the blame when we both know it lies solely on my shoulders.
“I don’t know why I tried to divide the room. I should have just locked myself in the bathroom and called it a night. At least I wouldn’t have caused as much trouble in there. Although, who knows . . . I could have flooded the place, I guess.”