Page 12 of Before I Should Leave

The hotel was packed, but I expected that much. I signed a few things and got a key card with room number 430 embossed in gold. Diesel didn’t hover or do too much. He just stood a step behind me, still that constant presence, warm and unshaken. It didn’t feel like babysitting. It felt like backup.

We stepped into the elevator, and as the doors closed behind us, the silence hit in a different way. A still kind of quiet. We didn’t say anything right away. Just stood side by side, close, but not touching. The soft ding of the elevator climbing floor by floor felt like a countdown.

I caught him glancing at me. Not in a loud way. Just… watching. And for half a second, I thought about the kiss again. The heat of it. The calm. The way I forgot how much time had passed. The way I still felt it faintly in the curve of my lips if I let my thoughts linger too long.

I blinked and pulled myself back to the present. “Diesel,”

I said, clearing my throat softly.

“you really don’t have to stay.”

He looked at me like I was speaking another language.

“I’m already here.”

“I know, but…”

I adjusted my coat, my voice quieter.

“I’m not your responsibility. You’ve done more than enough.”

He just shook his head.

“It’s not about responsibility. You got caught in some shit tonight, and I had time. That’s it.”

I nodded slowly, but my mouth kept going.

“What about your daughter?”

He cracked a grin.

“She was just tryna show me some new TikTok dance she learned.”

That made me laugh.

“How old is she again?”

“Seven going on seventeen. Bossy as hell.”

I smiled.

“I like her already.”

He smirked.

“You’d get along. But she understands. I’ll be home before she wakes up in the morning.”

His voice held that same calm weight. No guilt. No rush. And something about knowing she wasn’t upset made me stop trying to give him reasons to leave. He wanted to stay, so I let him.

We stepped off the elevator and into a softly lit hallway. Cream carpet. Gold trim. The walls even smelled expensive. I slid the card into the lock of 430, and the door clicked open with a soft beep. The room was indeed beautiful.

Modern. Clean. King-size bed. Oversized glass shower in the corner. A wide desk. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the storm still raging outside. That thick rain slapping the glass in waves. And in the corner was a fully stocked mini bar.

My eyes clocked the little bottles lined up like options. Vodka. Whiskey. Gin. Tequila. A couple of overpriced snacks. Everything was organized too neatly for how chaotic the night had been. I walked in slowly, setting my suitcase by the wall, taking in the atmosphere. I didn’t expect luxury. But the space felt too… intentional to be a throwaway room.

Diesel stepped in after me and glanced around.

“They wasn’t lyin’, huh? This shit is nice.”

“It really is.”

He wandered a little, unbothered. Checked out the view. Peeked at the room service menu.

“You want somethin’ for real? I’m about to order somethin’ before I start eatin’ a six-dollar Snickers.”

I smiled, loosening my trench and finally kicking off my heels.

“What are you thinking?”

“Whatever don’t come frozen or microwaved. You cool with pasta? Or you want somethin’ else?”

“Pasta sounds good.”

He nodded, picking up the hotel phone. “Bet.”

I walked over to the window while he ordered. The rain was still relentlessly coming down fast and loud against the glass, but it didn’t scare me now. It sounded like a rhythm you could fall asleep to.

I glanced back at Diesel as he wrapped up the call. He hung up, then turned to me with that same quiet energy.

“Twenty-five minutes.”

“Perfect.”

His eyes lingered on me for a second.

“You better now?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

He just nodded once. “Cool.”

By the time room service knocked, I was fresh out of the shower, skin warm, face clean, and wrapped in the hotel’s thick white robe like it was armor. I had no makeup on, hair wrapped up, legs bare and I didn’t even care. That alone told me this night was already pushing me past some line I usually held tight.

Diesel got comfortable too. He peeled off his hoodie and sweatpants to reveal basketball shorts underneath, low on his hips. He pulled his damn shirt off, exposing a chest of a Black God, arms full of ink and a relaxed ease that made it hard to look away.

We ate on the bed. Both of us sitting cross-legged, pasta bread bowls resting on oversized napkins, the TV playing some muted documentary neither of us was watching. He’d grabbed a few mini tequila bottles from the bar and cracked them open like it was a Tuesday night at somebody’s place instead of a last-minute hotel room in the middle of a storm.

“This is so good,”

I mumbled around a forkful of creamy fettuccine.

He grinned. “Facts.”

“You can cook like this?”

He looked at me like I had insulted him.

“Hell yeah.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Okay, okay.”

We ate in silence for a few more bites, but it wasn’t awkward. Just easy. The kind of quiet where breathing feels like enough. The storm was still at it outside. The rain streaked down the windows, thunder low and distant now. More moody than chaotic, like it had calmed down once we did.

Diesel leaned back on his elbow, wine in one hand, and glanced at me through his lashes.

“You seem… different now.”

“Different how?”

“Softer. Lighter. Like you let somethin’ go.”

I sat with that for a second.

“I think I did,”

I admitted, voice low.

“I didn’t mean to. But I did.”

He nodded like he knew exactly what I meant.

“I don’t get nights like this often,”

I said.

“Where I can just… be. I’m always working or writing.”

“You should have more of ‘em.”

“Maybe,”

I said.

“But most people don’t know how to hold space for me like that.”

He didn’t flinch when he said.

“I think I do.”

And that went straight to my chest. I looked at him. Really looked.

“Is this the airport magic working in your favor?”

He smirked, setting the wine down, and sat all the way up. He forward just a little. “This,”

he said, voice low.

“is me knowin’ when a woman needs a break from bein’ strong. Knowin’ when to listen. When to talk. When to shut the fuck up and let you breathe. I’m not tryna impress you or run game, Emani. I’m just not afraid of who you are when the guard comes down.”

I didn’t know what to do with that except feel it. And suddenly the robe felt too thin. The tequila was hitting. The air too still. I bit my lip and set my bowl aside, trying to reach for something to distract me. Diesel noticed, but he didn’t move closer. He just stayed right where he was. He gave me space while still being near, and I needed that more than I wanted to admit.