Page 60 of Catch Me (Becoming Us #4)

Roman

I got on the plane headed to Boston, although I probably shouldn’t have.

At the same time, if I went home, I had no doubt that I’d sink into depression, unless I allowed myself to be lost to anger.

All of these things teetered so close to the edge that balancing them took enough effort to wear me out.

Travis let me explain yesterday. That was all I could do, and now, I could start to rebuild. Again.

The next game was tomorrow, and there were two more after that, then we’d go back to Georgia. If the Red Sox won all of their home games, it would be over, but that wasn’t likely. As long as Travis was pitching a good portion of the time, I was confident they’d give Boston a run for their money.

All of us were in the same hotel, paid for by Travis. He wasn’t an extravagant person, but when it came to his friends, he had no reservations. Even though he couldn’t manage to get a suite for the away games, we had really good tickets.

When we piled out of our rental, we all stared up at the hotel in awe. Well, all of us but Brooks. He didn’t really seem interested at all. This was probably the equivalent of a Motel 6 to him .

As we walked inside, I seriously considered taking off my shoes. It seemed wrong to walk on these floors with fifty-dollar boots.

Someone whistled, drawing our attention to the hall where a large figure was leaning against a pillar.

His ankles were crossed, and the dark jeans he wore hugged his thighs in a way that made it impossible for me not to look.

In his light blue hoodie and ballcap, he stood out, but this was exactly how Travis operated.

He undoubtedly didn’t care all that much about this five-star hotel or the nice floors.

He was just existing—loud, proud, and unashamed.

We headed over to him, and his eyes landed on me briefly. There was a slight scowl on his face until he moved on, focusing on the keycards in his hand. He passed the small stack to Sen with a smile.

“There are jetted tubs in every room,” he said. “Take it from me: those jets will turbo charge any bubbles you put in there, and if you aren’t careful, they’ll reach the ceiling.”

I snorted a laugh, then smothered it.

“This sounds like an exciting story,” Brooks noted.

“It was more tedious than anything. Would put a damper on things for the romantics, so that was my PSA for y’all.”

His eyes landed on me again. The hostility was evident, and it wasn’t something I felt like dealing with.

“Key,” I said to Sen, holding out my hand. As soon as he handed it to me, I headed down the hall.

“You’re welcome!” he called after me.

Once I made it into the elevator, I leaned against the wall and tipped my head back. There was a mirror-like ceiling, which gave me an unwanted glimpse of myself. My hair was messy, probably from sleeping on the plane, and my jacket was a little crumpled.

Hell, I’d look at me in disgust, too, if I was him.

Before the doors closed, someone else came in. I saw him in the mirror above me, which was how I knew he stared at me for longer than was normal.

Tipping my head to the side, I looked at the guy.

He was already watching me, and he smiled when our eyes met.

His were dark, almost black, just like his hair.

It was styled nicely, and he was dressed like someone who actually belonged here—a stylish pea coat over nice blue jeans with stylish brown boots that had squared-off toes.

“Hey,” I said .

“Hey there. You look tired.”

I chuckled. “I am.”

“That wasn’t an insult, just so you know. It works on you.”

“Uh, thanks. I work hard on this zombified look.”

“Let me guess. You’re on a business trip.”

“Nah. World Series.”

His eyes lit up. “What a coincidence. Me too.”

“Oh, yeah? Who are you rooting for?”

The corner of his lips turned up. “Call me biased, but I’m a Red Sox guy, through and through.”

“You live here, then?”

“My place is a couple hours out of the city,” he explained. “I’d rather die than wake up early to get to the game.”

“Sound logic.”

“I’m a sensible guy.”

“Yeah, but it looks like we’re rooting for different teams, man. I wouldn’t call a Red Sox guy sensible, to be honest.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, though.”

I studied him, not really sure what to say to that. I couldn’t call myself good at spotting certain kinds of men, but this one seemed pretty clear to me. He also looked vaguely familiar.

“Roman,” I said, holding out my hand.

He shook it firmly, gripping it for a little too long. “Amir.”

The doors opened, and I verified that it was my floor. “Nice to meet you, Amir. Don’t hold this against me, but I hope you strike out tomorrow.”

Clearly, he was a good sport, because he laughed. “Seems like I already struck out.”

When I got into the hall, I turned to look at him. “Trust me, it’s not you.”

“Unavailable, huh?”

“Emotionally.”

“Just my luck. I’ll hit a home run just for you anyway.”

I couldn’t help but smile. The doors closed, shutting away my first real chance at something since I’d come out. It sorta pissed me off that I didn’t feel any type of way about it. By definition, I guess I was fucking hung up on someone.

When I got into my room, I was stunned by it.

The tub was even more incredible than I would’ve thought, so the first thing I did after I dropped my suitcase off to the side was strip out of my clothes and start the water.

If I wanted to, I could spend the entire rest of the day and night in this thing. I could sleep in it if I felt like it.

When it was halfway full, I stepped into it, sliding down until my shoulders rested comfortably against the back.

With my knees up to keep them out of the water, I propped up my tablet and tapped my pen on a new page.

The sound of the water running helped keep me focused as I sketched some lines.

I wasn’t really sure what I was doing until I’d gotten a basic shape on the screen.

I wasn’t surprised, and it was pointless to be annoyed at this point. He lived in my head rent free, especially since I’d hopped on that plane from Seattle.

This time, as the piece came together, there was something about his eyes that made my stomach churn—something ominous.

I’d always found it impossible to capture what I saw in them, yet somehow, I’d done just that, except it wasn’t the same thing as before.

This was cold. Detached. Resentful. It was everything that didn’t belong to Travis McKinney.

At the same time, it didn’t seem foreign.

As I added the various shades to his eyes, layering them in places, I wondered if this was something I’d missed every other time I tried to capture his likeness.

The thing that dwelled beneath, hidden by the levels on the surface.

Maybe I couldn’t truly encapsulate him as a whole if I didn’t first find a way to understand every individual thing that made him who he was.

That was where I’d failed. I could see that now, all too clearly, and if I hadn’t been so blinded by my own fears, I would have recognized exactly what I’d done to lose his trust.

Sen had known it on New Year’s Eve, as soon as I’d explained what had happened. He told me what their experiences had done to them, the way the betrayal rooted itself inside of you and the terror never actually went away.

Travis offered me safety, and I hadn’t trusted him enough to accept. But I’d made him promises that held the same weight, and despite everything, he’d taken a leap of faith. He’d trusted me , and I abandoned him before the weekend was even over.

It was probably like being left at Camp Dumont all over again .

Looking back at me from the page was the stripped down version of him, the one that was damaged and alone and, more than anything, fucking angry.

Why was this the most beautiful version of him I’d drawn?