Page 38

RYAN

Avoiding Marlow is not working. It’s been two weeks of no contact between us, but the time apart has only made me more desperate for her. I feel like I’ve been living underwater these past two weeks and Marlow is that first gulp of fresh air.

The caveman in me wants to throw her over my shoulder, march her into the woods just past the park, and fuck her senseless. But the rational human in me knows we need to talk. Yeah, my least favorite words in the whole world and I’m the one thinking them. That’s what this woman has done to me.

Marlow stands under a tree, just out of earshot from me.

She’s shifting, pacing, nodding as the person on the other end of the line speaks.

She makes nervous little movements, touching her hair, her mouth, her neck, and then starting all over again.

And when the call is over, she looks over at me and I immediately know that something is very wrong.

Her eyes shift away from me, scanning the party and eventually landing on Hunter.

She takes off in his direction, and I’m half a step behind her.

Hunter stiffens when Marlow suddenly appears in front of him.

The look on her face is unmistakably panic-stricken.

She fidgets with the phone in her hand and sucks in a choppy breath.

“I need to go,” she says on a rushed exhale. “I’m sorry, it’s a family emergency.”

Abby appears out of nowhere, breaking into our little circle with a concerned look on her face.

“What’s going on?” Abby asks as she appears at Hunter’s side. She searches our faces and goes wide-eyed with concern as she looks at Marlow. “What happened, Marlow? Are you okay?”

Abby breaks eye contact with Marlow for a split second – just long enough to shoot me a look that says ‘I’ll cut off your balls if you made her cry again.

’ Instead of being annoyed, I’m grateful for Abby’s protectiveness…

and maybe a tiny bit scared. Marlow hasn’t had a lot of people in her life that she can depend on, but Abby is the most fiercely loyal friend anyone could ask for.

I admire the hell out of that woman, both for what she’s been through and for the fact that she can handle Hunter’s grumpy ass.

He’s the closest thing that I’ve ever had to a brother, which makes Abby my sister-in-law, but also a close friend of mine.

Or at least she was until she started giving me that look.

Now I’m afraid to let her anywhere near the box of plastic cutlery.

“It’s my mom…she had a stroke.” Marlow’s voice breaks on the last word. “She’s in the hospital in Chicago. I think I need to go.”

“Yeah, of course, go on,” Hunter says. “Take whatever time you need.”

“Thank you,” Marlow says as she turns to head to the parking lot.

“You got this?” Hunter asks me.

I nod.

Abby grabs my arm before I take off after Marlow. “Keep us posted, okay?”

“I will.”

I catch up to Marlow as she’s trying to fish her keys out of her purse. Even though I wasn’t exactly stealthy in my approach, she doesn’t seem to know I’m there until I press a hand lightly to the center of her back.

“Come on, I’ll drive,” I say.

“No, Ryan, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re upset. Just let me drive you, okay?”

Marlow chews her lips for a second, but finally nods and allows me to guide her to my truck. Her hands shake as she uses her phone to look up flights to Chicago. She curses under her breath as she scrolls.

“How long does it take to get to Charlotte from here?” she asks.

“About three hours.”

Another curse.

Marlow dips her head back, letting it land against the headrest as she takes a deep breath.

“No luck?” I ask.

“There’s a flight out of Charlotte, but it leaves in two hours. The next available flight after that isn’t until Monday.”

Tears are welling up in her eyes. She fights them back with a sniffle. I want to gather her up in my arms, but I settle for reaching over and giving her hand a soft squeeze. She straightens up and squeezes my hand back.

The bakery is packed, as usual. I go in first, clearing a path through the crowd.

Inside her apartment, Marlow is frantically gathering items. There isn’t much I can do to help her pack.

For a minute, I think she even forgets that I’m there.

She starts to unbutton her uniform top and my breath hitches involuntarily.

Her cheeks turn pink, and she gathers up her change of clothing before retreating to the bathroom.

While she’s changing, I do my best to pack up any items that she might have missed. I grab her phone charger from the outlet near the bed then some socks and pajamas because I noticed she didn’t pack either.

Marlow emerges from the bathroom wearing her only pair of jeans and a white top. Her hair is twisted up into a bun and she’s dabbing a tissue at the corners of her eyes. I wish there was time for me to admire her properly, but we have a long drive ahead of us.

“Ready?” I ask.

Her shoulders slump as she looks up at me. “Ryan, you don’t need to drive me to the airport. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do yet. I might see if I can get on standby for a flight out of Knoxville tonight, or maybe I can make it to Charlotte in two hours if I hurry…”

She isn’t thinking clearly.

“I’m not driving you to the airport,” I say.

She shoots me a confused look as I grab her suitcase and start towards the door.

“I’m driving you to Chicago.”

“Ryan, you can’t. It’s an eight-hour drive.”

“I know,” I say. I googled it while she was changing. “But you’ll never make it to Charlotte in time and there’s slim to none chance that you’re getting on standby in Knoxville, which means you won’t leave until Monday. Driving is your best bet right now.”

“Okay, I’ll drive myself then. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Jesus, this woman is stubborn.

“Look, Marlow, I get it – you can take care of yourself. I’ve never met someone so capable of taking care of themselves in my entire life. But just because you can doesn’t mean that you have to. It’s okay to let people help, and I’m telling you that I want to help.”

“O-okay,” she relents shakily.

Honestly, I’ll tie her up and throw her in the backseat of her own car before I let her drive herself across three states right now.

We take her car because I know she’ll be more comfortable riding in her luxury sedan than on the bench seat of my truck for eight hours straight. After a quick stop at my house to change and pack a few items, we set off towards Chicago.

It’s a long fucking drive. I keep hoping that Marlow will doze off for a while, but she just stares quietly out the window.

When we stop for gas, I buy her some peanut butter crackers and a protein bar.

I know she’s been working on the party all morning and probably skipped breakfast. Lunch, too.

But she barely touches the crackers. I offer to stop for a real meal, but she just shakes her head.

At least she finishes off the water bottle I bought for her.

When we arrive at the hospital in Chicago, Marlow practically sprints out of the car. The eight-hour drive did absolutely nothing to quell her nerves. I follow her inside, where we stop at the front desk and talk to a gray-haired man wearing a badge that simply says: Roger, Volunteer.

“I’m here to see Rosemary Stephens. She’s in the ICU, I think,” Marlow says.

Roger’s pleasant smile fades as he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, miss. Visiting hours are over for the day, but you’re welcome to come back tomorrow between nine a.m. and six p.m.”

Marlow’s posture slumps beside me, exhausted and defeated. Roger looks genuinely sorry to deliver the news. His eyes flick between Marlow and me, his brow crinkled as if to ask if she’s okay.

“Is there any way they might make an exception? We drove here all the way from Tennessee to see her tonight,” I say.

Roger sighs and picks up the phone on his desk. “Let me see what I can do,” he says with a reassuring smile.

A few minutes later, we’re being escorted to the ICU by a very fast walking nurse who tells us that only one of us is allowed inside the room and only for ten minutes. I find a spot out of the way to lean against the wall and wait.

At the nearby nurses’ station, a blonde in purple scrubs types away at her computer while slowly rolling her neck from side to side to release some tension. When I catch her eye, she straightens up a little and gives me an exhausted attempt at a smile.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure,” she says warily, like she’s been asked this before right before someone tried to show her a weird mole on their ass. Actually, that’s probably exactly what happened.

“There’s a hotel across the street, but I didn’t catch the name…” I’d been too distracted trying to follow the signs for the hospital.

“That’s the Ridgeland Hotel,” she says.

“Perfect, thanks.”

“No problem,” she smiles again as she goes back to typing.

I pull up the hotel on my phone and book a room. The last thing either of us needs right now is to drive around town looking for a place to stay. The place across the street looked pretty nice, and for the price of a room there, it had better be.

Marlow steps out of her mom’s room exactly ten minutes later. She stops to thank the nurse before joining me near the nurses’ station. She looks a little lighter than she did when we first got here, but she also looks like she’s ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“How is she?” I ask, tilting my chin towards her mom’s room.

“Still in critical condition. She was pretty out of it when I was in there. They have her on some meds that keep her somewhat sedated. I think she knew it was me though.”

“I’m sure she did,” I say.

“I’d like to come back in the morning.”

“Of course. Let’s go get some sleep then we can come back first thing tomorrow. I got us a room at the hotel across the street.”

“You did?” she asks, staring up at me with those ever-present tears lingering in the corners of her eyes.

She’s so taken aback by the simple gesture that I don’t think she even notices the fact that I said ‘a room’ and not ‘rooms.’ It’s a gamble, but I can’t tell what she needs right now. If she needs me, or if she needs space.

Marlow hangs back in the lobby while I check in at the front desk of the hotel.

She’s been texting Abby ever since we left the hospital.

Her nose is still glued to her phone as we take the elevator up to the fourth floor and walk down a long hallway of identical doors.

When we arrive at room 436, I swipe the keycard and hold the door open for Marlow.

She looks up, glancing at the single keycard in my hand and then at the dark room.

I follow her inside, switching on the lights as we move past the bathroom and to the edge of the bedroom.

It’s dead silent as Marlow sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and stares at the two identical queen beds.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone or not,” I tell her. “I asked at the front desk and there are other rooms available, so if you’d rather…”

“No,” Marlow interrupts, her features softening. “This is fine.”

We take turns in the bathroom. I brush my teeth, undress to my boxers, and crawl into the farthest bed.

Marlow takes a long shower. When she finally steps out of the bathroom, her face is flushed with the steam of the shower and she’s wearing the pajamas I packed for her.

Only then do I realize that they’re the same pajamas she wore the night we shared a hotel room after Blair’s wedding.

That was the last time I’ve seen her wear more than a tank top and panties to bed.

Marlow glances at me then at the empty space next to me in the bed.

A beat of hope thumps against my sternum as I wonder if she’s considering crawling into my bed.

If there’s some chance that I might get to feel her warmth next to me tonight, even if it’s only a friendly gesture.

Even if it means letting her break my heart all over again in the morning.

At this point, I think it’s safe to say that I could just leave the broken pieces behind on the cheap carpet of this hotel room.

If Marlow doesn’t want it, then I don’t really need it either.

Her gaze drifts back to the empty queen-sized bed between us and my chest deflates. She crawls beneath the blankets and switches off the light, leaving the room completely dark.

Time passes in imperceptible increments as we both lie still in the quiet, dark room. We should both be exhausted. It’s been a long day and a long drive. But I can tell that Marlow is as wide awake as I am. Occasionally, the sheets rustle softly as she tries to adjust.

“Ryan?” Marlow says quietly into the dark.

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t respond right away. In fact, so much time passes that I start to wonder if she dozed off.

Then, finally, she speaks again. “Thanks for coming with me today. I know things have been weird between us, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

There are a million things I’d like to say, but Marlow has too much on her plate already, so I respond with a simple, “No problem.”

Marlow sucks in a breath as if she is about to say something else, but the words never make it past her lips. A few minutes later, her breathing changes and a single, tiny snort tells me she’s finally asleep.

The truth is: I’m glad I’m here, too. But I hate that we’re speaking half-truths into a dark hotel room from separate beds. That’s how this whole thing started, and I’m worried that this is how it will end.

If the events of today have taught me anything, it’s that I care too much about Marlow to let her go.