Page 24 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

With her feet propped up on the desk, and her lips loudly smacking gum as she scrolls through her phone, the girl behind the desk at the hotel clearly isn’t thrilled to see us. She glances at us for a second before going back to her screen. "Do you have a reservation?"

Our walk across the street felt like it took forever, the air thick with silence.

Clay’s stumble beside me as we enter the lobby makes it clear he’s more drunk than I thought.

I’m surprised he doesn’t drop the trophy he insists he should carry.

He’s never been much of a drinker, and he’s definitely overestimated his tolerance.

And he called me a lightweight. I lower him into one of the plush chairs across from the desk, before I turn back to the girl.

The hotel looks like it’s been recently renovated. Clean, bright, with muted grays and blues decorating the floors and furniture. If things were different, this place wouldn't be terrible to spend the night. But things aren’t different, and it feels more like a trap with each passing second .

"We don’t have a reservation, no. But we’d love a room if you have one available." I reach for my wallet, gently placing it on the counter. I catch the eye-roll she gives before she drops her feet to the floor with a thud and starts clicking away at her computer.

I should be used to dealing with rude service, but something about tonight has me on edge.

I glance at Clay again. His face is flushed, his breathing deep and slow, like he's in some kind of stupor. He’s slouched, but there's something soft about the way he looks right now, his features unguarded, and that hits me harder than I expect.

I can’t trust myself to drive. The buzz in my head is starting to fade, leaving behind something sharper, something anxious and regretful. The weight of the situation is pressing down on me—this mess I’ve created. At least one of us is sober enough to deal with this.

“We only have one room left. Double bed, no patio, first floor. It’s two-fifty for the night, plus a hundred-dollar deposit for damages. No pets, no smoking,” the girl says, and glances at Clay with a look that suggests she’s already imagining him causing trouble. If she knew the half of it.

I bite back a laugh and pull my credit card from my wallet. "Sounds great."

She doesn’t immediately reach for it. Instead, she stares at me, blue eyes cold and judgmental. “I need your ID first.”

“Right.” I force a smile, handing her my driver’s license along with the card. She huffs, her fingers tapping the keyboard in frustration before she swipes my card through the reader.

“How many keys?” she asks, not looking at me as she slides the cards back over.

I try to be polite, but I’m not in the mood for her attitude. “One is fine, thanks.”

I glance back at Clay again. He’s still slouched in the chair, eyes closed, head resting awkwardly on one arm, his other hand has a death-grip on the golden Q trophy.

For a moment, it’s like I’m looking at a younger version of him—vulnerable and tired.

His hair’s messy, a little wild, and the overhead light hits it in a way that almost makes him look angelic.

Guilt churns in my stomach. I chew on my lip, watching him.

Clay’s always been handsome—there’s no denying that.

And he's an amazing dad, so patient with Alayna, so steady, so good at everything. But I don’t know how to get past this friendship of ours.

Why can’t I let myself see anything more with him?

Why can’t I give my heart to the one person I’m sure would never try to break it?

Because it still belongs to someone else.

Will he hate me tomorrow when he’s sober enough to realize I left him here? Will we be able to recover from whatever mess this is that we’re making of everything? Could I fix this? Would I even want to? The questions hit me one after another like bullets. Each one leaves a hole in me.

My pulse quickens as the weight of everything starts to settle in.

This, whatever it is between us, can’t stay the same.

We’re all changing. Growing. And no matter how hard I try to hold onto what we’ve built, time continues moving forward.

Sarah’s right, it’s time for me to leave the house, to build something for myself.

I’ve been coasting for too long, never letting myself hit the gas on my own dreams.

I blink back tears. Focus, Frankie, focus. One problem at a time. And right now, that problem is getting this drunk man to his room.

I hope he can walk there. If he can’t, there’s no way I can carry him. He’s solid muscle, dead weight, and I’m not nearly strong enough. Thank God it’s a ground-floor room. At least we won’t have to deal with stairs or an elevator ride.

Roman’s face flashes in my mind. His strong arms, lean body. The way I want him here, now, instead of Clay. My heart skips, but I shut it down. I don’t have time for that tonight.

I hear that voice again in the back of my head: Roman’s the one who broke your heart. What makes you think he won’ t do it again? But I push it aside. People change, right? Years have passed, he might be different now.

I’m different now.

If I don’t at least try to figure out what could be between us, will I ever stop thinking about him?

I shake my head. One problem at a time. Focus.

The girl hands me the key. “Room 103, to your left, right past the elevators. Breakfast at six.”

I don’t say anything in response. I take the key from her, nod, and head for the door.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

SARAH

Inking for another hour. Where are you? Can you Uber to me?

I glance at the screen, guilt tightening my chest. I should have told her where I was. But I didn’t. Not yet.

ME

I’ll take an Uber. See you soon.

SARAH

That’s all I get?

ME

I’ll fill you in when I see you.

She follows it up with an eye-roll emoji.

But then a text comes through reminding me that she loves me.

I smile, the weight of it all lightening a little.

She’s going to lose it when I tell her I’m here alone with Clay.

It’s easier to wait until I see her face-to-face than risk a hundred questions through text.

The lobby’s quiet now. Soft piano music filters through the ceiling speakers, and the faint bubbling of a fish tank is the only other sound. I shake Clay, nudging him awake with my shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "That’s what she said." He leans heavily on me, his weight almost too much to bear, and we slowly make our way to the room. Room 103’s the second door down the hall.

Thank heavens.

I use the wall to prop him up while I swipe the key.

The door swings open with a soft click, and I pull him inside, dropping our bags to the floor as I steer him toward the bed.

We’re pressed so close, it’s hard to breathe.

His head falls against mine, the heat of him seeping through our joined skin.

“You smell so good,” he sighs, his voice soft, like he’s telling me a secret. “Like a fruit smoothie.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound almost too loud in the silence. “It’s the shampoo Alayna bought me.”

Clay laughs with me, and then suddenly, he flops backward onto the bed, dragging me down with him. His arms wrap around me like he’s trying to pull me into him, his breath warm on my neck. I hear the trophy hit the ground beside us and hope it has survived the fall.

“Hey,” I laugh, trying to push him off. “You’re going to wake up with a killer headache in the morning. You need some sleep.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he jokes, his voice a little more awake now.

“You might actually wish you were dead tomorrow,” I tease, getting up from the bed. I snag the trophy off the floor—it’s still in one piece—and cross the room, tucking it into one of our bags.

Clay sings something so terribly off key that I can’t even recognize which song it is, but I can’t focus on that.

I dig through my purse until I find the ibuprofen, then glance around the hotel room.

Two complimentary bottles of water sit next to the sink—thank my lucky stars.

I grab a couple of pills for both of us, snatch the bottles, and head back to him, one in each hand.

He’s almost completely undressed now—stripped down to his boxer briefs and socks, his body sprawled across the bed in a mess of limbs.

My heart skips, and I immediately look away.

It shouldn’t be any different. I’ve seen him in swim trunks a thousand times, so why is this so…

wrong? My body is tight, like there's a line I can't cross, even if my gaze keeps drifting back to the way his muscles move under his skin.

“Does it feel hot in here? Or is it you?” He grins, his eyes still half-lidded.

I press a bottle of water into his hand, hoping it distracts me. My eyes flick to his body again before quickly looking away. “Take these,” I say, showing him the pills.

He grumbles, but eventually takes them, swallowing the pills with a loud gulp of water. When he’s done, he tosses the bottle across the room and pats the space next to him on the bed. “Now come sit with me.”

My heart stutters, and for a moment, I’m frozen. What am I doing here? What am I doing to him? I sit down carefully, not touching him, even though I can still feel the heat of his body radiating off him.

“Trivia Champions!” Clay whoops, grinning wide. “We did that!”

I can’t help but smile, relieved at the momentary shift. “We did, we rocked it.”

“We make a great team,” he winks. “Imagine what else we might be good at.”

The innuendo hangs in the air between us, thick and uncomfortable. I wince, trying to hold my ground, but it’s hard. If I were into him that way, maybe it’d be cute, but it makes me uncomfortable .

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, studying my face.

I shrug, trying to smile, but my lips are stretched too thin. “I had a really great time tonight,” I say, the words heavy as they leave my tongue.

“Okay…” His forehead creases, confused. “Then why does your face look like that?”

I want to say more, but the words are tangled in my throat. “I think I’ve just realized no matter what I do, things are going to change,” I say, my voice quiet. “And I don’t know how I feel about it.”

He stops moving, his face going serious. “Change? What do you mean?”

I hesitate, unsure if I’m ready for this conversation. But I can’t keep running from it. “I know you wanted to see if we could be more than friends, but I—I just don’t think I can get there. I like our relationship the way it is. I think we make great friends, Clay...”

“Is that all we are, Frankie?” His voice sharpens, his eyes narrowing. “When we kissed, you didn’t want more of that?”

I shake my head slowly, heart shattering inside me. “No. I don’t think I do.”

“What if we give it more time?” His voice shakes, desperate. “What if you come here and lay with me? We can talk, we—”

“I’m meeting Sarah. She can drive me home in the morning. We’ll talk more at home.” My voice cracks, but I get the words out. “I care about you, Clay. You and Alayna mean the world to me. But you and I? I don’t think that’s what I want.”

His eyes go wide. His fingers reach for me, and I slide away, needing space. I can’t bear to stay here any longer. The hurt in his eyes is like a weight on my chest, and it makes it hard to breathe.

“Please,” he chokes, grabbing my wrist gently as I move. “Stay. We have time. You might change your mind.”

“I’m sorry.” My words are barely a whisper. “I’ll see you at home. ”

Clay drops back onto the bed, covering his face with his hands as his body shakes with silent sobs. My hands tremble as I gather my things quickly, wanting to get out of this room, away from him, but I can’t stop my heart from breaking.

As much as this hurts, with each step I take toward the door, the churning in my gut subsides, and I know I’m making the right choice.

I glance back one last time. His eyes meet mine, and my own tears burn at the back of my throat. But I have to leave.

As I step into the hallway, the door begins to close, and I hear him call out, one final plea.

“Please, Tasha–”

And my heart shatters.