The silence comes back too soon, and so do the thoughts about Knox.
I check the clock. I’ve only been here an hour. It feels like a lifetime. I straighten the stack of room keys that are already mostly straight, refill the pen holder, and realign the brochure display for local attractions I’ve never once seen a guest actually look at.
I’m so deep in my own head that I almost miss one of the bellmen dropping something on the desk as he passes.
“A guy asked me to give you that.” He heads toward the lobby entrance.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some guest. Tall, darkish hair.” He pushes through the door. “He checked in before you got here.”
The paper sits on the center of the desk. Hotel stationery, folded twice with nothing written on the outside.
I unfold it slowly, like something inside will jump out and bite me.
Room 214. Come up when you can. — K
I read it three times, hoping that the words are going to rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense.
That’s Knox’s handwriting. He’s here. Checked in, paid for a room, didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t come to the desk himself, handed a note to a passing bellman and waited.
What the hell is going on?
I reach into the pocket of my blazer and discreetly pull out my phone. If my manager catches me with it out, I’ll get reprimanded. Or maybe I won’t. Who knows anymore, since they all treat me like I’m two seconds from snapping.
Me: What’s going on? What is this note?
I read it again before folding it back up and slipping it into my pocket. The lobby phone rings, this time a call that I transfer over to housekeeping, and by the time I hang up, he still hasn’t texted me back.
The rational part of my brain, the part that has witnessed Knox’s cruelty for years, tells me to put the note in the trash, finish my shift, and go home like a person with self-preservation instincts.
The irrational part has me staring at the elevator.
I last another forty minutes, contemplating my options, before curiosity gets the best of me and I call our float to cover the desk, telling her I’m not feeling well, which isn’t entirely a lie. She, of course, is lovely and helpful, telling me to head home early.
Instead of taking the employee exit out to my car, I climb the back stairwell to the second floor.
And now I’m standing in front of room 214, breathing hard, wondering if I’m making a mistake.
To hell with it.
I knock twice and the door opens right away like he’s been standing on the other side waiting for me.
He looks…God, he looks like hell, and that says something considering we’ve both looked exhausted and spread thin since the accident.
When he steps back to let me in, I avoid brushing against him. I’m too weak for physical contact. I’ll break and be in his arms in seconds. The door shuts with a thud behind me, and for a moment we just stand there in the narrow entryway looking at each other.
“You came,” he says, sounding as wrecked as he looks.
“You knew I would.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”
The room is dim, with only the lamp on the nightstand throwing a warm circle of light across the bed. There’s a tie draped over the back of the chair, and a jacket slung beside it. I take him in. He’s dressed nicely, or was. The shirt’s slightly untucked now, and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Later.” He holds out his hand. “Come here.”
