Page 71 of Brought By the Storm

Chapter Twenty-Two

Eric

I awoke to the noise of nearby chatting. The room was too bright, hurting my eyes when I struggled to open them. Everything but the people was unfamiliar. Mateo was sitting on the bed next to me. He was engaged in conversation with Stefan, who sat across from him on another bed. Someone was in the bathroom, as I heard water running into a sink or tub.

“Where are we?” I groaned. My head was pounding and though they had been whispering, it all seemed too loud.

“You’re awake?” Mateo smiled. “I was worried about you.”

I could tell from the room configuration and the furnishings we were in a hotel, but I didn’t remember checking into it. I couldn’t remember much about last night, other than going to Manny’s after the terrible incident with Carrington. “What are you doing here? What is this place?” I managed.

“We came to get you,” Mateo explained. “You were pretty wasted last night. We’re at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. I dropped my head back onto the pillow, closing my eyes to block the glare.

I heard the bathroom door open, followed by Carrington’s voice. “He’s still out?”

I wondered why he was here. I didn’t want to re-open my eyes. I didn’t think I could look at him. Maybe I could pretend I had fallen back to sleep.

“He’s up,” Mateo, the traitor, announced. Mateo reached over to shake my leg. “Come on, Eric. We need to check out by eleven. We’ve let you sleep as long as we could.”

I pushed his hand off my leg. “Don’t grab me. I don’t like being grabbed,” I mumbled, still refusing to open my eyes.

I could feel Mateo’s breath as he leaned closer to my face. “So grouchy in the morning. Listen, Stefan and I are going down to the lobby for their free coffee. When we return, you need to be dressed and ready to leave, okay? We’ll get your car where you parked it, then you can follow me back to Connecticut.”

I opened my eyes. Carrington was looking down at me from the foot of the bed. I tried to discern his expression. It looked like concern, but I reminded myself that I was good at misreading him. “Take him with you,” I told Mateo. Carrington reacted like I had twisted his heart with my bare hand, then frowned and nodded.

“No,” Mateo declared. He put a hand on my chest, applying the slightest of pressure. “He’s staying because you two need to talk.”

I rubbed my eyes, the mortification starting to set in that the three men were looking at my half-naked body. I grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to my shoulders. “Why are we here again? I didn’t ask to come.”

“Half hour,” was Mateo’s response. “You talk, brush your teeth, wash, get dressed. And hurl if you need to. There isn’t a lot of time. Clock’s ticking.”

“I think Carrington said everything he needed to tell me yesterday,” I mumbled.

Carrington remained quiet. Mateo piped up instead. “I’m not sure he did. I know you didn’t tell him everything you needed to say, and here’s your chance before he leaves for Belarus.”

I looked over at Carrington. “Why are you going to Belarus?”

Carrington was about to answer, but Mateo cut him off. “Eric, you had way too much to drink last night. Your synapses are haywire. He needs to go home…Belarus? Duh. Now, have your talk. Stefan and I will be back in…”—he looked at his watch—“twenty-seven minutes.”

After Stefan and Mateo left the room, Carrington stood motionless, looking fearful. I was relieved that he wasn’t angry or ready to attack me some more. I figured by now Stefan and Mateo must have told him what had happened with the photograph, so maybe Carrington wanted to apologize before he left. If it was an apology, we could be done in a minute.

“Is it okay if I sit on the other bed?” Carrington asked.

I shrugged. “I assume you paid for the room. Who am I to stop you?”

He grimaced, but made his way to the edge of the other bed, sitting so he could face me. I hoisted my body up on the bed so I was sitting, leaning back against the headboard and crossing my arms. My body ached from the beating from the day before, or maybe from the booze or from both. I sighed, waiting for the apology or more tongue-lashing, hoping he’d make it quick.

“Eric, Mateo explained everything,” Carrington whispered. “I am so sorry.”

I looked away from him, casting my eyes on the bathroom door as if it was the most interesting piece of architecture I’d ever seen. “Okay.”

I heard him swallow. I felt a bit of satisfaction that he was picking up my embarrassing habits. “Eric, I don’t blame you if you don’t forgive me. I have no right to ask you to do so. But I’m going to anyway. I was cruel and selfish. Despite the memories you’ve given me, I fear last night’s will be the one that remains most prominent. I’m…ashamed.”

I turned to face him, and I was surprised how defeated and sad he appeared. I realized he meant it. “Okay. I forgive you.”

He smiled a bit. “Does that mean…”