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After accepting his gentle strokes of my hair and murmured words filled with love, I finally stepped out of the circle of his arms. “I’m sorry I got your shirt wet.” I sniffled and turned to find the bathroom to blow my nose.
“Bails,” he called out to me, but I kept walking.
The sounds I made blowing into the tissue were certainly not pretty. However, I caught Turner standing with his forearm against the molding on the door, waiting for me.
A noiseless crumple of tissue dropped into the trash did nothing to break the silence as he waited for me. What could I say? There was so much, yet not enough that could explain the chaos in my heart.
“I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded and waited until he stepped back, giving me space to move into the main room. I dropped to sit on the bed, unable to stand with the weight of everything on my shoulders.
Would he be angry if I told him I wanted to go with Kalen? Could I stand to be on a plane with the man my emotions were twisted over, knowing he hated me?
Slumped, I sat with my hands folded in my lap and studied the pattern of the carpet.
“Should I go?” he asked quietly. He wasn’t referring to Kalen’s offer.
My head drifted up to meet his weary eyes. In them, I saw the pain I was inflicting by shutting him out. I shook my head.
A quiet smile barely curved his lips. He sat next to me, only to wrap an arm around my shoulder and lean us both back on the bed. I curled into a ball and he curved around me.
It wasn’t until the light that streamed through the picture window began to dim that I stirred. Turner wasn’t there, but I heard the shower running. I shifted my legs over the side of the bed and raked a hand through my loose, tangled hair before I stood.
The sight in the mirror was far from pretty. My eyes were still puffy and bloodshot. One of them was purple from the blow. Locks of hair jutted this way and that in a sleep mass. I pulled the band from around my wrist and twisted my hair to tie it back from my face.
When the shower stopped, I turned toward the door and caught sight of an envelope that had been shoved underneath from the hall.
Slowly, I picked it up. The hard square I felt piqued my curiosity to open it. Inside were a black credit card and a note.
Bailey,
You will need clothes whether you stay or go with me. Matt doesn’t think it would be safe at this time for you to use your cards to make purchases. Use this to buy whatever you need. There is a mall next door.
Kalen
“What’s that?”
Startled, I brought the letter to my chest and gasped. Turner stood with nothing but a white towel slung about his hips. It was hard not to remember what lay beneath. I pivoted in the opposite direction, feeling the burn in my cheeks.
“A note from Kalen,” I replied.
There was silence before I heard Turner move into the room.
“What does he want?”
The jealousy in his tone was like a knife.
“He and Matt think I shouldn’t use my credit cards to buy anything. Not that I had any on me. He’s given me access to a credit card to buy clothes next door at the mall.”
The bed creaked as he sat. I moved to face him and leaned against the desk with my hands folded behind me as I tried not to cry.
A week ago, Kalen would have bought the clothes for me. Though he was still taking care of me, it now felt impersonal.
Turner mistook my silence and glanced away from me. “Sorry. I didn’t want to leave you alone. I used your bathroom.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” he grumbled. “I don’t have a credit card you can use. Never needed one. But he does. He’s paying for all of this and offering you a trip to Scotland to keep you safe.”
His hands dropped from where they’d spread to encompass the room.
“I know,” I said patiently.
“I don’t have a plane, or the money he has to offer you,” he continued.
“And you think that’s what I want?”
There was desperation in his eyes as if he already read my thoughts. And maybe he had.
“I don’t know what you want,” he confessed.
My mouth opened and then closed. I wanted to deny what he said, but he was right.
Deflecting, I said, “I want to get away from here. I don’t want to become a media sensation.”
“So go with him,” he said, his face impassive.
“Turner,” I began.
He held up a hand. “You should go. I can’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t have my passport on me.”
I remembered his planned trip to volunteer in Africa with a charitable group that helped small villages rebuild and felt bad about wanting him to go.
