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Chapter 32
Jenna
“Is Stacey Jackson still staying here, or did she check out?” I ask the receptionist at the hotel when I arrive.
My stomach twists and I feel sick with nerves.
“She is,” the receptionist confirms and I swallow hard.
“Thank you.”
“Shall I call for her?”
I shake my head. I know Stacey is going to refuse to see me—being rejected by her is just going to hurt. “I think I’ll go to the bar,” I say instead.
The receptionist nods, and I walk toward the bar. When I pass the elevators, I glance back. She’s already focusing on something else, not paying attention to where I’m going.
The elevator doors open to deposit guests into the lobby, and I slip inside. When I press the penthouse suite, the door closes, and I’m home free. They won’t let me go up without me staying here anymore, and I’ve already given up my room. But I need to see her without. I need to talk to her before she has a chance to shut me down.
When I knock on the door, I feel like I’m going to throw up. My stomach twists and turns. I didn’t have breakfast, and that’s the only reason I’m not in trouble right now—my stomach is empty.
The door opens.
“Oh, no,” Stacey says when she sees me. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Then just listen,” I plead. “Please. If you still hate me after I’m done talking, you can send me away and I’ll leave you alone.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Fine.”
I take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I screwed everything up. I’ve been a terrible friend. All I wanted to do was protect you, but I did the opposite and I hurt you.”
Stacey doesn’t say anything.
“You’ve been through a hell of a lot the past day, and I wasn’t there for you the way I needed to be. I was more worried about my relationship than yours, but this trip is all about you. I can’t change what happened, but I can be there for you. I want to be there for you.”
Tears well in Stacey’s eyes and spill over her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.
I take a chance and step into the room. When I wrap my arms around Stacey, she starts sobbing against my shoulder, and my heart breaks for my friend. I let her cry. I doubt she’s let anything out since it happened.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
Stacey nods. “My mom’s driving me crazy.”
She grabs her handbag and leaves without telling anymore, closing the door behind her. When we ride the elevator to the lobby, she snivels.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
“I should have been open with you.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. He still did what he did. I still lost the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.”
When we step through the hotel doors, a hoard of photographers rushes us. They weren’t here when I arrived. It’s like they were hiding, lying in wait.
