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As soon as he says, it a sense of purpose floods my veins. If my dad is giving me a task, it’s because he thinks I can do it. “What if it’s too late?”
“What if it’s not?”
That’s the only argument I need to hear.
I stand and turn to go.
“And Luke?” my dad calls.
I turn back to look at him.
“I...I love you,” he says.
My throat tightens. “I love you too.”
And then I rush off into the night to find my wife.
* * *
I screechto a halt in front of Hazel’s hotel, not bothering to find a parking space.
I ignore the honking and swearing from the drivers behind me, and head inside.
My heart hammers in my chest as I take the elevator up to Hazel’s suite.
She forgave me for lying to her about why I asked her to marry me. Surely, she can forgive me for waiting two days to tell her how much I love her.
I knock on the door.
No one answers.
I knock harder. “Hazel, it’s me. Open up.”
She doesn’t.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I love you. I love you so fucking much. Just open the door and—”
The door opens. But it’s not Hazel staring at me.
No, it's a middle-aged woman in a hotel cleaning uniform. “There is no Hazel here, young man,” she says in accented English. “She checked out.”
“Checked out?”
Maybe she went back to my apartment. Hope flares painfully as I pace the hotel hallway, calling Hazel.
My call goes straight to voicemail. And her voicemail is full.
So, I call the front desk in my building, and ask if Hazel moved back in while I was out. But neither the doorman nor the person at the front desk have seen her.
Where would she go?
I thought she let the lease lapse on her old apartment.
I call Cooper. “Do you know where Hazel is?”
“Hello to you too. No, I don’t—”
I hang up on him.
