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“Okay.”
“It doesn’t matter to me, Logan. I don’t care that the baby wasn’t mine. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve been there for you through every craving, every doctor’s appointment, every hormonal breakdown. I would’ve been there because I love you, cupcake. Baby or no baby. Mine or not.”
I began to cry, loud enough for him to hear.
“Fuck, Logan. Don’t cry. I can barely move and all I want to do is hold you.”
“What if I move?”
“Come here.”
I gingerly got up out of bed and went to Smoke. I gently settled down next to him.
“Where can I touch you that won’t hurt?” I asked.
“My pinky.”
I felt around in the dark for his hand and stroked his pinky. “I love you, too, Smoke.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Everything else we can figure out later.”
* * *
The door creaking had my eyes flipping open. When I realized it was the connecting suite door and it was only my mother, I settled immediately. And then I realized I was in the same bed as Smoke and my anxiety spiked.
Weak morning light attempting to filter through the curtains gave me just enough illumination to see my mom place her finger to her lips and then step into the room. She approached the side of the bed and crouched down next to me.
“Dad went to the hotel gym to work out,” she whispered. “I was thinking you could come into our room and I could order us breakfast while Smoke sleeps.”
I glanced at Smoke who was still dead to the world. Nodding, I gently eased the covers off me. Mom stood by but didn’t offer any help until I reached for her hand.
She helped me stand.
“I’ll meet you in there. I need to use the restroom,” I said.
“You’re okay on your own?” she asked.
I nodded and hobbled toward the bathroom. I quietly closed the door and flipped on the light. My hair was lank and I wanted to shower, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy to stand long enough to get clean.
Maybe I could call down to the front desk and ask for a stool to be brought to the room.
After I did my business and changed the pantyliner—I was still bleeding lightly—I lifted my shirt and turned so I could get a look at the bruises Knox had left on me. They were dark and obvious—and it was a miracle that Knox hadn’t broken my ribs. He’d shaken me like a dishrag and abused me enough for my appearance to reflect his violence.
Bruises would disappear, pain would fade.
Hopefully it will be the same for the memories.
I flipped off the bathroom light and quietly padded to the connecting door. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Smoke was still asleep. His chest rose and fell.
Mom was sitting on the edge of one of the king-sized beds near the nightstand, looking through the room-service menu.
“I know what I want,” she said as she handed me the menu.
I gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed and winced.
