Life After Taylah(52)

Heaven.

I settle back into the seat, letting the heater warm me as we drive, and I think about what Max revealed to me today. I trust Max and I love him like the father I never had, but he can’t be right about my mother. She wouldn’t do that to us; she wouldn’t hurt us like that. But then I think of my situation and myself, and I instantly become aware of the fact that sometimes even the best people make mistakes. I’m the perfect example of that. I’m travelling to a married man who I’ve begun an affair with. That’s not something I’d ever thought I would allow myself to do.

Fresh tears spring to my eyes as I think about my beautiful mother falling for another man. Did he hurt her? Did he have a wife that found out? Dread fills my chest as I realize how very real that situation could be . . . for me. I try to block the thought out, not wanting to let it into the part of my brain that is already hesitating. Instead I close my eyes and put my face in my hands, and I leave it there until the cab driver pulls the vehicle to a stop.

“Here you are, miss.”

I lift my head. My neck aches from my long-held position and I peer out the window. I see a small, cozy hotel with a flashing red sign that says Oasis Inn. I hand the driver some money and he quickly retrieves some change. I thank him and get out, wrapping my arms around my still damp body. I hesitate for a second as the cab disappears into the night. Should I be here?

I slowly walk towards the hotel reception, my feet dragging. I shouldn’t be here; I should turn around and go home. He probably doesn’t want to see me. What if Lena is here with him? What am I doing? I put my hand on the doorknob at the reception door and I slowly twist it, pushing it open. An older man is standing at a large reception desk, his glasses pushed down on his nose, studying a travel guide. He looks up when the bell chimes.

“Hello,” he says. “Can I help you?”

I force a smile. “I’m just here to meet my friend. He gave me the name of the hotel but not the room number.”

The older man raises his brows.

“His name is Nathaniel Alexander.”

He tilts his head to the side and nods. “I’ll ring him, find out if he’s expecting you.”

Shit.

He reaches down and lifts the phone, dialing a number.

“Mr. Alexander, yes, it’s Timothy from reception. I have a young lady here saying that you were expecting her.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“What’s your name, miss?” the man asks, staring at me.

“Avery,” I whisper.

“She said her name is Avery.”

He nods a few times and then says, “Very good.”

He puts the phone down and turns to me. “He’s in room two. Head out the door, turn to your left, and follow the doors down until you see it.”

“Thank you,” I say, turning and rushing out.

I follow his directions until I reach the fading yellow door with a rusty 2 hanging on it. I hesitate with my hand in the air, ready to knock. Have I truly made the right choice coming here? Before I can bring my hand down, the door opens and Nate is standing, looking at me. His eyes widen when he takes in my expression and my damp clothes. I know I must look like hell.

“I know you don’t really want to see me,” I croak, “but I had nowhere else to go.”

“You’ve been crying,” he says, his voice low and throaty. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweat pants that are a light grey in color. They hang on his hips in that way.

My lip trembles as memories of this afternoon swell in my mind. “I . . . got news about my mother and I ran out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

He pushes the door further open, his eyes softening. “Come in. Tell me what’s happening.”

I take a step in the room, going to move past him but he stops me with a hand to my upper arm. He closes the door and turns to me, running a finger over my cheek. “You’re freezing, Dancer. Before we do anything, you’re going to shower.”

I nod, too weak to argue.

“I have some clothes you can borrow. Come on.”

He takes my hand, warming it with his larger one, and he leads me to the bathroom. It’s got an older-style shower, with lime-green tiles and a glass door. The towels match the tiles in a really, really bad way. Nate watches me, his eyes worried as I slowly pull my shirt off.

“You going to be okay?”

I nod, not lifting my eyes from the floor.

“Shit, Dancer,” he says, stepping in closer and putting his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re scarin’ me.”

“They can’t be right about her, Nate. If they’re right about her then everything I ever believed was wrong,” I croak.