Page 135 of Believe it or Knot

So I flip the lock on the handle and shuffle over to the other door, letting out a relieved breath when I find the bathroom. Avoiding looking in the mirror because I don’t want to see what a hot mess I actually am, I sit on the toilet to pee, wash my hands and then flip on the shower. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find something to wear that isn’t Liam’s shirt, even if it smells divine and I kind of never want to take it off.

I make myself do it, dropping the fabric on the floor and stepping over it to enter the glass walled shower. I hiss when the hot spray hits my scraped and sensitive skin, but it’s worth it when the steady spray kneads my muscles, releasing some of the tension there.

It feels so good that I just stay like that for far too long. Until my hands are pruning and my skin is flushed bright red from the heat. Only then do I use the fancy expensive soap, shampoo and conditioner. I note that it’s specifically for wavy to curly hair and feel a little pang in my chest that they obviously bought it for me, that they thought about my needs enough to get me hair products that work for my unruly hair.

It’s not enough. Not by a long shot, but it pushes me more into the ‘parting of ways amicably’ territory.

It’s probably what they want too. After all, I woke up in what is clearly a hotel room, not their pack house. If they wanted to get back together with me, wanted to make this right, wanted to try again, wouldn’t they have brought me home with them? Tucked me into Liam’s nest? Wouldn’t I have woken up surrounded by them? By the pack they wanted me to be a part of?

No, them showing up at the Apex Facility and then at the police station is just… guilt. A misguided sense of responsibility. Or something similar. It can’t be anything else.

With that thought in mind, I flip off the water and use the fluffy white towels to dry off and squeeze the water out of my hair, before finding a leave in conditioner and a curl creme on the counter that I work through my waves with my fingers, scrunching them up to help enhance them.

It’s actually pretty rare I get the chance to do this. Working in a restaurant, more often than not, my hair is up in a bun or a ponytail, out of the way and off my neck to keep me from overheating, so there isn’t a point to working with my waves.

When I’m done, I exit the bathroom in only a towel, drawing up short when I find the bed made and a neat stack of clothing on the foot of the mattress. I eye the bed, then the door, knowing I locked it and wondering like hell why they thought it would be a good idea to invade my privacy and space like that, but I guess they brought me clothes so I can overlook it.

Although when I see what they provided, a strangled sound of frustration leaves me. Liam’s sweatpants, Grayson’s t-shirt, Gage’s hoodie, a pair of wool socks that smell like Rafe. No underwear or a bra, nothing of my own. Or hell, something new would have been preferable.

Surely they could have gone to Target or something and bought me new clothes.

Or maybe they didn’t want to spend any money on me.

Maybe, despite them showing up at the Apex facility, they still think I only want them for their fame and fortune, and they don’t want to give me even one cent.

I don’t blame them.

But I also don’t want to go out there smelling like a member of their pack when I’m not.

I leave the clothing on the bed and wander to the dresser, pulling open drawers, until I find- “Jackpot,” I murmur, pulling out a pair of complimentary hotel sweatpants and a t-shirt with the Falcon Hotel logo on it.

I don’t waste time pulling them on, and don’t spare another glance at the pile of sweetly scented clothing before I head into the living room with my chin tipped up, ready to face them.

No. Who am I kidding? I’m really not ready to face them. But I have to do it, anyway. I can’t stay trapped in a hotel room for the rest of my life. Even if it is a very luxurious hotel room. I make a mental note to tell Sadie’s pack that they’re doing it right with their hotel. Ten out of ten. Would recommend for anyone to stay after they’ve been kidnapped and nearly killed.

So, I stride out into the living area of the suite ready for battle only to find it… empty. Very, very empty.

Disappointment and hurt hit hard and fast, nearly swallowing me whole. Here I was thinking they’d be waiting for me to come out, eager to talk to me and instead I’m alone. Again.

I look around, taking in the space, the small kitchenette, the living area with the TV still on, covering the explosion at Apex. There’s another bedroom on the other side of the space from the one I woke up in that I can just make out through the open door.

It’s empty as well.

I wander into the kitchen for another glass of water. I could really use a cup of green tea right now. It would help to clear up the lingering headache and fog left over from the drugs and the trauma.

I get the water first, gulping it down in four quick swallows, and then move to the electric kettle. It’s already full and next to it is a tin of the fancy green tea that I love but never get because it’s too expensive. There’s a sticky note with a heart drawn on it stuck to the metal. Next to it is a platter of pastries and another of fruit.

That’s sweet and all, but where the hell is everyone? Why the hell am I alone?

I turn on the kettle and munch on the fruit and a scone while it heats. My stomach gurgles happily now that there’s food in it. By the time the kettle clicks off, I’ve devoured most of the fruit, the scone, a croissant and half of a muffin. I’ll regret that later, I’m sure.

As I’m pouring water over my tea bag, my eyes flick up to the TV again and I’m about to look away when the words on the screen catch my attention and don’t let it go. Exclusive Live Interview with the Cordova Pack, coming up next. Before it fades to a commercial.

My heart sinks right down to my toes. That’s where they are? At an interview? That’s what was more important than being here when I woke up after being drugged and kidnapped?

I know Liam is a public figure, and I get that it’s important for him to do things like this. It just seems like maybe they could have put it off for a day or two. If they actually cared about me, they would.

But then… who said that they care about me? The last time I saw Grayson, spoke to him, he accused me of manipulating him and his pack. I must only be here because of that stupid sense of responsibility. Or maybe it was actually Sadie and her pack that set me up with the room and the tea and the food. I have no idea since I apparently slept through all of checking in.

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