Page 83 of Staying for You

I don’t regret what happened with Owen. I’ll take my time to lick my wounds and grieve what could have been but I’ll survive and move forward because that’s what I do.

I turn on the shower and wash the bath water off me, shampoo and condition but skip shaving because who cares right now. Wrapping myself up in the fluffy white hotel robe, I go back to my bed, and order some room service.

A big juicy mushroom and Swiss cheeseburger and fries sound so amazing. As does the brownie sundae. So I order both. Along with two cans of soda.

Then I rent a movie and settle in until my food arrives. Which thankfully doesn’t take long. I don’t waste a second to dig in, eating on the bed while I watch a comedy on the TV screen.

Stomach full, movie over, I move to the window in my hotel room and look out. It’s such a beautiful view of… a parking lot. Not exactly as inspiring as The Escape was but I’m feeling ready to write so I get dressed, go down to my car and get my laptop. Not my smartest move to leave it in there last night, but I wasn’t necessarily thinking all that clearly when I arrived.

Back in my room, I power it up and log in to the hotel Wi-Fi. I didn’t miss it, but I did. The ease of doing something as simple as checking email because of having a strong internet connection makes life easier but it brings with it its burdens as well.

I answer a few emails, ignoring one fromOliviaJohnston21. I don’t need to read whatever Owen’s sister is sending me. Especially considering that the subject line is:My brother.

Nope. Not going to do it. I leave it unread and close out my email, check a few things on Facebook and pop in to my reader group to remind them that I’m alive. I’d done my best to keep active with them while I was gone, but they knew what was up and luckily, as I remembered earlier while I was in the tub, I have some insanely loyal readers who love me. I’m lucky.

I see a message from Olivia Johnston on Facebook as well but again, choose to ignore it. I need to focus on myself right now and I’m sure she’s found out what happened with Owen and is just reaching out to me to come to his defense.

I’m tired of people’s excuses for stupid behavior. Which reminds me of Scott and his monumental stupid behavior.

I look up the number to the local police department back in Tennessee and give them a call.

After they answer, I launch in with letting them know that I’ve been told my ex-husband and his girlfriend have been staying in my home while I was away without my permission. They promise to pay him a visit and I ask them to keep an eye on the place until I am able to get back home. Thank goodness for small towns because they don’t even bat an eye at my request. Just let me know they’ll send over someone to check things out and make sure he’s no longer staying there.

Then I call my lawyer, who doesn’t answer, so I have to leave a message with the details. The fact that I know I’ll be billed for more of Scott’s crap makes me irritated but I’d rather have all my ducks in a row in case Scott tries to pull something over on me.

I turn the Wi-Fi back off and open my writing program with the manuscript I’m currently working on. It takes me no time to fall into my writing, getting lost in the single dad romance I’m quickly considering my favorite. It’s the second book I’ve written about a single dad since I arrived at The Escape and now I’m addicted. It’s not lost on me that I picture the way Owen was with his niece and nephew when I’m writing, but I put it out of my mind.

I needed inspiration and he gave it to me. If that means that I pen out an entire story based on Owen, so be it.

I take a short break to use the restroom and grab some water from the hotel fridge, knowing I’ll end up paying over $4 for it but not caring at the same time.

Soon the sky is growing dark outside and my back aches, my fingers are cramping, and I realize I wrote five chapters in about five hours. I want to still be angry with Owen, but how can I be when witnessing the way he was as an uncle for just a couple days gave me enough writing material for an entire book. If nothing else comes out of my time up there, like being with him, which my heart stupidly still longs for, at least I got that.

Remembering the hotel offers snacks, I head down and load up on some chicken fingers and nachos and a bag of popcorn. Apparently I’m eating like a fifteen-year-old now.

I carry it up to my room to eat then decide it’s time to check in with Gretchen.

She answers on the first ring. “You’re never allowed to do that shit to me again,” she barks instead of answering.

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know what. I haven’t heard from you in thirty-six hours, Cami. I had no idea what happened to you!”

She’s right. She knew I was upset with everything that’d happened with Scott and his pregnant girlfriend but then I just went silent. It wasn’t fair of me to do that to her, especially considering the last time she and I spoke I was telling her I was coming home.

“I’m sorry. I just needed some time.”

“I get that but for shit’s sake, woman, check in with your best friend while you’re giving yourself time.”

“Promise. Next time I decide to go dark, I’ll check in.”

“Good. Now. Tell me what’s happening. Where are you?”

Where do I even start? I explain that Owen overheard part of our conversation and acted like a jackass then how I left, he tried calling, which I ignored repeatedly, his sister has tried to reach out, which I also ignored, and that I’m almost finished with the second book that I started writing while I was up at The Escape.

“I might need a moment to take all this in.”

“Take your time.”

---