Page 43 of Sin Wagon
“Thanks, Mom,” I chuckle. But I wasn’t worried so much about her reaction as I was about my dad and Jonas. Dad, though, seems to be on the same page as my mom, so now it’s on Jonas.
“Jonas?” I turn to my brother, unsure of what to expect.
“This is a lot, Wells. I’m gonna need some time to process and work through it. But I’ll be okay. Delilah can make her own choices when it comes to you and her, but I know you’ll be a good father.” He shakes his head as he runs a hand over his hair. “Just give me some time.”
“I can do that,” I agree, relieved that Jonas seems willing to come around in time. “Thank you guys for being the best family I could ask for. I should go talk to Delilah now, though.” I stand and head for the door, but my mom’s voice stops me.
“It’s late, Son. She’s creating a human life and needs her rest. Let her sleep. You can talk with her in the morning.”
I look at the clock on the wall and see that it has gotten late. She’s right, Little Doe needs her sleep so she can grow a healthy baby. “Thanks, Mom. I didn’t notice the time. I’m gonna go to my room then and do the same.”
Chapter 20
WELLS
I wake up exhausted. I’m not sure how that’s even possible when I slept like a rock, but Delilah and our baby filled my dreams. The joy, the fears, the unknowns—everything intertwined is pressing down on my chest. I can’t shake the thought that last night’s dinner may have shattered everything. I need to see her, talk to her, and find a way to fix this.
I stumble out of bed and head to the bathroom, moving through my morning routine like a man on a mission. Face, teeth, and hair… check. Each action is mechanical, my mind elsewhere. After a quick morning piss and washing my hands after, I move back into the bedroom to my duffel bag. With hurried, almost frantic movements, I tug a plain black T-shirt over my head, a pair of khaki shorts, and my trusty Sperry’s.
Hurrying down to the lobby, I grab a coffee from the coffee shop and decaf for my girl since I don’t know if she’s cut caffeine or not and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Then I grab a few muffins from the little stand by the elevator and head back upstairs, ready to see Delilah and decide our next steps.
I arrive at their room and knock, but no one answers. Maybe they’re still sleeping? They had a late night, too, I’m sure. Derek probably got all the sordid details of dinner and they crashed.
Raising my fist, I knock on the door again, but this time call, “Delilah, it’s me. I just want to talk.”
A maid pushes her cart down the hall in my direction and I wave her my way to get her attention.
My voice betrays my worry. “Good morning. My friend was in this room and I brought breakfast, but no one answered. Can you check and make sure everything is okay? Please.” My heart races, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through my mind. What if something happened to Delilah and the baby? I should have gotten Derek’s number, just in case.
“This room, sir?” She points at the door.
“Yes.”
She looks at the door, her brows narrow and she pulls a tablet from her cart.
“Sorry, sir.” She looks up at me. “This room is empty. The guests checked out bright and early this morning.” She leaves me standing there, pushing her cart a few rooms down before disappearing inside.
Left?
She just left without a word? My heart sinks, a lead weight settling in my chest. Did I mean so little to her? The thought cuts deeper than I expected, a sting of betrayal and confusion.
This time, she won’t get away so easily. I have her phone number and her legal name. I can have my guy quickly track down her address. We do background checks on all our employees, so running one woman’s background shouldn’t be an issue.
With a frustrated sigh, I toss the cup of decaf and the muffins in the trash and storm to my parents’ suite, my mind racing with determination and hurt. I need answers.
The elevator dings and I step out, storming down the hallway. I can hardly contain the frustration boiling inside me. I reach their door and bang on it, my knuckles reddening with each thud. After a few moments, my mother opens the door, her face a mix of surprise and concern.
“Wells, what on earth?—”
I push past her, barely registering her words, and flop on the couch.
“What’s wrong, Wells?” she asks, her tone laced with worry.
“She’s gone,” I mutter.
“Who’s gone?”
“Delilah,” I say, looking up at her with frustration and hurt. “I went to her room to talk and make sure she was okay, and she was gone. According to the hotel, she checked out this morning. Just left without a word.”
