Page 78 of His Surrender
“Nah, I’m good,” I said, clapping him on the back. An idea was forming in my head. A probably stupid idea, but it was only growing stronger the more I thought about it. “I might have other plans.”
“With a certain piano guy?”
I smiled and said nothing.
After Ivan and Foster left, I got into my car and sat there with the engine idling. Remi had reached his breaking point with me and rightly so. I had heard theLword and run the other way. In doing so, I’d treated him horribly. He deserved better.
“Love is worth the risk,”Emery had told me.
But I didn’t love Remi… right?
Then I remembered the raspy sound of his voice when he first woke up in the morning and how he fit so perfectly against my chest. For the past two weeks, we’d barely spoken to each other. Likerealconversation, not just the small talk before I’d gone over and fucked him. I missed talking to him every day. I missed all those little things Emery had said he loved about Cason… they were things I’d noticed about Remi too.
The pain of not having him outweighed my fear of everything else.
It was then I made my decision. I put the car in reverse and got on the main road before heading home and packing a suitcase. Excitement coursed through me, as did nerves. An apology wouldn’t be enough.
I needed to do something big to show him that, even though it had taken me a while, I was finally ready take a leap of faith and trust him to catch me.
Chapter 18
Remi
Walking the streets of New Orleans was an experience unlike any other. The sights, smells, and sounds of the Big Easy brought a smile to my face. The azaleas were in bloom, creating a pop of color to the already vibrant city. The weather was damn near close to perfect at seventy degrees, and the sun shone bright in the sky without any clouds to obscure it. My favorite part?
Jazz. It was everywhere.
I passed a trio of musicians on the sidewalk and tossed a few bills into the open instrument case after standing and listening for a moment. The trumpet player nodded to me before breaking out into a solo. Then I continued toward Julia Street where my hotel was located.
After the seven-hour drive, I had been starving, so I’d decided to eat lunch before checking into my room, leaving my luggage in the car. The walk was nice after being stuck in a car for so long. I had left my apartment a little before six that morning and had driven straight through without making many stops along the way. I was ready to get into my room and relax a bit before hitting the town that night.
I wanted to visit as many jazz clubs as possible in the few days I planned to stay.
The Marriott hotel I’d booked was nice but not too expensive. I entered the lobby and waited in line to check in. Mardi Gras had been in February that year, but it was still busy end of March with tourists and people coming in for the parades and events they had scheduled for the weekend and following week. The hotel was no exception. I waited almost fifteen minutes before I was able to approach the counter.
“Good afternoon,” the woman said. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. Name is Remington Barnett.”
Her nails clicked on the keys, and then her brow furrowed. “Sorry, hon, but I’m not seeing you in the computer.”
“Huh? I booked the room a few days ago.”
She looked again, then asked me to show her the card I made the reservation with. When that didn’t work, I had to search my emails for the confirmation code. But I didn’t see one. I had never gotten an email.
“Sometimes, when you book through third-party sites, things like that happen,” she said.
My anxiety was climbing, but I worked on keeping it at bay. No sense in freaking out just yet. “Can I book another room, then? I’ll take whatever you have available.”
“Sorry, Mr. Barnett, but we’re at capacity. All rooms are reserved. Busy weekend with the parade this afternoon.”
With a line of people behind me, I couldn’t stand there and argue all day. I stepped aside and pulled out my phone to see about making a reservation somewhere else. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a chair in the lobby and barely keeping myself from having a full-blown panic attack.
Every hotel I called had no vacancy. Even the super-cheap, shitty motels. I was sure the expensive hotels had a room, but there was no way I could afford those. My budget didn’t allow for it. And it’d be a cold day in hell before I called my dad and asked for money.
There I was in a place I’d never been—alone—with nowhere to go.
Maybe I should go home.
