Something flickers in Kasen's eyes—hurt, maybe?—but then I blink and his usual scowl’s still in place, so I think it must’vebeen a hangover-induced hallucination. Stupid me, he doesn’t have human emotions. "Feeling's mutual, Pink."
I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. Why the hell don’t I want to go?
"This is dumb," I mutter, more to myself than to him.
"What?"
I straighten my shoulders and despite the smeared makeup and the fact I can literallystill feel him inside of me,I give him my bitchy professional smile. "Nothing. Let's never do this again."
I don't wait for his response, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind me.
Holy crap.
Did that just happen?
I can’t believe I married Kasen James.
The flight back to Portland is excruciating.
My hangover has evolved from "just let me die" to "functional zombie" territory, but the persistent throbbing behind my eyes makes it impossible to get anything done. Instead, I pop a Dramamine and spend the flight with my sunglasses and headphones on doing my best not to interact with anybody.
I stare out the window at the clouds, trying and failing not to think about Kasen.
We managed to avoid each other for the rest of the convention, though I caught glimpses of him. He’s tall, and it makes him easy to spot even in a crowded room. He had that stupid beanie back on his head and his signature flannel stretched across his muscles. Every time our eyes met, a shock of something uncomfortable passed through me, and we both looked away.
Good to know he couldn’t help looking at me too, though.
I spin the wedding band on my finger. I still don’t understand why I haven’t taken it off. Ishouldtake it off. Now. Immediately. This stupid ring represents the biggest mistake of my life. But for some reason, my fingers won't cooperate.
I’ve tried to come up with a reason why, but I’ve got nothing. I guess I like how it feels there even if I can’t stand the man who put it on my finger.
For fuck's sake. This is ridiculous. I'll deal with it when I'm back in Portland, where I can lock away this gold band and the entire Vegas disaster along with it.
Until then, I’m in the business of doing anything and everything that feels good and comfortable. So the ring stays.
Just until I get home.
"More water, ma'am?" The flight attendant's question startles me.
"Um, yes. Please." My voice is wrecked. I didn’t notice it this morning, what with all the life-changing discoveries and brutal hangover, and now I’m wondering if it’s because I was up all night screaming.
In the best and also horrifyingly worst way.
When she moves on, I slouch in my seat and try to forget everything that happened over the last forty-eight hours. I must doze off, because the next thing I know, the captain’s announcing our descent.
I press my forehead against the cool window. The sky’s gray and rainy as we come down through the clouds, and I love it. The good ol’ Pacific Northwest gloom. It feels like home.
It feels like what happened in Sin City was just some sort of fever dream and I’m waking up back in reality.
Twenty minutes after landing, I'm standing at baggage claim watching the same three suitcases circle the carousel. Not one of them’s mine.
This is what I get for being an over-packer and having to check a bag.
My phone vibrates in my hand just as I’m taking it off airplane mode.
Kieran: Where are you?
Kieran: The MacIntyre meeting’s in 45.
