Page 39 of Truth or More Truth
He continues, “Deer … in the headlights. It’s a … real thing.”
OK, that was a complete sentence. He’s coming back to me.
The car interior suddenly lights up, and it takes a second for me to register another car has come around the corner behind us and is quickly approaching. I tense, hoping it sees we’re at a stop, because half of our car is still in the road. As I reach over and press the hazard light button, I briefly hope it’s Diego, Randall, and Wendy coming upon us, but then I remember they left before we did. Thankfully, the vehicle slows down, but it veers around us instead of stopping, honking as it passes.
“Bobby,” I say, concerned that he didn’t even flinch when the car passed or honked, “we can talk about what happened later, but do you think you can drive? Can you get us to the next driveway or a turnoff or something, so we can get off the road? I don’t want us to get hit.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything as he shifts the car back into gear and pulls onto the road. We ride in silence for a mile or two before a mailbox appears up ahead on the right. Bobby pulls into the gravel driveway, shifts into park, and kills the engine. Again, he stares straight ahead, but his hands aren’t wrapped quite as tightly around the wheel.
I release both of our seatbelts, and without thinking too much about what I’m doing, I scoot on top of the emergency brake between the seats and wrap my arms around his neck. He’s still tense, so I press his head onto my shoulder.
“Bobby,” I whisper against his forehead. “We’re OK. We’re OK.” I repeat the words until the tension starts to leave his body and he relaxes into me.
Then his arms slip around me, and I’m being shifted until I’m sitting sideways on his lap, my legs draped onto the passenger seat. He squeezes me so tightly I can barely breathe, though not because my lungs are crushed. It’s because he’s so strong and solid. I give my head a little shake. I need to focus on the man attached to the strong arms because while he might be more than OK physically, something’s clearly wrong.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He shakes his head no. I want to press him, but there’ll be time to do that later.
“Do you want me to drive us the rest of the way to the hotel?”
He nods yes but doesn’t loosen his grip on me.
“You’re going to have to let go of me for that to happen,” I explain gently.
He finally releases me, and a minute later, we’re back on the road with me in the driver’s seat. Since he doesn’t want to talk, I turn the radio on low so we’re not driving in complete silence.
When we arrive at the hotel, he holds my hand as we walk inside, and I don’t ask any questions. We get to my room, which is a few doors before his, and when we stop, he turns me to face him.
It takes him a few seconds to meet my eyes, and then he takes a deep breath and asks, “Can I come in? Stay with you?” He takes another deep breath. “Not to … you know, but … I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be. I promise I’ll explain, but … not tonight. You have two beds?”
I nod as I search his eyes, hoping to find some answers to what’s tormenting him, but I don’t know him well enough to read him yet. “Yes, there are two beds, and yes, you can stay here. Want me to go with you to grab your stuff from your room?”
He shakes his head. “No. Thanks.”
Then he shocks me by cradling my face in his hands and pressing a kiss to my forehead before turning and making his waydown the hall to his room. I watch until he disappears through the doorway. Then I slump against my own door for a few moments before digging into my purse for my room key.
What in the world is happening?
sixteen
. . .
What am I doing?
I drop onto my hotel bed and flop backward with my arms spread wide. Why did I ask Melissa if I could stay the night? I mean, I know why I don’t want to be alone, but I’m alone most nights of my life—mostly because I don’t want anyone to see me like this, though it hasn’t happened in a long time. Why do I feel comfortable enough with Melissa to be able to ask if I can stay with her? What is it about her? And what was I thinking pulling her onto my lap and then later kissing her—even if it was just a peck on the forehead?
Instead of trying to figure it out, I get back up and change into gym shorts and a T-shirt. Then I brush my teeth, grab my room key, and head back down to Melissa’s room before I can talk myself out of it. Staying with her isn’t a great idea, but the thought of spending the night alone makes my heart race, and not in a good way.
I knock lightly and look up and down the hallway, hoping no other wedding guests see me. I’m confident Randall and Wendy are holed up in their room until morning, but who knows what Diego is up to, and a few of Leslie’s family members that were at the rehearsal are staying here. I doubt virtual strangers would say anything to me about what I’m doing, but they might saysomething to Ash or Leslie, and I don’t want them to know about this. The last thing they need right now is to worry about me.
Melissa opens the door, and my breath catches in my throat. She’s wearing quite a bit less than she was last night, probably because it’s not twenty-five degrees in this hotel. When I asked to stay with her, I pictured her in the same baggy sweatshirt and flannel pants from last night, not tiny shorts and a T-shirt.
“I …,” I run my fingers through my hair, “… this isn’t …,” I turn to head back to my room, because this is the worst idea I’ve had in a long time.
Melissa stops me with a hand on my arm. “Bobby, it’s fine. Come in. We did this before, and we can do it again. Please stay.”
I turn to look at her, hoping I won’t find pity in her gaze. Instead, I see care and compassion.
