Page 171 of Bridesmaid for Hire
Making myself known.
This just feels like a giant step backward.
No, not a step back, but a push back, like Brody held out his version of a stiff-arm and told me to sit the fuck down.
Devastation rocks through me, and it’s harder and harder to breathe. The more I look at him, the more the betrayal rocks through me. I can’t stay here. I can’t be here. I can’t be near him.
That’s all it takes for me to make a very quick decision.
I strip out of the robe and toss it on the chair in the corner.
I need to get out of here.
And there is only one place I think I can go.
My suitcase is fully packed, and I wheel it the last few feet to the bungalow that I’m praying is the right one.
Normally, I would have taken my time packing up my things. I would have made sure to tuck everything neatly in their respective cases, but the longer I stayed in my bungalow, the sicker I felt. So, I shoved everything in my suitcase and used one of the hotel laundry bags for all of my cosmetics and toiletries. I can organize later.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand and knock on the bungalow door.
Nervously, I move back and forth on my feet, trying not to burst into tears.
Please open up. Please open up.
It takes a few seconds, but I hear the door unlock, and then open, revealing a shirtless Hardy, wearing only a pair of shorts. When he gets a look at me, his brow creases. “Everything okay?”
I take a deep breath. “Hardy, I can’t have you ask questions—I just need to know if you have a pull-out couch in your bungalow, and if you do, can I sleep on it?”
He pushes the door farther open. “I do. It’s yours if you want it.”
“Thank you,” I say and as I step inside, he takes take my luggage and wheels it in.
Thankfully, his bungalow is split into two rooms—the living space and the bedroom. The TV is on in the bedroom, some sitcom rerun with canned laughter that feels so empty.
When he shuts the door, he asks, “If this is about Brody and what happened—”
I hold my hand up. “Please, don’t make excuses for him and please don’t ask. I just…I just want to get through tomorrow for your sister and then go home. Okay?”
He nods. “I can ask the hotel staff for another room for you tomorrow. Not sure if there’s anything available.”
“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to put you out. And I can put it on my card.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Maggie. We can take care of you.”
“Thank you,” I say as I feel tears start to spring to my eyes. I turn away from and inwardly swear at myself to pull it together.
I feel him take a step closer, but never close enough to touch me. He knows his boundaries—you have to respect him for that.
“Maggie, if you want to talk about it…”
“I don’t.” I shake my head. “I just want to go to bed, be there for your sister, and leave.”
When I look up at him, I catch the worry in his brow. I wonder if he’ll question me or if he’ll listen to my wishes. After a few seconds of contemplation, he finally says, “Okay, let’s get your bed set up.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BRODY
