Page 53 of Stolen Hearts
Before I know it, my legs are carrying me down the hallway toward the reception desk. I lean on the counter and stare into Amara’s dark-brown eyes. Her umber skin is smooth and shimmering, no doubt a result of the lotion bottle beside her.
“Do you have my manager or publicist’s numbers on file?”
“You’re up late.” Her eyebrows rise as she continues tapping on the keyboard.
The hands on the clock behind her show it’s almost midnight.
“Popstar hours,” I shrug.
“I have a number for a Carla, Rob, Paul, and a Connie.” She squints at the screen.
A smile rises on my face. My hopes lift for the first time in weeks.
“Can you give me Paul and Connie’s please.”
I grab the pen from the counter and note them down on the palm of my hand as she reads them out.
“Anything else?” She tilts her head sideways when I drop the pen back down.
“Where’s the payphone again?” I ask, scanning the foyer as I try to locate it.
“Can I give you a little advice, sugar? I think you’re probably best waiting till the morning.” She lowers her chin as her brows draw together.
“Noted,” I nod in acknowledgment. “Night.”
I head back to my room, looking down at my palm. Paul and Connie are probably asleep now anyway, and this can wait until tomorrow. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.
Friday
With a handful of quarters and my notebook in hand, I impatiently wait for another patient to finish their call. I tap my foot repeatedly on the floor as I listen to her banal conversation about her kids.
I glance at my watch every time she looks my way. Frustration rises in my chest with every additional minute that passes. I fight the urge to reach out and hang up the phone on her.
My parents and brother are due back in thirty minutes, and the longer she takes, the less time I’ll have to learn how much of a shitstorm I’m dealing with. How much stands in the way of redemption.
“Come on,” I say when a staffer passes, my arm outstretched toward the other patient.
“Wrap it up, Chastity,” the staff member says, nodding at me.
If only she had a chastity belt wrapped around her mouth.
She goes on for an extra minute before slamming the phone down and giving me a side-eye as she walks away. I flash her a fuck-off smile in return.
I pick up the phone, slide in half a dozen quarters, then open my notebook and dial Paul’s number. Every muscle in my body tightens as I press the last digit.
I breathe a sigh of relief when he answers on the second ring.
“It’s me, Alex.”
“Everything okay?” Paul’s tone is hurried.
It isn’t. Nothing is okay, but for now I need to get to the point. I flick back a couple of pages in my notebook, trying to read my barely legible writing.
“Yeah. I just wanted to start thinking about what I need to do when I get out.”
“Okay…” The hesitation in Paul’s voice lingers.
I need to rip the Band-Aid off.
