Page 53 of Their Last Resort

“I promise I won’t mess anything up.”

He’s worried I’m a liability, like I’ll go down and rearrange the furniture in the lobby too. Break all those lamps.

But then he shakes his head, his heavy gaze holding mine as realization dawns. He’s not worried about the trouble I’ll cause. He’s worried aboutme. My well-being.

“Stay here until I get back,” he implores.

And what can I do except to nod and agree?

This is the weirdest night of my life.

I can’t even sit in my feelings about how Cole is acting toward me because he’s gone and I’m still in this semidark hotel room, holding my phone and sitting on the bed, utterly useless—still wrapped in my comforter, mind you—while outside, the storm rages on.

I stay there for a minute, following Cole’s orders, and then after the eerie quiet in the room sinks in to an uncomfortable degree, I put my shoes on, find my flashlight from the survival kit the resort provided, and head out into the hall, taking care to keep the door ajar so I don’t get locked out.

Chaos has descended. Most everyone is standing in their doorway, holding a flashlight or their phone, trying to talk to their neighbors and figure out what’s going on. It’s a mixture of resort staff and guests, but no one has answers.

“Why aren’t the generators working?”

“We were told the hotel had generators!”

I’m technically breaking my promise to Cole by leaving my room, but I can’t just leave that glass on the ground. There’s a housekeeping closet on every floor, and I’m relieved to find this one unlocked. There’s a vacuum inside that should get the job done. I wheel it back to the room, ignoring any and all questions as I go, only to realize—once I get back inside the room and go to plug in the vacuum—that it requires electricity. Duh-doy. I wheel it back to the closet and swap it for a broom and dustpan. It’ll make the job ten times more difficult, but at least it’s something.

I’m actually glad for the task. I work slowly and meticulously, getting every last piece of the shattered light bulb thrown into the trash before I start to put the room back to rights. I didn’t realize how much heavy lifting I’d done before. By the time I’m finished and all the furniture is back where it belongs, I’m sweating.

By now, the air feels stale and stagnant.

I check my phone.

There’s a text from Camila asking if I’m okay. I tell her everything’s fine before I ask for an update from their room. Are the four of them all stuffed in there sweating it out?

CAMILA: It’s not great, but we’re just sitting around and talking. Lara’s telling ghost stories with a flashlight propped under her chin. Come join us. Where did you end up?

I can’t tell her where I am.

Cole’s room.

She wouldn’t believe me.

Ha ha, no, really. Where are you?she’d say.

I don’t feel like getting into it tonight, so I just tell her I found a spare room, and then I let her know that I’m turning my phone off for a while. Since it’s the end of the day, my battery is nearly drained, and I don’t want to waste it for no good reason. Especially if I don’t know how long the power will be out.

I send my parents a text, too, just in case they happen to read the news and find out what’s going on down here. I don’t want them to have to worry.

Once my phone is turned off in my lap, I feel well and truly alone.

It’s late. I could try to sleep, but I know that won’t be possible.

I can no longer ignore the fact that it’s hot as hell in here. Cole’s attempt to ice me out earlier was in vain. I take off my socks and shoes and linger in my shorts for a while before dispensing with those too. Next to go is my bra. I don’t want a single layer on my body that’s not absolutely crucial. My T-shirt and underwear will have to be enough. Besides, I don’t think Cole will be coming back in here anytime soon.

I hate that I can’t check in with him. Even if my phone were on, I don’t have his number. We’ve never exchanged them, which feels both appropriateandodd, given the circumstances. Sure, in the last year, I’ve spent more time with Cole than anyone else, but if he’d ever asked meto give him my phone number, I would have laughed in his face, and vice versa. Twenty-four-seven access to each other? Endless mayhem? Absolutely not.

I wish he’d just come back up to the room and give me a quick update, but of course, that’s not at the top of his priorities right now. There’s no telling what he’s doing. If I know him, he’s out in the downpour, assessing the generators himself.

I’m left up here to my own devices, and I’m bored. Also, a little worried.

This is embarrassing, and I would never admit it, not even under duress, but to help ease my suffering, I slide off the bed. First, I mosey down the side of it, running my finger along the sheet like I have no plan at all. I just want to see if there’s an end of the bed, and yup, it’s there. I’m putting on a show for cameras that don’t exist. It’s my way of making it seem like an accident that I’ve somehow ended up at the dresser. My hands move on their own. They open the top drawer—weird!—and pull out Cole’s T-shirt, the soft one I picked up earlier. Then the T-shirt quite literally falls onto my face. Oh my god,soannoying! I have no choice but to press it there and inhale. Cole’s scent is a morphine drip. I take the T-shirt back to the bed and hug it like a lovey.

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