Page 11 of Promise Me This

I brace myself on the porcelain pedestal sink, catching sight of my wild gaze in the mirror. Sweat slicks locks of my dark hair to my temples where they’ve fallen from my haphazard bun. I untangle the elastic band and drop it on the floor, followed by my damp pajama shirt and shorts. They pool on the chilled tile around my feet, and I keep my gaze trained on them so I don’t have to see my naked body in the mirror. The sickly olive-toned skin, the too-frail arms, the silver stretch marks that still form parentheses around my navel as a reminder that it was once Poppy’s home. The only one she ever knew earthside.

I turn to the glass-enclosed electric shower in the corner and crank the dial all the way up before powering it on. Steam glazes over the mirror steadily until I’m safe from my own reflection and all the reminders it contains of the dream I can’t seem to shake.

Precious heat melts the tension in my shoulders when I step into the shower at last. Luckily there are travel-size soaps lining the shelf, since I’ve left mine buried in my still-packed suitcase upstairs. I take one and unwrap it, lathering it in my fist before wiping away the dried tearstains on my cheeks and the slick sweat from my weary body. With my eyes closed, I can nearly pretend I haven’t made the grave mistake of coming here, thinking I could…

Thinking I could what? What was I hoping to achieve? For the first time since coming up with this harebrained plan, the reality of what I’ve done crashes down on me. I am the captain of a sinking ship, and I just untethered myself from the only dock keeping me afloat, thinking I could sail across the ocean to patch my holes.

I shut the water off but leave my eyes closed, sucking in breath after measured breath, hoping more oxygen is what my brain needs to finally kick into gear and figure out how to fix this.

The doorknob jiggles, startling me out of my trance. It’s quickly followed by a knock.

I glance around, suddenly hit with the realization that I’ve forgotten to bring two crucial supplies with me: clean clothes and a towel.

The impatient person knocks again before trying the knob once more, as if my silence has made them question their own assuredness of it being locked. It still is; thank God for that.

“Someone’s in here.” My pathetic voice sounds foreign to me. In my thirty-two years on this earth, I’ve never figured out the right thing to say when letting someone know I’m occupying a public bathroom. Everything I’ve come up with sounds equally awkward.

Quiet falls on the other side of the door, and though the person is no longer knocking, I don’t hear their footsteps retreat either. After a long pause spent holding my breath, I hear a low voice that freezes every shivering muscle in place.

“Leo?”

Oh. My. God. “Callum?”

I’m sopping wet and getting colder by the minute, but high-voltage shocks of embarrassment run down my spine, doing their best to warm me.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is forcibly empty of any emotion. Against my better judgment, I’m filled with the longing to see his face, to know what feelings he’s suppressing. He may be good at speaking with a level head after years spent training under his uncle, but I’ve always been able to read the truth in his eyes, and right now I’m desperate for it. Even if the truth is that he hates me.

“I’m, erm, showering.” I glance at the pile of sweat-soaked pajamas on the floor, realizing they’re my only option. A thin white T-shirt and cotton shorts. I slip one damp foot into the bottoms.

“The shower isn’t running,” he states matter-of-factly.

“I know. I’m done now.” My shorts are on, grossly laminating my skin.

He rattles the doorknob again impatiently. “Can you come out then?”

“One moment.” I grimace, slipping the shirt over my dripping hair. I can feel the fabric clinging to my wet body, just like on my walk home yesterday, and the déjà vu is astounding. Not to mention incredibly unpleasant. “Okay.”

I pull the door open to see a red-faced Callum with one fist raised, ready to knock again. Our eyes meet momentarily before his gaze travels down my body, halting on my chest. If it’s possible, his face grows even redder.

I follow his gaze, realizing the fabric has been made see-through by my damp state. Fantastic.

Crossing my arms over my breasts, I train my gaze on our feet, unable to face him. “I forgot a towel.”

“I see that,” he chokes out before catching himself and clearing his throat. “Now what in the hell are you doing here?”

It’s the third time he’s asked me since the moment I stood at his doorstep, and I’m no closer to having an answer than I was in that moment. I’m floundering, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, when Siobhan ascends the stairs with a stack of towels in hand.

“Leona! I forgot to bring you a towel.” She steps around the tall, broad wall that is Callum, her mouth and eyes forming identical O’s when she takes in my drowned-rat appearance. “Oh my.”

I take the towel she’s offering to me, avoiding eye contact with Callum all the while. He turns to Siobhan, mouth set in a grim line. “Mam, why is she here?”

Mam. Fantastic. If this trip went any further south, I’d be standing in Antarctica.

Siobhan glances back and forth between the two of us as I do my best to dry my water-logged tendrils and still use my elbows to cover my chest. An expression of realization that seems a little overdone dawns on her face. “Oh, is this the American girl?”

I chance a peek at Callum’s face, finding barely suppressed rage lacing the twitching muscles in his jaw. Nerves form a knot in my throat that I nearly choke on.

“I tell you Leo has shown up out of nowhere and then a random American woman comes to check in and you’re telling me you’re just now connecting those glaringly obvious dots?” His voice pitches higher, threatening to become a full-blown yell. My gaze travels to the other doors down the hall, worrying he’ll draw more guests to this unfortunate gathering.

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