Page 13 of Snowed In

The Room I Paid For

Crea Reitan

Chapter One

Gabe Zanderman

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss into the phone.

“Sorry, man.”

“Sorry,” I repeat in a mocking tone. Disgusted, I hang up on Jason. Fucker. Irritated and maybe slightly sick to my stomach, I look around the busy terminal. I’m still standing outside, waiting for fucking Jason, who had a sudden change of heart.

It’s cold—as it gets in Ohio right before Christmas—and the air fogs around me with every furious exhale.

My anger simmers while my mind races. What to do. What am I supposed to do? Glancing at my phone, my hands grip it tightly. I know what I want to do, but he doesn’t want it back. He found the guy he’s been looking for. Or guys, as it were.

Shaking my head, I force Roux from my mind. It’s not like he wasn’t completely honest with me from the beginning. And repeatedly thereafter. I’d just had it in my head that I could make him fall in love with me. That I could show him I’d give him everything that his heart desires. I’d erase all those bad memories and cherish him—love him like he deserves.

I was naïve and blind. Roux just wanted a distraction.

“Stop,” I hiss to myself and turn to go inside. I’m fucking cold. My bag is already checked, since I’d been waiting for fucking Jason for an hour before I decided to call. Now my options are simple—go home where I’d have to admit that some asshole stood me up and spend the holiday break with my family giving me pitying looks. Or go anyway.

In the end, I decide to go anyway. One, it’s the simpler option. I don’t have to be concerned with the higher probability of my luggage getting lost in the switch. Or fight to switch my flight. And I don’t have to pathetically face my family. I’d also have to admit that I was blowing off family holiday tradition with someone I didn’t even like.

Yeah, that would come out. But he reminded me of Roux. Well, in appearance. Otherwise, he was nothing like Roux. For one minute—uh… ten days—I was going to pretend my world was perfect. I was going to spoil this stupid fuck as if he were Roux as a way to show myself that I would have made Roux happy.

I would have.

I tried to.

My shoulders fall. I can’t keep thinking about him. This is ridiculous. I won’t pine after a man that was never going to be mine!

Setting my shoulders and straightening my spine, I head for the TSA. I’m in the shorter line since I have pre-check so it doesn’t take long to get through. It also doesn’t take me long to find the gate where my flight to the mountainous resort will depart from.

It’s a small flight, so there isn’t any business class seating. Somehow, I still paid $300 more to sit in a seat close to the front with three inches more space. $100/inch. This is the way to do business.

Putting on my headphones, I turn on streaming and lose myself in some violent movies. Anything pleasant is only going to make me sad. Blood and gore should have the opposite effect; as long as there’s no love story.

It’s always amusing to me that screenwriters add a random love story into an otherwise male-focused production. As if that little plot bunny—which is usually very obviously an afterthought and not verywell worked out—is going to attract a larger female audience. Yeah, no.

The flight feels longer than it is, like I’m never going to get there. The empty seat next to me just reminds me that this is bullshit. It’s a glaring reminder that I planned a romantic holiday getaway with someone I didn’t like and who clearly didn’t give a shit about me, either.

Whatever better offer came up best be epic.

I stare out the window as the snow falls. We’re flying above most of the clouds, but below us we can see a storm brewing around the mountain. I bet they’re going to start canceling flights soon.

Touchdown is a little rough, keeping my heart in my throat the entire time. I white-knuckle the armrests as if they could keep me safe if I just tightened my grip. I’m nearly gasping by the time the plane comes to a slow crawl.

Fuck. Flying is never my favorite way to travel, but Jesus, it sucks during anything other than immaculate weather. We sit on the tarmac for a few minutes and then we’re taxied to our gate.

The frigid breeze reaches in and grips my balls through the small gaps between the plane and the air bridge. And here I thought it was cold in Columbus. Karma telling me I should have been thankful for the weather I was leaving.

The luggage carousel is already moving by the time I get to baggage claim. A small blessing, but one, nonetheless. Mine is bright orange, so it’s easy to spot. Ironic since I hate orange, but after doing some research, it’s a loud color that very few people choose when purchasing luggage. Therefore, it would be easy to spot, harder to steal, and I’d never lose that fucker.

Maybe karma thought I had had enough bullshit today and is also making up for the snub from Jason by having my shuttle already here, too. That’s where karma’s done, though. The drive is horrible and I’m pretty sure I lose eight years of my life from the terror of traveling the slippery roads. I’m prepared to tip the driver a fuck ton because I’m quite confident on more than one occasion it was his skill and calmalone that allowed our shuttle to make it to the retreat without us all dying.

I’m one of ten on the shuttle. A family of three and then three couples. Yeah, they were fun to watch.

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