Page 29 of The Promises We Break

14

EMBER

We pull into the parking lot of a very luxurious hotel, right into the valet area in the front of the lobby. My heartbeat is finally back to normal after stopping atmyhotel. Well, my hotel that I’m never going to stay at. Ever.

I can’t imagine walking to and from the bus or train station everyday for the next two weeks in a place like that. I know I’m not well versed in travel, but it doesn’t take a genius to spot a perilous situation like that one. It was immediately clear, no tourists were safe there.

Now I understand why Hudson was so forceful when I first told him where I was staying. I was angry with him at first, putting him in the same category as my brothers and parents, always preventing me from doing anything I wanted to do. But his reaction makes complete sense now.

He exits the car as I reach for the straps of my purse. I’m still a little jarred from the sight of the hooded guy with the crazy eyes, as my door opens and Hudson holds his hand out.

He’s truly a gentleman, and I have no idea what I wouldhave done if I would have Ubered to my hotel tonight. I step out of the truck and reach for my oversized suitcases that have the handles up and ready. He pushes my hand away, grabbing both, pulling them behind him without giving me a second thought.

“Hey, I can take a bag. Give me a bag.” I keep pushing because I hate when people do things for me.

He stops, pulling the suitcases to an upright position, then concedes.

“Fine. But we’re trading.” I squint, unsure of what he means exactly. What is he going to do, carry my purse? But he steps aside so I can grip the handle of one bag, takes a step forward, then holds his now free hand behind his body, blindly searching for mine.

I roll my eyes, shake my head with a smile, then slide my free hand into his.

As we walk into the lobby, which is all marble, glass, and absolutely gorgeous, he steers us directly toward the elevators. We step inside the doors, which are already open and waiting. He slips a magnetic card from his wallet, pressing it to the reader and pressing the twentieth floor.

The top floor.

“You must make a good living playing in the minor leagues?” I smile at him, tipping my chin at the floor panel.

He purses his lips, and a brief expression of sadness crosses his face. “My brothers and I inherited some money when my grandfather passed away. It’s the only reason I’ve been able to support myself while keeping my focus on my baseball. He was my biggest supporter my whole life. Physically, when he was still living, and even now by how he set up our inheritance. If it wasn’t for him, I would be on a totally different path.”

“I’m so sorry.” I was not expecting that response at all. I figured he really did make a decent living as a baseball player, but I have no idea what the minor league would typically pay out to their players.

We ride the rest of the way up in silence, as his thumb caresses the top of my hand, making a circular motion that oddly comforts me, him too, I think.

We finally make it to his suite, and when the door opens, I’m in shock. It’s beautiful. A large, open, expansive living area with couches that overlook a large floor to ceiling window, and a small modern kitchen on one side. The other side is adorned with two french doors, leading into one large room. With one large bed.

“Is this your room?” I ask.

“Our room, little red. Our room.” His answer is as factual as that view is beautiful.

“I can sleep on the couch.” My reply is just as certain. I may have asked to stay here for safety reasons, but I’m not about to burden him and take half his bed.

He huffs something inaudible and shakes his head.

“It’s only for tonight. The condo will be ready to move into tomorrow. It’s fully furnished, so you’ll just need your personal stuff.” He’s rolling my suitcases into his room, clearly deciding they belong there.

“I can find another place by tomorrow,” I say, putting my purse down on the coffee table between the couches.

He stops. Like a dead stop. His head dips down, like he is staring intently at his shoes.

He turns, taking two large purposeful steps toward me, crowding me instantly. Cinnamon and woodsy spice overwhelm my senses as he stands directly in front of me. Lifting my chin to look up at him, his dark chocolate eyes sear into my green ones. It’s so intense, I feel the need to look away.

His grip on my chin stays firm, disabling that thought.

“Stop running from me.” He tilts his head to find my wandering eyes.

“This is simple. We are simple. Let this happen, Ember.” His statement is a plea.

A fucking terrifying plea. I have no idea how to let this happen without allowing it to break me. He could break me.

---