Page 668 of Rock Me All Night
His eyes fill with frustration. "I want to come with you."
"Please don't make me say it again. It was pathetic enough the first two times."
"It wasn't pathetic. It was brave." He goes for one of the bobby pins holding together my updo.
Dammit, how can he say things like that, like he admires me for telling him I love him? I can't breathe. I can't think. Every part of me hurts. I don't know which is worse—my dad in the hospital or Pete admiring me for confessing my feelings.
"Please stop touching me. I need to get my shit together. And I can't do it if you're touching me, if the only thing I can think about is how much I wish things were different between us."
He sighs but he does shift back. "How long will it take you to pack?"
"Half hour."
"Do it. I'll book your flight."
I nod, but I make a long stopover in the bathroom to unpin my hair and wash the makeup off my face.
Pete takes charge. He sits me down on the bed, has me drink a glass of water. Then there's a snack in my hands and he's telling me to eat.
Then he's unzipping my dress, sliding it down my body.
"Try to sleep," he whispers. "First available flight is four hours from now."
He helps me out of my clothes and into my pajamas. This isn't how I want him undressing me. But it still feels nice, his hands on my body.
He presses his lips to my forehead.
I want to ask him to join me. I want his arms around me, his voice in my ear, him convincing me it's going to be okay.
But only if it's what he wants.
He's not a gentleman. If he wants me, he'll get into this bed with me, hold my body against his.
I pull the covers over my head, press my eyelids together, and fall asleep alone.
* * *
Iwaketo the smell of coffee and Pete's hands on my shoulders. It feels good and awful at the same time, him touching me.
"Too early for room service," he says. "I'll give you cash to get something at the airport."
I nod. Judging from the still dark sky, it's too early for any reasonable activities.
The room is totally stripped. Everything is packed. But the miserable look on his face tells me he hasn't changed his mind about coming with me. About loving me.
I let him lead the way through the lobby, into a cab, to the airport. He keeps his distance in the backseat. It's too much distance. I hate every inch we're apart.
He helps me out of the cab, helps me with my suitcase. Then we're at the self-checkout, he's printing out my boarding pass. First class. Nonstop. That ticket must have cost a fortune.
"I'll pay you back somehow," I say.
"Not a chance." His hand lingers on my shoulder. His eyes meet mine. "Are you sure?"
"About?"
"That you want to go alone?"
"Pete, you've already told me how it is. You fight for what you want. You're not fighting. You don't have to spell it out."
