Page 49 of Dear Roomie
“No. I-I didn’t bring them with me.” My eyes fall to my lap.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want anyone to see them.” I hate showing this weakness to others, and now everybody knows just how broken I am.Fuck. With any luck, they will think this was a one-off. Tanner’s actions were bad enough to warrant it.
“Where are we going?”
Thankfully, he lets the subject drop, but there’s a hit of disapproval written on his face.
“We decided it was best to get you out of there. We are on the way to your hotel now.”
“What about Tanner?” My heart rate jumps again. “I-I don’t want to see him tonight. I can’t. I-I—”
“Shh, don’t worry about him.” He rubs small circles on my back. “We are going back to Chelsea and Evelyn’s room. Gage was calming Tanner down when we left, but you don’t need to worry about him tonight.”
“Okay.” The tension flees my body, and I melt against him. His arms wrap around me, holding me close. I should move to the seat beside him, but the comfort of his embrace is too enticing, so I stay like that the entire ride to the hotel.
We are both flung forward as Karis slams her foot on the brake in front of our destination. Morgan’s arms tighten around me, which keeps my face from hitting the back of the seat.
“All right, Blondie, this is your stop,” Karis says. She turns around in her seat and holds out her hand. “I take cash, credit, or firstborns as payment.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Morgan tells her, rolling his eyes. He opens the car door, and I crawl out of his protective hold.
“Call me if you need anything,” she yells as he follows me out. The car is moving before Morgan takes his first step away.
He shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath before leading me into the hotel and through the maze of identical hallways. It’s all a convoluted blur around me, and if it wasn’t for the warm fingers threaded through mine, I would get lost in the monotony of it all. Those tiny sparks of tingling heat are my lifeline, keeping me grounded until we stop in front of the room that must be the girls’. He fishes the borrowed key card out of his pocket and opens the door.
The room is generic—nothing more than two beds and a midsized TV. The only thing that sets it apart from any other hotel room is the art on the walls having a vaguely beachy theme. The door swings closed behind us with a resoundingclick, and he drops my hand. He peers around the room, looking at everything but my face. With a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair and tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. Blood pools as the barely healed cut reopens under the tension and drips down his chin in a steady stream.
“Morgan, your face…”
He tries to palm away the blood but only succeeds in smearing it across his face.
“Crap,” he mutters, gazing at the fresh red streaks on his hands. He goes into the bathroom, inspecting the damage in the mirror, and I follow him.
“Let me look.” I nudge him to sit on the closed toilet seat, and I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu; it wasn’t too many months ago we were strangers in the same position. If someone had told me then that the random person I found online to be my roommate would weasel his way past my walls so quickly, I would have laughed in their face, but in only three months, he has done exactly that. This man has carved out a place in my heart for himself as my friend, my defender, and under different circumstances, maybe something more. I shake my head, trying to fling that thought from existence. There is no use dwelling on what-ifs.
“We don’t have a first aid kit here, but at least let me clean it up,” I tell him, kneeling to inspect the small wound. Seeing it makes my throat tighten. It’s my fault he got hurt, being it was my boyfriend who acted like a fuckingNeanderthal. As an array of emotions slams into my chest, I wet a washcloth and use it to clean the blood from his chin—it’s the least I can do to make up for what happened.
“You don’t have to—” he starts to say, pulling away from my touch.
“Please, let me do this,” I cut him off with a plea. He nods, and I continue my work, moving from his face to his hands. “I’m really fucking sorry he did this.”
“It’s not your fault,” he reassures me, but the words do nothing to soothe the gnawing guilt. “Tanner should be the one apologizing. He’s the jerk who sucker punched me.”
“This isn’t like him. He would normally never do something like this.” I rush to his defense on instinct, but the words feel wrong, causing my gut to twist. My mind flashes to all the moments over the past few months where I’ve thought the same thing. A bitter laugh bubbles past my lips; maybe I don’t know him at all anymore.
“Actually, fuck that. I’m done making excuses for him. He hasn’t been the man I grew up with for a while now. I think he was high. A baggie of cocaine fell out of his pocket before you walked up. Drugs are a hard limit for me. He knows this, but he did it anyway.” My voice cracks as the competing emotions war within me. I didn’t know it was possible to be this sad, angry, and guilty all at once.
“Are you okay?” Morgan catches my hand between his, stilling the mindless wiping. He stares at me, his eyes so bright that the hazel shines like gold.
“No,” I choke out. He stands, guiding me up with him, and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. I bury my face into his neck and squeeze him back, soaking in his warmth.
“What can I do to make things better?”
“Is there any way we could watch your nerd shows here?” I ask, my words muffled by the embrace. He lets out a small chuckle, and his chest vibrates, erupting chills across my skin.
“I think I can figure something out.”
