Page 24 of One More Heartbeat
To avoid the risk of that, I walk to the hotel café and the small gift shop in case Athena and Peony are there. They aren’t. I dial the hotel’s number and request the call be transferred to their room.
“One moment, please,” the woman on the other end of the line says.
The phone rings three times, then a tentative voice answers, “Hello?”
“Hi, Athena. It’s Garrett. Just checking if you need anything. I’m in the lobby.”
“You wanna come up and see your daughter?” Athena’s voice is less tentative this time, more hopeful.
“Sure. I’ll be right there.” I would run up the stairs to burn off the restlessness, but I need a key card to get into the staircase. I didn’t think of that yesterday when I checked them into their room.
I walk to the elevator as I type a text for Kellan.
Me: Need to cancel run. Heading out of town for a few hours. Back later.
I pressed the elevator button. Dots pop up on my phone, indicating Kellan is replying to my text.
Kellan: Does this have to do with your unexpected news yesterday?
Me: Yes.
I leave it at that. Kellan won’t push for more information. And I’m not interested in sharing the truth about my plans.
Me: I’m at the hotel, checking on Peony and Athena first.
Me: Will let Mom and Dad know what’s going on once I get back.
They need to find out from me before I tell anyone else—other than Clarke. And they need to hear it from me before the news of Peony becomes local gossip.
Me: And will let Lucas and Troy and the others know tonight. Please don’t mention Peony and Athena to anyone until then.
The elevator door pings open. I step inside and push the button for the third floor.
Kellan: I won’t say anything.
I knew he wouldn’t, but I had to say it for my own peace of mind.
I tuck my phone into my jeans pocket and pace the small confines ofthe elevator. It ambles its way to the third floor, in no particular rush to get there.
I’m not sure what I plan to do when I get to the room. I’m not used to interacting with kids Peony’s age. My child-related experience is mostly with older kids, like the ones I play street hockey with. Older kids are less scary than their smaller counterparts.
The elevator door opens, and I walk along the corridor toward Athena and Peony’s room. The risk of changing my mind and fleeing—or of someone recognizing me—quickens my pace. I knock on their door.
The door slowly opens, and Athena waves me in. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday, the light pink T-shirt slightly more wrinkled than it was last night.
The room is decent-sized, with a king-sized bed and plenty of room for a toddler to move around. There’s also a love seat and coffee table, but nothing to keep a toddler busy. Unless climbing on the furniture and hiding behind the curtains is all a toddler needs to be happy.
“Ni-na.” A tiny voice calls out from the playpen in the corner of the room. Small fingers and a head poke up. Peony’s hair isn’t tied up this time. Her textured curls resemble her mother’s while we were dating. My heart tightens at how she looks so much like Kenda.
I swallow the heartache and focus on the name Peony just used. “Nina?”
“She has trouble saying Athena, so it comes out sounding like Nina.” Athena walks to Peony and picks her up.
Peony’s wearing what looks like the same jeans as she had on yesterday but paired with a different T-shirt. This one is bright-pink with white polka dots.
Peony points at the playpen. “Poppy.”
“I’ll get that,” I tell them. Athena’s arms are full with Peony, making it awkward for her to reach down and grab the stuffed panda.
