Page 70 of My Always One

My focus moves from the building to Marshal. “I like you with me.”

“Convenient. Now, let’s go so you can wipe this turd from your wooden shoes.”

“You really want to walk around the city and riverfront?”

“I do.”

I reach for the door handle. “Follow me.”

The thing I know about Marshal is that I never have to ask him twice or wonder if he has my back because he always does. We reach the outside door as a man I don’t recognize exits with a nod, allowing us access inside the building without a key.

“That was lucky,” I say as we face the staircase to the second floor.

“I had it all planned.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The higher we climb, the more I question my sanity. If this were only about me, I’d walk away and let Jackson enjoy his kink even if it’s wrong, but it isn’t only about me. I see my mom’s face as she showed me the stupid invoice and hear her tone as she fretted about finding the money to pay Jackson.

Cash out their retirement.

Hell no.

By the time we reach the top of the stairs, my shoulders are square and my neck is straight and tall. I turn to the door to room 7, Feliena’s Room, and knock.

“Just a minute,” a woman’s voice calls.

I don’t recognize the voice. I look at Marshal as we both shrug.

The doorknob turns and the door moves inward.

Ellen’s eyes open wide with recognition.

“Ellen.”

She pushes on the door, but Marshal is too fast, blocking the jamb and holding the edge of the door. “Hello,” he says. “I believe we met at The Rooftop bar.”

“Where is Jack?” I ask.

“He...he...” She resigns herself to the fact that the door won’t close as she steps back and wraps her arms around her stomach. “He went to get ice.”

“I’m not going to ask,” I say, “if we can come in. We are.”

“Samantha” —she begins as Marshal and I enter the room— “I don’t know what to say.”

I turn and face her. Thankfully, she’s clothed, wearing a pair of tan slacks and a bright orange halter top with a high neck.

“I understand your dilemma. After all, a speech that includesI’m sorry I fucked your fiancé in your bed three weeks before your weddingprobably requires some rehearsal. Don’t bother.”

Marshal taps my arm. When I turn, I follow his line of vision and I see it. If I didn’t know better, and when I didn’t know better, I thought the object in the corner of the ceiling was a sprinkler head. Now I know better.

“What?” Ellen asks.

“I was going to wait for Jack,” I say, lowering my voice, “but there’s no harm in you knowing what I didn’t.” I don’t wait for Ellen to respond. “See that sprinkler head?” I point upward. “It’s a camera.”

Her eyes widen and her lips form an “O.”

“Yes, it recently came to my attention that my ex-fiancé has a thing for photographs.”

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