Page 14 of Room 810

Decisions… would I ever make the right one?

The last time my dad called me, I had glanced at the call display and hit the red button to reject it. I was too busy to talk to my dad about his golf game or the weather or his investment portfolio. Didn’t he understand it was a workday? When he texted to tell me he wasn’t feeling well, I ignored him. I had an important meeting. Millions of dollars were on the line. I would talk to him about his arthritis or indigestion later.

Except there was no later. My dad had a heart attack and died alone. And it was all because of my bad decisions.

Maybe I should’ve stayed back at home in the States, but once my dad was gone, it no longer felt like home. Everything around me was a reminder of my guilt, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I sold my share of the company and got the hell out. I didn’t miss the pace at all, the stress, the noise. And the weather was no less unpredictable there, with tornados and blizzards, but at least I felt more in control with a snowstorm. A hurricane could easily turn fatal.

There was a great banging noise, and I huddled down into my blankets. Gods, I hoped like hell the wind didn’t bring a tree down across my roof. The banging came again, and I frowned, tilting my head to listen. It was too rhythmic to be from the storm. The third time the sound came, I crawled out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to the living room, carrying a small battery-powered lamp.

BANG! BANG! BANG!Someone was pounding at my door!

I dashed across the room, worst-case scenarios running through my head. Something bad happened, someone was hurt, someone was dead… I flung the door open, the wind nearly wrenching it out of my hands in its eagerness to force its way into my home. Rain came splattering in across my face, the awning doing nothing to block it from this angle. The total blackness of night swallowed the weak glow from my lamp, exposing only the figure on my doorstep. But it wasn’t Miguel or one of my other staff members at my door, coming to tell me about an accident or injury.

“Gabe,” I gasped out, gawping at him on my doorstep. Water was sluicing down his face and neck, his shirt soaked through and clinging to his body. He held his glasses in one hand, as though he’d given up trying to see through the fogged lenses, and in his other hand was a first-aid kit.

“A-are you okay?” he stuttered out through chattering teeth.

It snapped me out of my daze. “Of course I’m okay, but I’m not sure you are. Gods, what are you doing here? Come in!” I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside, before leaning into the door to close it against the gale.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he was shaking so badly, he couldn’t get a full sentence out. Nothing he had to say was worth hypothermia. I quickly cut him off. “It can wait until you’re warm. Hang on.” I left him there to run and grab towels.

When I came back with an armload of towels and blankets, I found him still just standing by the door, looking down at the puddle forming around his feet. “I’m s-sorry, I’m d-dripping on your floor.”

“It’s just water. It’ll dry.” I dropped the pile of towels, taking one off the top. “Here,” I said, using it to wipe his face, before draping it over his hair. This wasn’t enough to warm him up. I needed to get him out of his wet clothes.

I took his glasses and the first-aid kit from his hands and set them aside on the coffee table. “Your shirt. Take it off,” I commanded, taking control of the situation. He obeyed silently, peeling the wet fabric up his body, exposing his torso, and I did my best not to look, while in reality, I wanted nothing more than to help undress him. Shared body heat was the quickest way to keep him warm…

Swallowing down the urge, I quickly wrapped a second towel around his shoulders. His fingers were almost white where he gripped the edges of the towel together over his chest. His skin was pebbled with goosebumps, shaking in the chill.

“You really should’ve stayed indoors,” I scolded harshly, feeling a flicker of frustration that he would put himself needlessly at risk. “Didn’t I tell you that? It’s dangerous to be out in a storm like this. Something bad could’ve happened, and I can’t stand the idea of you…” I blew out a breath. “And where is your flashlight?”

He shrugged. “I dropped it.”

I growled at his stupidity. “Running around in a hurricane in the dark! Seriously! What the hell were you thinking?!”

While I lectured him, I rubbed the towel into his hair, drying and massaging. He was perfectly capable of doing this himself, but I wanted to do it for him, and I was honestly surprised he was willing to let me. The last time I saw him in the kitchen, he’d been so distant and closed off. He was stranded here in this storm because of me. I had just assumed he was still furious, and he would have every right to be.

I saw no sign of his anger now, though. In fact, as I rubbed at his hair, he closed his eyes and sighed, much like a cat enjoying a scratch. The shaking had slowed, then stopped, color returning to his skin.

I slowed my movement, suddenly realizing exactly how close we were, our bodies only inches apart. His eyes cracked open, their color picking up flecks of green in the lamplight, his gaze filled with a new kind of intensity. “I kept thinking… and I couldn’t make myself stop.”

“Thinking about what?” I asked.

“About everything that could go wrong. I’m a planner. I like schedules and routines, and this… it feels so wild and chaotic. I can’t fit it in a box. I kept imagining a giant wave crashing down on the resort and dragging us all out into the ocean and drowning us, or lightning striking a tree and starting a fire and burning everyone alive…” He shook his head before I could say anything. “I know it’s not rational, but I couldn’t stop my brain from imagining it all.”

I frowned, confused by his train of thought and how it led to him standing here. “And so you ran out into the storm, risking your life to tell me this?”

He licked his lips, my eyes tracking the movement of his tongue. “I just… I needed to see with my own eyes that you’re okay. And now that I have… I guess I’ll just leave.” He nodded once and tried to step back, reaching for his shirt on the floor, but I refused to let go of the towel.

“Like hell you’re going back out there!” I said sharply.

Now it was his turn to frown. “But I can’t—”

“Nuh-uh. You’re staying, and that’s final.”

“But what about Phil?” he asked.

Now I was all kinds of confused. “Phil? What about Phil?”

---