Reaching Hearts - Faleena Hopkins Page 0,42

table next to books on Zimbabwe and Nigeria. Lying back, I stare at the ceiling, my blood pumping in a cool, accelerating rhythm as I plan my escape tomorrow night. This is gonna be fun.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rebecca

Brendan’s keys: shoved in his stupid fucking lock. Palm: slapping the door. Door: succumbing, despite itself.

It occurs to me that Mark might have come home from New York. I have no idea how long he was supposed to be gone. I hope he’s not here, and instantly regret having just yelled at the stubborn lock. I don’t want to appear like I’m a crazy person. Scanning the vast room, I see no signs of him, everything is just as I left it, but just in case, I call upstairs, “Mark?”

Silence.

I step in a few more steps, calling out for him again, but he doesn’t answer. I walk to the other side of the penthouse and into Brendan’s room to gather up my things, because I’ll be damned if I’m staying here again tonight. I’ll go check in at The Inn and get a good night’s sleep without memories haunting me wherever I look. With my toiletries tucked away in a plastic bag inside my suitcase, I spy one of my black hair-ties on his nightstand and I stare at it, considering leaving it there for that little twit to find.

Don’t be immature, Rebecca. Go pick up the hair tie.

I walk to the unmade bed and pull up the covers, folding and tucking until it’s nice and neat. As I finish, my eyes cut over to the hair-tie again; a tiny ring of fabric as powerful as a landmine hidden in Saudi Arabian soil. Turning away from it, I walk to the door and pick up my suitcase with one hand, my eyes on the hair-tie as I flick off the light switch and walk out the door.

When my eyes land on The Inn Bed and Breakfast, a Victorian mansion circa 1872, a deep exhale releases all of the tension from my body. Blinking up at the charming, immense estate, I silently thank Tommy for knowing exactly the right place to send me to.

The building is the epitome of San Francisco Victorian architecture with pale pink paint surrounded in white outlined detailing of windows and doorframes. Walking into the lobby, I feel like I’ve drifted back in time. The sitting room to the side is painted the same as the foyer, deep green, and has a gorgeous bay window and antique furniture; lamps, pictures in gold frames, sterling silver candelabras – everything from that era.

They assign me Room 10 and I walk into a beautiful room painted in sensually deep red with an opulent fireplace, an antique chandelier, a luxuriously decorated queen-sized bed and a private bath so charming I instantly want to put it in my pocket and carry it around with me everywhere I go. Dropping my suitcase where I stand, I walk forward, kick off my pumps and climb onto the bed, sinking my head onto one of the many pillows, falling fast asleep within blessedly magical seconds.

It’s a pity that the quiet my soul received from The Inn didn’t stick with me, after I left it.

“I’m going to give him one chance to make this right. Just one chance. That’s all. If he fucks it up, that’s his loss.” I turn the wheel into the parking lot, the car bouncing over the bumps and making me sway as I grip the wheel tight and keep my foot to the floor. I pull into a parking spot too quickly, and nearly take out the car next to me. Painful memories of Brendan and I race back and forth from this image to that, always landing on that bitch riding him just four feet away from me. “And me holding his coffee like some secretary!”

My heels click hard, fast and sure along the hospital tile, coming to stop in front of the nurse’s station on the third floor.

“What room is Annie in?”

A skinny guy with a shock of black hair looks up, surprised by my tone, his face half-lit from a computer screen. “Annabelle O’Brien?”

My shoulder blades tighten. Her name slides off my tongue like dung from a cow’s butt on a sweltering day. “Annabelle O’Brien? Jesus. Really? Yes. Her. What room is she in?”

“She left yesterday.”

I flatten my hand against my thigh, the other one holding Brendan’s jacket as I suck on my teeth. “I see. Thank you.”

He calls after me, “Ma’am?”

I don’t