Boy Trouble

“You love me?” I ask, dumbfounded, still trying to process his confession.

“With everything that I am.”

I’m crying again, this time tears of happiness because, despite his words from earlier, I love him too. “I’m at Hartford. Room 6043.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you,” he says, ending the call. It feels abrupt after his declaration, but then again, nothing about this night has turned out the way I thought it would. I should have just stayed in bed. Had I not gone to check on him to make sure everything was okay, I would never have heard his conversation, and I’d be in his arms right now, which is where I want to be.

Making my way to the bathroom, I wet a washcloth and wash my face. There is nothing I can do about the red puffiness of my eyes, but at least the tears are wiped clean. I’m stepping out of the bathroom when there’s a knock at the door.

“Marley, baby, it’s me.” His deep voice carries through the door.

When I pull open the door, I’m engulfed in his arms as he pulls me to his chest and walks us into the room, the door clicking closed behind us. He buries his face in my neck and just holds me tight.

He finally pulls away, and his hands cradle my cheeks as he bends his knees so that we are eye to eye. “I love you, Marley. There is no one else—only you. You have your hands wrapped around my heart, and that’s exactly how I want it. How I want you.”

I feel the tears, and I would have thought there were no more left for me to shed, not tonight. “I love you too.” My confession is whispered, but the smile that lights up his face tells me that he heard me.

“Fuck, don’t ever leave like that again. I was worried sick about you. Why did you run?” He guides us to the bed and motions for me to sit. Instead, I lie down, and he does the same so that we’re face-to-face in the bed.

“I heard your phone ring, and when you left the room, I was worried something might be wrong. Usually a call that late at night is a bad sign. I wanted to be there for you if you needed me. Then I heard you say, ‘She means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing,’ and thought you were talking about me. I mean, who else could it be? I’m the one you spend all of your time with, so it had to be me. I was hurt, and I needed some space. So I left and ended up here.”

“You should have talked to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry I left the way that I did, but I still don’t understand. If it wasn’t me you were talking about, then who was it? Have you been ch-cheating on me?” I ask, barely able to ask the question, as a lump forms in my throat, afraid of the answer.

“No. Never. Never, baby. I would never do that to you.” He places his hand on my hip and pulls me a little closer. “I was talking about Jeanie.”

“Jeanie? As in the Jeanie whose job I filled? That Jeanie?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand. Were you seeing her? Is that what this is? You date all of your employees?”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “I’ve told you, you’re it. Why can’t you trust me on that?”

“Because you’ve obviously been keeping something from me. How am I supposed to trust you when you keep secrets?”

“I’m not.” He blows out a heavy breath. “I told you that she came onto me, and I had to let her go. She wasn’t taking no for an answer, and she was unprofessional.”

“Yes.” My mind filters through our conversation about her.

“Well, she showed up at my penthouse. I don’t know how she got in there, but I came home and there she was. I called security immediately and had her removed and banned from all Morrison Hotels.”

“When?”

“Earlier tonight. Before you got there.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? Did you really think that this was something I didn’t need to know about?”

“No. I— When you came in, you said there was something going on downstairs, remember? That was her. I was so damn relieved that it was me who found her and not you. I just needed a minute to hold you. I was pissed off that she got in my place to begin with, and then the fear that if you found her there, that I could have lost you, and I just needed a fucking minute to hold you and breathe you in, and just be. I know it was wrong, I should have told you, but, Marley, I don’t think you understand what you mean to me. Losing you would kill me. I’m not talking ‘break my heart, eventually move on’ kind of pain. I’m talking never recover. I love you so damn much. I’m sorry. I know that I was wrong, but I didn’t want her and her stupid antics to come between us. I just wanted you in my arms where you belong. I needed you to take the anger and the fear away.”