Fortuity (Transcend 3)

“Do you live in Chicago?”

“Nah … I’m still in Montana. You?”

“San Diego.”

“Nice. What do you do there?”

Why is that always the follow-up question?

I shrug and grin just before taking another sip of wine. “I live there.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. What should we talk about next?”

For the next hour we talk about high school, since that’s all that’s left. He never brings up Brandon’s name. I’m not sure if he doesn’t remember I dated him or if he just doesn’t remember him at all. That’s fine. It’s more than fine.

We drink way too much, but it’s a Friday night. What else do we have to do?

He nods to the waiter and points to my empty glass.

“No!” I pin his hand to the counter. “Three glasses is two glasses past my limit. I can’t even see straight.”

Numb.

Sleepy.

Carefree.

It’s a fantastic feeling.

“I’d better get to my room before I don’t remember where it’s at.”

“Sounds responsible.” He grabs my elbow to steady me as I attempt to stand.

“Whoa …” I give my legs a few seconds to get the memo that we’re moving now.

He pushes the button when we get to the elevators. Then he rests his hand on my lower back to keep me steady. “What floor?” he asks when the doors open.

“Twenty-seven.” I shake my head as we step into the elevator. “No. Twenty-nine. No, twenty-seven. No. Twenty-nine. Definitely twenty-nine.”

Steve chuckles. “We can try both. I’m on thirty.”

We turn just as the doors start to shut. Just as they jerk to a stop and open again as a few more people crowd onto it. I look down at my feet, shuffling them until my back hits Steve’s chest. His hand goes to my hips, which isn’t necessary, but it’s crowded, and I’m a little unstable. So I don’t say anything. When I glance up, the man in front of me makes a quick glance back and even more quickly does a double take.

Nate.

He tries to angle his body to face mine, but he stops. My heavy gaze follows the path of his, and he’s looking at Steve’s hands on my hips.

Just as my thick tongue starts to say something, the elevator doors open, and Nate shoulders his way out. Not a single glance at me.

“Wait!” I don’t even recognize the sound that comes out of my mouth. It’s something so desperate that it cuts past my throat like a jagged piece of metal. With no manners, no excuse-me’s or I’m-sorry’s, I shove everyone out of my way and throw my arm between the doors to stop them, my body following close behind.

“Gracelyn?” Steve calls just before the doors completely shut.

I turn left then spin right. Where did he go?

I run to one hallway and look right and left. No Nate. My clumsy feet take me to the other hallway in a zigzag motion. I look right then left.

There.

“Nate!”

He keeps walking down the impossibly long hallway. It’s like … a mile long.

“Stop … please …” I say feeling dizzy as I use the wall to help me down the hallway.

He turns right and swipes his card.

“You’re here … Why are you here?” My mouth goes rogue since my brain exploded on the elevator.

As soon as I reach him, the door opens, and he steps inside.

“Stop!” I lunge for the door before it closes.

I hate this. I feel like someone drugged me, but I know I did this to myself. In my defense, I was just having a fun conversation over drinks with an old classmate. Not once did my thoughts go to Nate. And they most certainly would not have told me to stay sober in case I ran into him in the elevator … in a hotel in Chicago.

The chances are not one in a million. They are one in a trillion.

“Can we talk?”

With his back to me, he sighs. “Speak.”

He’s angry.

Fucking alcohol.

If I weren’t intoxicated, I’d have all the right words. Lord knows I’ve recited them a million times on the off chance that I’d ever come face-to-face with him in this life.

“I’ve had too much to drink. I’m … I’m afraid I won’t say it right.”

He turns.

How can I be numb yet feel everything? It makes no sense.

“Ten,” he says. “Six months ago, you sent me a note with ten words and a G—like you were fading away one word at a time.” He tips his chin up and rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he draws in a slow breath. “I gave you ninety-seven thousand, four hundred and eighty-two words. And you replied with ten. And then … nothing. Did you read my last letter?”

I shake my head.

“Why?” he asks with an edge to his voice.

“I let go,” I whisper, leaning my back against the door to hold it open, letting my tired eyes stare at the ugly multi-colored swirl carpet.