Then, as now, he knew what he had to do.
24
It's just before two when I reach Noah's motel. It's a long strip of rooms with parking in front of each door and an office at one end. The paint is faded from the sun, and the angles seem slightly off, as if a tornado tried to pull it up, but then changed its mind.
It's tidy, though, with potted plants and clean signage, and not a scrap of litter in the parking lot. It's almost friendly. Despite its design, it doesn't have a Bates Motel vibe at all.
I'm hoping that's a good omen. Because I came here searching for a happy ending.
Unfortunately, my hope fades when my knock at number twelve goes unanswered.
I try again. "Noah? Noah, it's Kiki. Can we talk?"
It's futile, of course. I can see that there's no car anywhere near number twelve. Or number eleven or thirteen. None except the rental I grabbed in Oklahoma after my flight landed about an hour ago.
In other words, he's not here.
I draw a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to decide what to do. I can wait. Or I can go to Darla's house.
I have the address. Bless Ryan and Dallas, they've both been helping me with this secret mission. In fact, Ryan was the one who not only gave me the address of this hotel, but called the office and told them I was supposed to be a registered guest in the room.
So that's my other option. I can go get my key, then wait in the room.
But if I do that, then I run the risk that he'll have already talked to Darla.
Go to her house, though, and I think I'm crossing some invisible line between stating my case and interfering in the part of his life that doesn't belong to me.
Well, hell.
Ultimately, I decide to pretend like I'm a grown-up. I get the key, I go inside the room, and then I start to pace a hole in the carpet. Because if I stop moving, my mind's going to spin even more. And I'll worry about what they're saying. And then I'll get in my car and race to her house, and I know I shouldn't do that because--I freeze at the sound of a key in the lock.
The door opens, he steps in, then stops dead when he sees me. "Kiki?"
His expression is flat. Unreadable. And my stomach clenches tight with worry.
"You're an idiot," I blurt, then watch as his eyes go wide and a grin spreads across his face.
"If you mean because I've spent most of the last decade feeling guilty about something I had no control over, then yeah, you're right. I'm an idiot."
"Oh." I hesitate. That wasn't the response I was expecting. "Actually, I meant that you're an idiot for not pulling me into your decisions. You tell me you're going to put a ring on my finger, and then you just leave because you think it will be hard for me to handle? Screw that."
He says nothing, and since I'm on a roll, I continue. "For that matter, I'm an idiot, too. Because I just sat back and let it happen. Well, no more." I take two long steps, then stop right in front of him. "You're mine, dammit. And you are not getting back with Darla. Not without a fight, that's for damn sure. And for that matter, I--what?"
I step back, my eyes narrowed. "You want to tell me why you're grinning."
"This is why," he says, then pulls me close, one arm going around my waist as his other slides into my hair. Then he takes me in a kiss so deep and consuming that I feel the force of it burn through me, making my knees go weak and my core wet and slick with need.
When he finally breaks the kiss, I'm breathless. "Oh," I say. "I should put up a fight more often."
"Everything you said--every single word--all I can say is yes. I love you, baby. I can't do this without you. I don't want to, and I shouldn't have tried."
"You're not getting back together with Darla?" I have to lay it out there. I have to make him say the actual words. Because if I'm wrong--if I'm misunderstanding this conversation . . .
"I'm not with Darla. I'm with you."
"Oh." My legs are like rubber, and I park myself on the edge of the bed. "Thank God."
"She wanted me to," he says, and my stomach clenches. "I told her no. I told her my fiancee wouldn't approve."