Page 7 of The Backup Plan

“Uh-huh,” he says but puts the car in gear and starts driving.

The ride is a blur though with a million thoughts running through my head. She fades in and out, her head lolling against the window and then my shoulder.

What the hell am I going to do at a hotel? Put her in a room and leave her? Put her in a room and stay with her where I can be accused of a million things?

This is fucking ridiculous.

By the time we reach the hotel, her mumbling is no longer making sense.

I get us two rooms at the front desk.

Two.

Adjoining.

The clerk gives me a look. I don’t explain. I don’t smile. I just slide my credit card and take the keys.

I question myself with every step I take, but I can’t just leave her. Within minutes, I have her in one room, lay her carefully on the bed, and immediately step back.

I prop her on her side, grab one of the complimentary bottles of water on the dresser for her, and place a trash can next to the bed. The hangover basics.

“You’re safe,” I tell her, even though her breathing has evened out and she doesn’t seem to hear me. “You’re safe.”

I retreat to the adjoining room and leave the door between us cracked open in case she wakes up and needs something.

This can go south in so many fucking ways.

I sit on the edge of the bed and scrub a hand over my face.

This is the last shit I need, and yet, what is a guy supposed to do? Let that prick lead her out and do whatever the fuck he wanted to with her when she’s in this state?

I sleep for shit. Every breath. Every movement. Every sound from the other side of the door has me startling awake.

Waiting for her to wake up.

Waiting to make sure she’s okay.

Waiting for the first day of my new chapter in my life to start.

It sure as shit wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Emery

I’m dying.

That’s my first thought. My only thought.

My head is splitting. It’s a sharp, relentless pain pounding behind my eyes like something’s trying to claw its way out of my skull. My stomach pitches violently, and I barely have enough time to register the unfamiliar ceiling above me before I lurch off the bed.

I gag.

And thank God there’s a trash can beside me because everything in my stomach comes up. Every damn thing including what feels like my soul as I retch until there’s nothing left. My body shudders with each dry heave. Tears stream down my face, partly from effort, and partly from this fear tickling the back of my neck.

This isn’t my bed.

The thought lands hard.

My heart slams into my ribs as I push myself upright, breathing through the nausea. Where am I? How’d I get here?