We pull up to the hotel and Riley says, “What are you going to do about Aiden?”
“That all depends on if he’s here or not. If he is, I’ll try to talk to him. The bitch of it all is that I was going to tell him the truth tonight as soon as we got to our room. Tonight was supposed to be the night, and I wanted him to know before we were together like that.”
“We understand why you lied, Keatyn. Aiden will too.”
“Do you think so? The look on his face. The way he held his hand up, telling me not to follow him. It killed me.”
“If he loves you the way I think he does, you’ll work it out.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t forget, we’re doing brunch in the morning.”
“I won’t. We have a lot to plan. Damian decided to do a different song for the video. This one will be a lot more fun, I think.”
We take the elevator upstairs, Riley and Ariela getting out on the eighth floor. I get the keycard out of my clutch as the elevator dings.
I walk slowly to my room.
No. Our room.
The room that was going to change our relationship; take it to a deeper level.
I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll open the door and see that his stuff is gone.
While I’m contemplating if I should go in, the door bursts opens and Aiden comes out, carrying a bunch of bags.
My heart sinks.
Or breaks, maybe.
“Aiden,” I say breathlessly.
“We need to talk,” he says in a very serious, he’s-so-done-with-me tone.
All of a sudden, I want to run.
Run away.
Run out of the hotel.
It was bad enough to see him walk out.
It’s going to be even worse to hear him say it.
“You walked out when you heard the truth about who I am.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I saw Peyton leaving in tears with Whitney’s computer. I went to check on her. It was pretty obvious that whatever Whitney was going to say was about Peyton, not you.”
“You’re leaving, though,” I manage to squeak out, my eyes focusing on his bags.
“These are Peyton’s bags. Remember, we let her put them in our room?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Peyton told me what Whitney was about to do. You outed yourself for her. I appreciate that,” he says flatly.
This feels so surreal. I want him to hug me. Tell me he doesn’t care who I am.
But he doesn’t.
“I need to take her bags upstairs. Come with me. I know she’d like to thank you.”
“Where are your bags?”
“Still in the room,” he says, giving me half a flicker of hope.
“Oh.”
“It’s been a rough night,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“How did you get here? Is the dance over already?” He looks down at his watch and shakes his head. “I went out to check on her and found her bawling hysterically. She wouldn't tell me why. Just kept crying, rocking, and clutching the computer. Saying she was going to have to tell Mom and Dad. How disappointed they would be. She hadn’t told me, but our parents decided to come tonight instead of tomorrow to help take our stuff to New York. Anyway, when we got back here, she told us everything. Half of what she said was hard to understand, but we got the gist of it.”
“Riley gave me a ride. How did your parents take it?”
“Better than I did.” He hangs his head in shame. “I went to Eastbrooke to take care of her. I should have known.”
“It’s not your fault, Aiden.”
“I was coming back to the dance to get you right after I delivered her bags.”
“You were?”
“Boots, I told you that I'd never walk away again. I’m a man of my word,” he says sternly. Clearly insinuating that I’m the opposite of that.
I’m a liar.
“You lied for my sister, but you didn’t tell the truth. I know you were acting. That wasn’t the real you.”
“Jake said the same thing.”
“Was everyone mad?”
“At first. But I told them the truth. You looked really mad. I was afraid you wouldn’t ever talk to me again.”
The serious look returns to his face.
“Let's not do this in the hall. Why don't you come with me to deliver the bags, then we'll come back here to . . . discuss.”
“Um, okay. Is Peyton doing okay?”
As we head to the elevator, he says, “She's better now.”
I nod as he hits the button for the floor above us.
He’s silent in the elevator.
My heart is pounding. I feel like I’m being pulled under by a riptide.
Like I’m treading water but losing the fight.
Waiting to drown.
I can picture it. We'll talk to his sister, go back to our room, and he’ll tell me that he hates liars. That I should have told him. That we’re through.
We exit the elevator and I follow him down the hall.
He’s walking fast.
A man on a mission.
Wanting to get it over with.
Peyton’s mom opens the door and immediately throws her arms around me, dragging me into their suite.
Peyton is sitting on the bed. Her dad is looking somber on the couch.
“Thank you for what you did for Peyton,” her mom says.