chapter 16
CHRIS
I’m still twisting the bottle in my hand, feeling the cool glass between my fingers, even after listening to all of the war stories of the people who’ve fought this battle time and again. I push it deeper into the pocket of my coat and remember the Polaroid and the way her smile makes everything around her disappear.
Maybe I can still catch them at dinner. But before I can make it back inside the hotel, I get hit by a barrage of flashbulbs from the paparazzi stalking the front door. I raise my hand to shield my face, but I don’t think I’m quick enough to avoid all of them.
I’ve never been one of those guys who boohooed his bad luck to be so rich and famous that people actually wanted to buy the grainy photographs of me doing exciting things like getting a cup of coffee. I even like some of the paparazzi.
That doesn’t stop me from wishing that just once, they would leave me alone.
I step into the elevator. My fingers curl again around the little glass bottle in my jacket pocket. I’m not going to have a drink. I’m not going to have a drink.
I think about going to dinner, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to see her, especially if she’s just going to keep saying goodbye.
Instead, I make my way up the stairs at the end of the hallway. I push on the door, knowing that the alarm will not, in fact, sound.
Flakes of snow fall on me the second I open it, but I don’t feel the cold.
She’s there.