Stinger (A Sign of Love Novel)

I closed the door behind me and the tears started to fall. I knew this was the right thing to do–I couldn't stay a minute longer knowing where he was headed in the morning, and knowing that my heart was involved. But it didn't change the fact that I was forcing myself to leave. It didn't change the fact that it hurt to leave. It didn't change the stark misery that had washed over his face when he realized I was leaving. As I stepped on the elevator and the doors closed behind me, I swiped at my cheeks and leaned back against the wall.

This is where it had started. On an elevator. And now here I was on an elevator again–only this time it was ending. And I didn't want it to. I wanted to go back in time and do it all over again, even knowing what I now knew, just to spend a couple more days with him.

I stepped off and made my way to my room and let myself in. I sank down on the bed and curled into a ball, allowing myself to sob. When the worst of it had passed, I stood up and went to the bathroom and washed my face. Then I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and started packing. There was no way I was staying in this hotel with Carson a couple floors above me. There were several reasons for this, mainly that I simply didn't trust myself not to run back to his room and fling myself at him. But to what end? I shook my head sadly. I had gotten myself into this situation. But how would I have known that I would develop feelings for Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer? It was almost ludicrous, even now that it was my reality. But that was a thought I would have had a couple days ago. Now? Now it wasn't really ludicrous at all. Because what I didn't know at the time was that he had an impossibly sweet side, and that he was exciting and brave and generous in every way possible. Did I wish I had never been given this information? Would I rather go back to the time when it was easy to walk away from him, if I had to agree that I would never experience the beauty of our weekend? I was too hurt and confused to answer those questions right now.

I put my large bag over my shoulder and pulled the handle up on my suitcase and rolled it out the door.

I checked out quickly and went outside to wait for the shuttle to the airport. I prayed that there was a flight I could get on tonight but if not, I'd sleep at the airport. It wasn't much of a plan. I almost laughed, but caught myself. Then I almost sobbed and caught myself again. I bit my lip.

The shuttle picked me up fifteen minutes later and I looked back over my shoulder at the Bellagio. I'd become a different person this weekend. Carson had changed me in ways that I suspected were going to make me look at all my decisions differently, make me re-evaluate all my "well-made" plans. I was going to take that with me now and think of him as a gift, as much as my heart was breaking with loss. It was all I had to hold onto so that I didn't demand that the shuttle driver stop and let me out so that I could go running back to him. I leaned my head back on the seat and let the mixture of heartbreak and hope wash over me, bathing my heart in both darkness and in light.

**********

I wheeled my suitcase into my apartment the next morning at seven thirty, exhausted in every way possible. I had been able to change my flight to a red-eye, and had sat around the airport for several hours waiting until boarding started. I had tried to sleep once I got on the plane, but my mind wouldn't let me, too active to shut down and allow me some rest.

I went over every minute of my weekend with Carson, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when I handed him a piece of my heart. Had it been over hot dogs that first night? After the amazing sex? Laughing in the pool? When he told me he was jealous of Parker, revealing that he had feelings for me too? Or had it been sooner than that? Maybe in the elevator when he sang to me to keep me from panicking? When I discovered why he put on that false front of his? Was it possible to connect to another person that quickly? I wanted to scream! Shut down, brain! Why did it even matter? I was like Rainman playing, "Who's on First," over and over and over.

"Hey Pod Person!" I heard called from the kitchen and I left my suitcase and bag at the door, and walked in to greet Abby.

"Hi Abs," I said in a voice even I realized sounded dead. Abby was sitting at our small kitchen table in a pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, her dark brown hair up in a messy pile on top of her head, a cup of coffee and some papers and a pen in front of her.

At the sight of me, her eyes widened and her expression turned concerned. "What'd he do to you?" she whispered, standing up and coming over to me.