He exhales harshly. I, on the other hand, hold my breath. I have no idea what’s happening or what this means, and I feel like a spectator at an event I shouldn’t be at, a witness to a conversation I shouldn’t be hearing. If we were in a room, I’d walk out and give him space. Yet, there’s nowhere for me to go.
Fenton glances at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m aware of the possible outcomes and what the ramifications might be. I don’t care if they’re going to be pissed. Just . . . get it done, Duke. I mean it. Get. It. Fucking. Done.” He ends the call.
Clenching the phone in his hand, he places both hands against his head. He tugs at his hair, muttering something beneath his breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“It’s okay. Really. I just hope everything’s okay.”
He huffs, a blend of anger and sadness that chills me. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I say it before I think and realize it’s our ongoing joke.
He rolls his eyes. “Do you think I want to talk about it?”
“Absolutely.”
A small smile touches his lips. “I just . . . I have a situation I’ve been trying to resolve and it just keeps getting more complicated.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I have to,” he gulps. He eyes me before sitting upright. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast in bed for the morning. I, um, I’m going to have to make some decisions tomorrow that are going to take some time.”
I consider that giving advice might mean overstepping my bounds, but his willingness to share that with me without prodding makes me think it’s okay.
“My brother used to say to not make decisions based on whatever problem you’re having. You should make choices based on what outcome you want.”
Fenton doesn’t respond, just watches me with a blank look on his face.
“I never understood that,” I continue. “I mean, it makes no sense, right? But my brother is a doctor and he explained it to me this way once: if a patient is bleeding, you can focus on stopping the bleeding or you can focus on saving their life. Maybe stopping the blood is a part of saving their life, but the decision has to be made with the bigger picture in mind.”
“Smart.”
I grin. “It really is. You have to weigh the risks against the rewards of your decisions. And when the balance begins to tip one way or the other, you just have to find the courage to do it.”
He grabs my arm and twists me so that I’m lying across his lap, pulled securely in his arms. He nestles his head into my hair and holds me tight. “You’re a little light in my life, you know that?”
“That’s me. Bringing sunshine everywhere I go.”
He snorts and lets me pull back so I can see his face.
“I’ve not known you for very long, but I know you’ll do what’s best.”
“I don’t normally get too worked up about things. I just pick a direction and charge on. But this one is just such a mess and what I choose to do doesn’t just affect my bottom line. If that were the case, I know what I’d do.”
“Fenton, you already know what to do. Follow your heart.”
“What if that means walking through hell?”
“Then take a fire extinguisher with you.”
He laughs, but it’s weighed down with his troubles. “You and your fire extinguishers.”
The car rolls up to our hotel and it catches me off guard. I hadn’t even realized we were back on the Strip. I uncurl off Fenton’s lap and gather my things from the floorboard. The car door swings open, but Fenton grasps my hand before I can step out. I turn to see him observing me. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to.
“It seems complicated,” I whisper so the valet doesn’t overhear. “But it isn’t. Risk versus reward. And then follow your heart.”
Fenton doesn’t speak as we trudge the last few feet down the hall towards our suite. He opens the door and holds it open as I enter.
I don’t recall him saying a single word since we got out of the car. He didn’t even thank the valet, which is beyond unlike him. He just nodded his appreciation and continued on, extending his hand behind him until I clasped it with mine.
The light switches on as I enter and watch Fenton make his way into our bedroom. I hear him rummaging around and I don’t know what to do.
What I want to do is hold him in my arms and reassure him. But really, I don’t even know what I’m reassuring him of. I just loathe the look of despair on his face; it’s such a contradiction to his usual confident demeanor.
Tossing my bag near the sofa, I stand with my arms around my waist. It’s so quiet.
I jump when he moseys back into the room. He’s wearing a pair of white sweatpants, no shirt, and no shoes. I sweep his body from head to toe, taking in the divine view. And then I get to his face and my heart breaks.
It’s a sorrowful smile, and I can’t stop myself from reaching for him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He does the same, pulling me into his chest.
“I’m sorry I’ve put a damper on our night,” he says, his voice dejected. “This is not how I envisioned capping off the day.”
“Fenton—stop it. You can’t help it.”
“I know . . .”