Chapter 25
SAM
A WOMAN approached and took the barstool on my left in the Brussels hotel lounge. With manicured fingers, she adjusted the cream silk scarf around her neck then crossed long legs at the knee, showing plenty of thigh in the process. I shifted my weight to the right, away from her. The bartender refilled my glass with scotch. I sipped and let the liquor slide down the back of my throat, taking satisfaction in the mild burn.
No matter how many drinks I had, I couldn’t numb the guilt or the revelation that I’d turned into my father. Dakota needed me, and here I was, a world away. For weeks, I’d been burying myself in work, ignoring her loneliness, and the needs of our marriage. She’d had to buy an hour of my time, for heaven’s sake. What did that say about me as a husband?
“Are you stuck here, too?” the woman asked in a smooth British accent. She leaned toward me, stealing my attention. I nodded. “There isn’t a plane to be had. I’ve been on holiday in Prague. Where are you headed?”
“Home,” I replied and took another drink. Her gaze slid over me.
“The States?” When I didn’t answer, she continued. “Good luck getting out of here. All the airports are closed down, and there isn’t a rental car to be had.”
I snorted and studied the amber liquid in the crystal glass. Xavier had been trying for hours to find a way out of Belgium. If I hadn’t taken a side trip to Germany, I’d have been home by now. Where I should have been in the first place. For the tenth time in the space of a half hour, I glanced at my phone. It was three o’clock in the morning in Laurel Falls. With a sigh, I shoved the phone into my pocket.
“Can I buy you another drink?” She leaned closer until I could smell the expensive perfume clinging to her. “If we’re going to be here awhile, we might as well get to know one another. Relieve a little of the boredom. I’m Beverly.” She extended a hand. I didn’t take it.
“And I’m married.”
“Oh, too bad.” She affected a pout.
The weight of the glass felt good in my hands, solid, when everything seemed to be falling apart around me. One of the overhead lights glinted off my wedding band. There had been a time in my life when I would have welcomed an anonymous hookup with a pretty woman to curb the anxiety, but not anymore. I craved the warmth and familiarity of my wife. Only her.
Thinking about Dakota sent a spasm of guilt through my insides. She needed me, and I wasn’t there—again. I shoved a hand through my hair. All I ever wanted was to be her rock, the one she turned to during hard times, the one to shore her up when she was weak. Instead, I was stuck in a foreign airport with an unfamiliar woman at my elbow and the beginnings of a tension headache plaguing my temples.
“I have bad news and okay news,” Xavier announced as he pushed through the lounge doors. Neither of us had slept in twenty-four hours. Wrinkles creased his lavender suit, and his normally smooth hair flopped over his forehead in disarray.
“You’re from the States? Are you—?” Xavier shoved between the woman and my barstool, cutting her off midsentence.
“The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are ‘you’re on the next flight’,” I said to Xavier then nodded to the bartender. “I’ll have another.”
Xavier stared at me. His gaze roved over my distressed hair, loosened tie, and rumpled shirt. “You look like shit.”
“Says the guy who looks like an ice cream cone.” I greeted the new glass of scotch with a painful grimace and gulped down half of it.
“I’m going to overlook that comment because you’re obviously drunk, and you’re under duress.” Xavier ripped the glass from my hands and dumped the contents into the potted tree behind us. “But later, I’m going to demand an apology. While you’ve been getting drunk with—that—” he lifted an eyebrow in direction of my unwelcome companion, “—I’ve been working my ass off.” He grabbed my suit jacket from the empty barstool on my right and folded it over his arm. “Pull yourself together. We need to get moving. Can you stand up? I couldn’t get us a flight out, but we can take the Chunnel to London. You don’t even want to know what I did to get the tickets. One of my London friends has a private plane there, and he’s willing to fly us to Shannon, where we’ve got a connecting flight to Newark.”
“Oh, God. I hate Newark airport,” I groaned.
“Not one word. I’m this close to kicking your spoiled, ungrateful ass.” He held his thumb and forefinger in approximation of an inch in front of my nose. “This close, do you understand me?” He continued to mutter underneath his breath while straightening my collar and tie. “One of these days, you’re going to push me too far, and I’m going to walk out. I don’t care how crazy hot you are. There are limits, do you hear what I’m saying? Limits! And I’ve just about reached mine.”