by London James
I duck, avoiding the curve of the luggage bin above me, and step into the aisle. A few women look at me a few times, but I pay them no mind. I’m not in the mood for flirting, talking, staring, or whatever else comes with meeting people. I haven’t felt this bad in years, and for the third time in my life, I’m scared. I don’t do well when people leave. My father is the only family I have left. If anything happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do.
A line starts to form behind me as I grab my suitcase and wait for the doors to open to allow me out. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, pooling in the collar of my light blue button-up shirt. I’m not even hot, but the stress, anxiety, and worry about my father has my heart racing, heating the under layer of my skin.
Light beams into the cabin of the plane as the stewardess opens the door. The woman has long, dark brown hair, and she flashes white teeth under pink-painted lips.
“Thank you for flying Delta. Have a good day,” she says cheerfully. I feel anything but.
“You too,” I tell her as I step off the plane and walk down the narrow, black-carpeted hallway in the gate. My feet drag, and my eyes droop. Exhaustion hits me like a truck. Mentally, I’m drained. The entire flight I thought of my dad and Barbara, hoping they were okay and alive.
I won’t know what to do if they aren’t.
Obviously, I’ll have to plan a funeral with Everly. I’ve pushed all my bitter feelings for her to the side, given the situation. She and I are going to be spending a lot of time together because of this horrible instance. I’m not looking forward to it, any of it, but I’m not going to sit around aimlessly waiting for the Denver police to search for my dad while I sit in my skyscraper either.
No, I have to do something to help. No way am I losing my father in the damn snow.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, my Italian leather shoes click along the linoleum floor. People hustle by me. Persons of all shapes and colors try to avoid everyone, but with the airport being so packed, bumping shoulders seems to be inevitable.
Baggage claim finally comes to view. I strain my neck, searching for the driver I hired to come get me. There is only one man holding a sign. He is older, but in shape, tall, grey and silver sprinkled his beard, and the sign reads, ‘Michaels’.
“Hi, I’m assuming you are here for me,” I wave.
“Mr. Rowan Michaels?”
“That’s me.”
“Wonderful,” he says, grabbing my bag. “Follow me, sir.” His British accent is unexpected but pleasant. I’ve always loved Britain. One day, I plan on retiring there, but until then, I’m going to admire and be jealous from afar.
“Are you here for business or pleasure?” he asks.
“I’m afraid neither. My father is missing, that’s why I’m here.”
“Oh, dear. I am so sorry to hear that. I hope he is okay. My name is Henry if you need anything, Mr. Michaels.” He opens the black, back door of the Mercedes sedan.
“Thank you, Henry. And please, call me Rowan. Mr. Michaels is my father.” Out of habit, I press my palm in the middle of my stomach where my blazer is buttoned before I get into the car.
The door slams shut. I finally have a moment to breathe and gather my nerves since I’m alone. I rub my palms over my slacks, wiping the sweat against the material. So much is running through my mind. I had to leave all of my duties on Gray, which I feel horrible about, but my dad and Barbara come first. And I bet Everly is a wreck right now.
“Sir?”
My eyes snap open from Henry’s voice. Huh, I don’t even remember closing them. “Yes?”
“There is a minibar to your right. You look like you need a drink.”
A buzz to my right grabs my attention, and the top to the minibar slides away, revealing two scotch glasses.
“To the left is the fridge. You have your pick between gin, whiskey, vodka, and tequila. There are mixers there, too.”
“Ah, Henry. You are my favorite person in the world right now.”
“It isn’t a problem, sir. Enjoy. I’ll get you to the resort in about forty minutes. Sit back and relax.”
He rolls up the privacy window, reading my mind that I want to be alone. I reach for the glass and dive into the ice bucket to grab a few cubes before making myself a gin and tonic. I fill the glass to the brim and down it in one swallow. I pour myself another, debating if I want to down this too, but I should probably keep a straight mind when I show up at the resort and not be completely hammered.
Eh, I can get buzzed. I deserve that much. I chug it and shake my head as the gin tingles my tongue. Whoa, that one was strong.
When I make the next one, I’m careful to watch how much Hendrick’s I put in compared to the tonic water. I stop pouring the gin, letting the last drop fall into the glass, and put the bottle back in the fridge.
I spread my legs and lean my head back against the leather seat. I exhale, closing my eyes, and let the liquor do what it does best.
Numb me.
My eyes only see darkness, but I don’t need to see my drink as I bring the rim to my lips. The ice cubes push against my lips as I tilt the beverage, letting it flow over my tongue and down my throat. It’s cold, refreshing, and makes me relax for the first time in forty hours.
I must have dozed a bit because when I snap my eyes open, we are already pulling into the resort, and the glass in my hand is sweating, dripping condensation onto my jeans. Yes, jeans. I haven’t worn jeans in four years. I forgot how much I loved them.
Henry opens my door, and a gust of cold wind stings my cheeks. My skin pebbles under the thin sports coat. My jacket is in the suitcase. I didn’t even think to keep it out. I just packed what was in reach.
The snow crunches under my shoes, and a light dusting of snow starts to fall. It’s beautiful.
Henry opens the trunk, grabs my suitcase, and sits the wheels on the packed snow, which I assume is from all the cars driving over it. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Rowan. I hope you find your father and he is okay.” He holds out his age-spotted hand.
“Thanks, Henry. You’ve been great.” I get my wallet out and tip him two hundred dollars after shaking his hand.
“Best wishes, Mr. Rowan.” He tilts the brim of his hat at me, and then climbs into the car. The tires spin for a moment before finding traction on the driveway.
I sigh and turn to the Mountains Retreat. It’s breathtaking. The building is styled like a chalet home, with large windows in the front as it overlooks the mountains. Big trees are in the background, tall and looming behind the resort. I’m not sure what kind they are. I’m used to Douglas Firs, but these are even bigger.
I watch as people come in and out of the entrance, smiling and laughing. Women have their hands looped through their lovers’ arms. Everyone is dressed in warm clothes. Big, oversized jackets and wool hats to keep their ears warm.
My feet stay glued to the ground, as if the snow is cement, and I’m trapped. I can’t seem to get myself to move. If I move, if I walk, I don’t know what I’m going to be walking into. Maybe my dad is in his room now, and everything is fine.
But I know that isn’t the case, no matter how much I want it to be. Hope is a fickle thing. And the smallest amount always seems to stay in my body. I guess that’s better than nothing.
Thunder rolls in the sky. Thick, grey clouds come together, threatening thundersnow. It isn’t often it happens, but when thunder rumbles in snow clouds, that is a sign of how bad it is going to be. It usually means a state of emergency.
Which means the hope for finding my dad and Barbara are dwindling.
I’m not going to help find them from standing out here. I sigh and grab the handle of my suitcase. I don’t bother rolling it since there is so much snow on the ground. I pick it up like a briefcase and stride forward. I’m wearing the wrong shoes for this. I wobble a bit as the soles slide against the ice. My arms spread out to give myself balance, but it’s no use, and I slip. I probably look like a newborn baby giraffe trying to find his legs.
I don’t do well with embarrassment, so all I can do is hope I don’t fall. I slip and slide my way to the automatic doors. When they open, I sigh a big breath of relief as the heat slams against my face, thawing my frozen cheeks.
I shake off my coat, getting the freshly fallen snow off my shoulders and look around. Damn, this place is nice. High ceilings with gold trim. The red carpet is thick and giving, cushioning every step I take.
People are coming in the doors with their skis and snowboards, goggles on their foreheads and cheeks bright red from the cold. They must be just coming in because of the storm coming.
I rub my hands together and blow hot breath in them. I’m so cold. Fuck. I thought Washington got cold. Denver is a different ball game.
“No, I know. I just want you to put fifty on that card and one hundred on the other.”
I know that voice. It’s sweet, soft, and angelic, even when she is upset.
“What do you mean you can’t take two forms of payment? I’m only here because my mother and stepfather are missing,” she snaps, stuffing her cards back in her purse.
Everly’s hair has gotten long again. It isn’t as long as it was before she chopped it, taking ten years off my life. It’s so beautiful, shining against the bright fluorescent lights. I hope she never cuts it again. When she chopped it, she looked beautiful, but with it long, she is an ethereal goddess, a creature of a myth—the ones that entangle you in the binds of their beauty.
Yeah, that is what she is, and it seems she only gets more beautiful with age.
“So that just doesn’t matter? My mother and stepfather are missing from your resort, and you don’t care? I’ve spent every last dime I’ve had to get here you hoity-toity rich snob! Just try the card again.” She is crying, but it isn’t because she is sad. No, she is about to blow this fucker up until it is nothing but rubble and dust.
I know a lot of her financial issues are due to identity theft, and I can’t imagine how frustrating it is.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t go through. The payment is declined.” The front desk clerk seems unbothered, probably because she has to deal with this every day, but it wouldn’t hurt her to be more friendly.
The first tear falls down her porcelain cheek, and it breaks the trance I have from watching from afar. I stroll forward and reach into my inner coat pocket for my wallet.
“Here, put it on my card.” I hand over the black American Express that has no limit.
The clerk’s eyes widen when she sees who I am. “Of course, Mr. Michaels. Right away.”
Everly whips her head around, causing her hair to fan out. It reminds me of a flower, spinning the stem in my hand as I watch the petals spin in circles. It’s hypnotizing, and what’s even worse, Everly has no idea she still holds all that power. She has the kind of beauty that can change the world with just one look.
Just like a flower that can bring a smile to the saddest face. It’s quick and undeniable.
Her eyes are wide with surprise, the large green orbs sparkling like gems from the tears swimming in her emerald oceans. “Rowan, you don’t have to do that.” Everly wipes a tear threatening to fall off her lower lash line.
“I know, but this is important. And I know about your situation. It isn’t fair.” I mean that, too. I’m not just saying that. No one deserves to have their entire life ruined.
Her eyes soften around the edges as she looks at me, and just seeing her, that honey brown hair, those jade eyes, it makes my heart skip a beat from the cold coma I put it under. I hate how much I love her beauty.
“I’ll pay you back,” she says.
“No, you won’t. Only Dad could afford a place like this. No offense,” I hurry to say. I don’t want her to think she doesn’t have the potential to make a lot of money. She does. Everyone does. I just got lucky.
“No offense taken. I know I won’t ever be a billionaire. I’m okay with it.” She blows a piece of hair out of her face from the side of her pale, pink lips. I always loved how the top curves like cupid’s bow.
This is the most we have talked to each other in over six years, and it took something as awful as our parents going missing to make it happen, but even when it is all said and done and we find them, I know she and I will go our separate ways again. I just can’t be around her without loving her because when I’m away from her, I numb the yearning I have for her.
When she is near, like she is right now, smelling like a bouquet of freshly cut wildflowers, the bulletproof glass I put around my soul to keep her away shatters. And without effort or attempt, she owns me all over again.
“Your room keys,” the clerk hands over one small envelope of key cards. As in, for one room. One. That’s it.
“Oh, no. I believe you misunderstood. I was only paying for her room, but we still need two rooms.” Because lady, if I have to be within the same four walls as Everly Madison, I may just lose my fucking mind.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Michaels. This next week is booked, and the only room we have available is the penthouse suite.”
“Of course it is,” Everly mumbles under her breath.
I lean my arms against the counter and give the clerk the smile women melt themselves over. I flash my straight, white teeth, and make sure to show the dimples. Dimples work every time.
“I’m going to need the other room…” I dart my eyes to her name tag, “Becky. That’s my stepsister.” I have to hold back a little bile that works its way up my throat. To think of Everly as my sister is repulsive.
“While it is great news that she isn’t your girlfriend because that means we can get a drink when I get off...”
No, we can’t.
Everly snorts, not hiding her disdain for the raven-haired clerk.
Becky clicks her tongue when she sees Everly’s reaction, “…but it is the only room we have. I apologize. I’ve ordered complimentary champagne for you to be delivered to your room.”
“Right. Okay. Thanks.” I click the key cards on the counter and grab my bag.
Everly shoves her tote strap up her shoulder, and she seems like she’s dreading this just as much. I take offense to that. I shouldn’t because I feel the same. I don’t want her to dread it, but at the same time, I do.
What a wicked, wicked world we live in.
I press the button to the elevator and watch the numbers illuminate, as the red glow shows how much longer of a wait we have. Everly stays a few feet back, trying to stay out of my personal space, but I feel her.
And I know she feels me too.
It’s the same every time we are together. The call of her heart makes me want to answer. The heat of her body is familiar, like home, and it is so hard not to just fall into it like an everyday routine.
The ding of the elevator snaps me out of my haze. Silver doors slide open to reveal an empty cart. I hold my arm against the elevator door to keep it from closing. “After you,” I nod.
“Um, thanks.” She keeps her head down to hide her eyes under her hair.
She hides herself in the far-right corner, trying to make herself invisible as she leans against the mirrored glass.
The same glass that shows all of her curves.
The curves I got to taste first.
I still feel smug about that. I smirk at the memory and rub my hand over my mouth to rub off the humor. When I walk into the elevator, I stand by the buttons, keeping a few feet of distance between us. Her wildflower scent fills the small cart, and out of habit, something as simple as breathing, I inhale. And she wraps around my lungs like wayward petals swirling in the breeze.
I scan the card over the black pad and press the button that says PH. The metal box creaks and jolts as it starts to life. The lights flicker, and the elevator moans, and in a sudden moment, the power shuts off. The elevator stops, trapping Everly and I between the eighth and ninth floor.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she hisses.
She took the words right out of my mouth.
Chapter 14
Everly
This cannot be happening.
It’s my worst nightmare. Or my favorite dream. I suppose it depends on the context, but as of right now, it seems to be the nightmare.
We are in a fancy pants hotel, and their elevator can’t even work?
“It must be the storm,” Rowan says from somewhere in front of me, but I can’t see him. Everything is too dark.
But it makes it easier—not seeing him.
“I thought the storm was supposed to hit next week?” That was my hope because if it did hit early, that means the chances of finding my mom and Mr. Michaels are zilch.
“Never know with environments like this. This may not even be the storm they are talking about. It could just be the average snow cloud. I wish I knew,” Rowan’s voice echoes off the four walls of the elevator; hitting me from all sides. It’s gotten deeper over the years, and it drapes over me like a cloak, tingling my spine, teasing me, but most of all, making me feel at home again.
“Oh, okay.” That’s all I know to say.
We sit like that in silence for who knows how long, and the oxygen in the cart starts to get hot from the lack of fresh air. I’m breathing in his recycled air.
Why do I suddenly want to swallow it all up?
“So, Gray says you guys have been talking.”
I lift my head from my knees to give him the evil eye, but I forgot, he can’t see me. “Yeah, but only in a legal sense.”
“Don’t be so disappointed,” he snaps.
I pinch my brows together, out of habit from making so many expressions when I speak. “I’m not disappointed. He has been a good friend and has helped me as much as he can.”
“That’s really it?”
“Yep,” I nod, popping the end of the word for emphasis.
“If you want to take it further with him, it’s okay. You can. Gray is a good guy.”