Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

forty

BEAU

By the time I get back to the motel, it's already getting dark. I pull into the lot and park, resting my head against the steering wheel and closing my eyes for a moment.

I don't know if Dr. Dex would call what I did processing my emotions in a healthy manner, but speeding down the freeway seemed better than drowning in whiskey.

As the trees blurred past me, the cars I was passing nothing but blips in my peripherals, it's like I could think clearly.

Clearly enough to see how all of this works out in my favor.

I came on this ridiculous trip to fantasy land, I figured Zoey out, her game. Whatever twisted dreams she had been hanging onto should be crushed now.

I can move on.

While it sucked to have the idea of my son being taken away from me, I never knew him anyways. There was never even a him to know.

In the end, it worked out better than if we'd seen the kid after all.

I just wish I hadn't put so much of my life, Emma in particular, on the line to see this idiotic thing out.

With a sigh, I get out of my car and quickly scan the lot for Zoey's minivan.

No where to be seen.

Thank fuck. She had the good sense to be gone by the time I got back. For the first time today, since she admitted the truth, my mood is a little bit brighter.

Whistling, I jog back to the reception desk.

Another thing I realized while driving: I forgot my phone on the desk in Zoey's room. After storming out and being too deliriously angry to face her without exploding, I couldn't bring myself to turn back.

"Excuse me?" I murmur, knocking my knuckles against the faux-wooden desk. "A girl checked out a while ago. Blonde. I left my phone in her room."

Without a word, the grouchy old man behind the counter slides my cell under the glass divider. He flips the page of his newspaper, not bothering to ask if there's anything I need.

"I'm checking out, too." I grunt, quickly unlocking my phone to dozens of texts and missed calls.

My mind races to Emma, the stalker. Fuck.

Not waiting for the man to tell me a total, I hand over cash and tell him I'll drop the room key off once I've grabbed my things. Again, he says nothing.

Storming into the lot and to my room, I scroll through my messages, playing my voicemails on speaker.

"Beau, it's Em. Just checking in. Hope things go well with Max. Call me later."

Ha. Next.

"It's me again. This is not at all how I wanted this to go, and I have no idea where the hell you are or why you won't answer your phone. Shit." A guttural groan. "I'm in labor, Beau, where are you?"

In labor?

No, no, no. It's early. At least by a few, maybe a couple of weeks.