Page 63 of Craving Chaos

My hotel room is next to Renzo’s. One thin wall lined with floral wallpaper from the nineties separates us. One wall and a heartbreaking betrayal. If only one were as easily overcome as the other.

I’m relieved to finally be alone, though I also feel oddly out of sorts. Everything is so quiet and clean and spacious. The old me would have scoffed and called the place outdated, but it’s positively regal compared to where I’ve lived for the past three weeks. I’m almost overwhelmed with my options. I desperately want to shower, but the food we picked up is getting cold. I used the toilet at the hospital, so I’ve already basked in that particular delight.

I’m standing in the middle of the room debating what I should do when there’s a knock on the door. I jump a foot in the air, then chide myself. It’s so unlike me to be jittery. I don’t like it, nor do I understand it. I feel like I’ve been dropped in someone else’s body—someone else’s life—and nothing feels quite right.

My heart skips sporadically when I see Renzo on the other side of the door.

“I forgot. You’ll want to call your family.” He hands over the disposable phone we picked up at the drugstore.

For a second, I thought … I don’t know what I thought he’d come for, but that wasn’t it. And whatever it was, it not happening leaves me feeling empty inside. I choose not to examine my reactions. I simply don’t have the capacity.

“Thanks. I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”

He nods, pausing awkwardly before returning to his room. I put the odd interaction out of my mind along with my growling stomach because, for once today, I know exactly what I want to do.

My hand starts to shake as I dial my brother’s number. I may be close to my cousin Conner, but Oran would never forgive me if I didn’t call him first. True to form, he answers after a single ring.

“Yes?”

“Hey, big brother. Remember me?” I joke when I’m emotional—it’s what I do—and I’m suddenly engulfed in more emotion than I can process.

Oran is the opposite of me. He can be charming, but I wouldn’t call him playful. And when he’s upset, his intensity level goes through the roof.

All I hear over the line is a swift intake of air.

“Shae? Is it really you?” he finally says in a voice so heart-wrenchingly childlike, all attempts at composure fall to the floor.

The tears hit me so fast and hard that I can’t breathe. I’m nodding, and I know I need to say something, so I force in a gulp of air and squeak a single word past the vise around my throat. “Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ … Shae.” My name, so often spoken in a tone of frustration, is pure exaltation from my brother’s lips. “Shae butter, where are you?”

His childhood nickname for me brings a shaky smile to my lips and a bonus round of tears to my eyes. I hated it when he started to call me that after learning there was such a thing as shea butter. He thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. I’ll happily take the reminder now of those innocent days in our lives.

“I’m in Quebec. A little town called L’Ascension.”

“Canada?” he says in surprise. “How the hell did you end up in Canada?”

“It’s too long of a story to tell you over the phone. I assume you guys figured out that Renzo and I were taken?”

“We did, but we didn’t know much else. None of it made sense. If they had killed you, why hide it? And why hadn’t we received a ransom request if they'd taken you?”

“Again, it’s a long story that led us to a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere. It’s taken Renzo and I this long to get to safety.” Two weeks longer than necessary. I don’t tell him that part because it’s not any of his business. I’m not sure how I feel about what Renzo did, but I do know that I don’t want my family to judge him for it.

“Jesus,” Oran breathes across the line.

“Oh, it gets much more interesting, trust me. We’re safe now, though, and Renzo said he’s got his family working on getting us back across the border. We don’t have our passports and don’t want to get stuck waiting on red tape.”

“Definitely not. I’ll get with the Morettis and offer our help. We’ve already been in regular contact while looking for you guys.”

“Thanks, O,” I say softly.

He’s quiet for several ticks of the clock. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I can’t believe you’re coming home.”

“Psh, like you could get rid of me that easily.”

I can’t see his smile through the phone, but I can feel it just as sure as I can feel my own heart beating.

“Thank God. Things are awfully boring around here without you keeping us on our toes.”