Page 49 of Fear of Flying
So he did just that. And minutes later, he was halfway to the elevator when his chest lurched with a painful sob trying to claw its way out, and some force locked his feet in place for a terrible minute. Every last fiber of his being wanted to turn the fuck around and run back to Zach, to strip back down to his boxers and climb back into bed with him, holding him until he woke and their future together could begin.
But Drew knew it wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. Zach deserved every single ounce of happiness in the world, and Drew wasn’t capable of giving it to him.
It was better this way. It had to be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zach
Drew was gone. Like took all his stuff gone. Like there had to be some other, rational explanation except there wasn’t gone. Like he just left and didn’t even leave a note gone.
Zach had searched the entire suite. Twice. Hoping in vain that he’d find Drew and be able to joke about how he’d gotten lost in their ridiculously large hotel suite. Though it wasn’t really “theirs,” was it? It was Drew’s. Drew’s law firm’s.
It didn’t matter. He needed to check out.
Zach sat in one of the armchairs facing the TV, biting his bottom lip and clutching his phone so tightly in his hand that his fingers were starting to cramp up. He glanced at the screen—he’d woken up forty-three minutes ago. The alarm he’d set last night was due to go off in seven minutes. Because 9:30 a.m. would have given them a little time to snuggle, a little time to pack their few things, and then extra time to get through security before they grabbed breakfast closer to their gate with hopefully plenty of time to spare.
But Zach was already dressed and ready to go. His first search of the room had left him feeling a deep, penetrating cold and a strong desire not to be so casually vulnerable in just his boxer briefs. He even had his socks and shoes on because padding around in their suite barefoot had suddenly seemed too intimate.
Their suite. How the hell had things gotten to jointly owned status in less than two days’ time? But yeah, just like that, nothing was “theirs” anymore—gone faster than it had taken to become a thing. It wasn’t their suite, and they wouldn’t be leaving a little early to get to their gate or their flight.
It was just Zach’s flight now, and he was trying hard as hell not to think about how that was going to go and whether or not he’d even be able to get on the plane. His whole body was buzzing with anxiety, and there was plenty of tension and tingling to accompany the leaden knot in his stomach. His anxiety was having a field day, and there were only two options for topics to fixate on:
You’re flying alone.
Drew left you.
God, the urge to cry was pressing out from the center of his chest, like he could feel it trying to force its way past his lungs, which were doing a shitty job of breathing.
Was there a better option of the two?
You’re flying alone.
Drew left you.
Zach let out a growl of aggravation that sounded far too much like that of a strangled animal. He just had to focus on the next thing. Just one thing. He needed to shove his few belongings into his duffle bag and vacate the suite. He wasn’t sure if Drew had officially checked them out or if their request for late checkout was still being honored. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t think Drew would be that callous, effectively kicking him out without even waking him, but he also hadn’t thought Drew would—
Goddammit. Why had he left?
Hot tears spilled out of Zach’s eyes, and his anxiety maintained its steel grip on his chest and shoulders and neck and every other part of his goddamn body.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Just focus on the next thing. One thing. Packing.
Zach shoved his phone in his pocket and stood, flexing his fingers to try and get feeling back into them. One foot in front of the other, Zach forced himself to move to where his duffle bag was, just outside the main bathroom. From the bathroom counter, he grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, not having the heart or the energy to actually brush his teeth right now. The only other thing he’d unpacked from his toiletry bag had been—
Zach swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, as if he could somehow swallow back all the memories of their intense lovemaking. God, he didn’t even want to grab the lube. He should leave it here, hopefully along with the memories. But a strong pull of anxiety made him walk over to the nightstand and grab it anyway.
He hated—hated—that his anxiety was calling the shots right now. Because it didn’t fucking matter if the housekeeping staff saw it and had to throw it away. It didn’t matter if they realized that—gasp—people had had sex in the bed. It didn’t matter even more because they had no idea what Zach’s name was or who he was, and Zach was never going to have to see these people or know if or how they reacted to anything that had happened in this room.
It literally didn’t fucking matter. But his anxiety wouldn’t let him let go of all the thoughts and the potential embarrassment. He stalked over to the bathroom again and shoved the small bottle back into his toiletry bag, which he then shoved into his duffle bag. And his breath hitched painfully in his chest when he turned and his eyes landed on the only other personal belonging left in the room.
He choked out a sob as he reached toward the towel rack and grabbed the pajama pants Drew had borrowed and subsequently—
Zach screwed his eyes shut, cutting off the thought, or trying to. Right now, he didn’t want to remember touching a man for the first time, making love for the first time, stroking his lover to climax for the first time minutes after he’d had his own. He didn’t want to think about how they’d laughed breathlessly or how incredibly awkward but ultimately intimate it had been to clean themselves up and hastily wash the pants in the sink, then hang them to dry.
Fuck. He hated this. It hurt—hurt so fucking much. And when he tried even harder to shove the memories of Drew away so they couldn’t cause so much pain, his anxiety jerked the steering wheel sharply, aiming his thoughts squarely back at flying.