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Chapter Seven
Callie
The door was shut to Wade’s room when Bear and I got up. At first, I didn’t really think much of it—considering that men rarely ever take as long to get ready as women do—I figured he was sleeping in. So, I hurried up and got ready, making myself look more than presentable since I’m going to be meeting his family. I checked the weather and Roberta, Texas is supposed to be a perfect 72 degrees today, so I went for a yellow sundress and ankle-high cowboy boots. It isn’t overly dressy—but it is nice. I also put on a light layer of makeup and added some slight waves in my hair.
But now—now I’m standing in the middle of the small sitting area of the hotel room. Wade’s door is still shut and it’s nearly seven-thirty. I thought that he would definitely be ready to go—or at least up. But he’s not.
So, I do what any fiancée would, and I knock on his bedroom door. “Wade,” I call through the door. “Are you up?”
No answer.
“Wade!” I shout, knocking a little harder on the door. “I’m coming in.” I pause, thinking that’ll surely get him up.
Nope.
Bear is sitting beside me, his head tilted at me—probably wondering what the heck I’m doing. And probably waiting for me to take him out to the bathroom.
“He’s not getting up,” I say to Bear, as I turn the knob of the door. As soon as it swings open, my mouth drops. “Because he’s not here.” My stomach drops at the sight as the panic begins to rise in my chest. His bag is nowhere in sight—and in the thirty minutes or so that I spent getting ready, he’s not been back to the hotel room. My heart is racing as I search everywhere for any sign of his things.
Nothing.
“That fool left us here,” I explode, throwing up my hands in panic as I grab the harness and leash for Bear. “And there’s no way I can get us back to Arkansas without a massive headache. I don’t even know how to get a car out here.”
Bear wags his tail at me and gives a bark, like he’s saying something in response. But whatever he’s saying doesn’t seem to be nearly as panicked as I am right now. I’m starting to wonder how the heck I’m going to make it back home.
I can’t hitchhike. I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to know that’s how you get picked up and killed.
“What in the world are we gonna do?” I say, shaking my head as I try to come up with some sort of plan. Why would he have left me? Wasn’t everything fine last night? That just seems so ... crazy.
Unless he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn’t want a fake fiancée anymore—or maybe he left in the middle of the night to go to a party or something.
Maybe he’s passed out in the middle of the street.
I read the articles about Wade Lewis. He’s a wild card—known for getting black-out drunk in public, partying, and womanizing.
Heart pounding, I race to the only window overlooking the parking lot. Ripping back the purple curtain, I peer down, searching for the silver truck he drives. I don’t think I’ll see it from here since I’m pretty sure we parked at the front. But still, I look.
And there’s no silver truck down there.
So, I grab Bear’s leash in one hand and my bag in the other, heading toward the hotel door to see if I can figure something out. As soon as I step into the entryway area of the room, I hear a beep on the other side, like the keycard has been waved in front of the door.
And there’s Wade, a big ‘ole smile on his face as the door opens.
“Hey, you look great,” he says, stepping into the room. Bear rips the leash right out of my hand to run to him, and he laughs, bending down to pat him on the head. “I take it you’re ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, relief and a little embarrassment washing over me—I was totally convinced the man left me stranded. “Where were you?”
His eyebrows raise as he stands to his feet. “I was just loading my bag and my phone rang—so I was down in the parking lot talking to my brother. Then I needed to run a quick errand. Is everything okay?” He looks completely confused.
“I thought you left me,” I admit with a shrug, motioning for Bear to return to my side, which he thankfully does.
“Why would I leave you, Callie?” He laughs, obviously not understanding that we’re basically strangers.
“I dunno, but I don’t even have your phone number,” I say, my shoulders dropping. “I mean, most of the time, people—especially fiancés—tell their significant other when they’re leaving. That’s just normal relationship etiquette. It’s fine if you don’t care enough to tell me where you’re going,” I say, hoping to hide the little bit of hurt panging in my chest, “but if you’re going to convince your family that this is real, then you’re going to have to, you know, actually act like a real fiancé.”
“Uh,” he begins, looking more shocked than ever. “Okay, that’s all great—but you were sleeping. What was I supposed to do? Wake you up? That seems a little inconsiderate. I left the room at 6 A.M.,” he reasons, folding his arms across his chest. “If you would’ve been awake, you would’ve known—because I would’ve told you. But you were sleeping.”
“Honestly, I would have preferred if you had woken me up. That’s much better than waking up alone and thinking that you had abandoned me,” I say, though I guess I do see his point. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I would’ve had your number or something. Then I could’ve just called or texted.”
