Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(66)

Doyle’s life lay inside that room, through that door that he couldn’t enter.

A life he’d given up so much for despite all common sense and reason telling him he was making a huge mistake.

“So you and Mevi are…back together?” He struggled against the urge to throw up, hoping he was wrong.

“Sure looks like it.”

Doyle grasped for something to say, anything.

“I wish you all the best,” he numbly managed.

She actually rose up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’m hoping he’ll finally make an honest woman out of me this time around. I’ve waited long enough for him.”

He knew her smile might come off as playful in other circumstances.

He hoped he’d managed to pull a calm, dispassionate mask into place. “Okay, then. Please wish him well for me.”

“I will.” She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Fighting the urge to puke right there in the hall, Doyle turned, unlocked their room door with trembling hands, and quietly shut it behind him.

After taking a deep breath, he surveyed the room, started taking inventory of where his stuff was, and planning how to pack. That’s when he spotted his phone.

Walking over, he picked it up and scrolled down to Tate’s last text, which he hadn’t deleted yet.

He replied.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Mevi awoke disoriented and confused. The room was dark, the slight glow of full-on daylight visible around the edges of the blackout curtains.

Then he sat bolt upright, realizing this was not his room.

“Fuck!”

“What?” Bonnie mumbled from the other bed.

Fumbling, he found the lamp and switched it on so he could locate his iPad and check the time. “Shit! It’s after ten o’clock!”

“So?” she grumbled. “Thanks for leaving me hanging last night, by the way. Jerk.”

He found his room key and gathered his stuff in his arms before he raced for the door. “Why did you let me f*cking fall asleep?”

“Jesus Christ, what difference does it make?”

He fumbled the key card in the lock and froze as he walked in.

The room hadn’t been made up, but it felt…

Empty.

“Doyle?” No one in the bathroom.

Dumping his stuff on the first bed, he threw open the closet.

Doyle’s stuff was gone.

Hands trembling, he dug his phone out of his bag and realized it was still on silent. And he found the texts from Doyle. The first from last night, about an hour after he’d gone into Bonnie’s room.

You coming back to the room?

And then one from just two hours earlier.

Bonnie made it clear you’re back together with her and told me my services are no longer needed. I wish you well. I’ll forward Clark a list of references if you need further help.

It felt like his balls had been twisted off.

He tried calling Doyle, but it went to the man’s voice mail. He didn’t know if it was the message he’d been using while with Mevi, or a new one.

“You’ve reached Doyle Turner. I will be out of contact for a couple of months, working with a client. You can leave a message at my work number at 714-555-2299 and it will be given to me. Thanks.”

When the tone sounded, Mevi still left a message. “Doyle, I don’t know what Bonnie told you, but no, that’s not true. I’m not with her. I fell asleep over there working. Please, call me! I love you.”

He shot him a quick text with the same message, begging Doyle to call him.

He stormed across the hall, but of course Bonnie’s door had swung shut behind him when he’d left. Pounding on it with his fist, he didn’t relent until she finally opened the door.

“Fuck! Mevi, what the hell?”

“What did you tell him?”

“What? Who?”

“Doyle. What the f*ck did you tell him last night?”

She wore a long T-shirt that covered what he suspected was the fact that she wore no panties under it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Well, you’d already crashed for the night when he knocked. I told him we didn’t need him anymore because you were back with us. Told him we’d have Clark pay out his full contract and any bonuses. Why?”

Mindful of two housekeeping staff watching, he stepped inside her room, forcing her back, and shut the door behind him.

“What the hell did you tell him about us?”

“He asked if you and I were back together, and I told him I hoped so. That it sure looked like it.” She shot him a glare. “Although I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you to fall asleep working last night. That wasn’t exactly romantic.”

“Oh, f*ck.” He turned from her and fought the urge to put his fist through a wall. “Please tell me you’re kidding, that you really didn’t say that to him.”

“Why? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She crossed the room to follow him. “That’s what we do. I thought maybe this time it’s different now that you’re sober and everything’s working out. It feels…different this time. You feel different this ti—”

He wheeled on her. “Because I’m gay and Doyle’s my boyfriend!”