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Chapter One: Vacancies - Part Two
Flax
Flax took a steadying breath before he reached for the doorknob, his fist gripping the slender neck of the whiskey bottle and the pair of glasses clinking softly in his other hand.
He didn’t want to do this—shouldn’t even have been the one to have to—but he’d already put it off for too long.
He’d let days pass, letting time and fate take its course.
Enough was enough already.
So he paused a moment more before opening the door. Startled, he stopped and stared uncomprehendingly at the bleary-eyed, disheveled man seated dejectedly on the bed.
Lenten.
Damn, the man looked wretched.
His once crisp suit was now just a crumpled mess of dirty, gray wrinkles. His wire-rimmed, silver glasses were smudged, the oils from his grimy hands making the glass almost opaque. His face, unshaven and ruddy, was streaked with furious, violent tear tracks as his nostrils flared with each wracking, shaky breath. His wobbly, wet lips shuddered, trying vainly to hold back sobs.
Christ, Flax barely recognized the man.
When he hadn’t been able to find the usually fastidious, workaholic hotel manager in his office or in his room, he knew there was only one other place where he could be.
Suite 206.
Flax shook his head when Lenten turned away, taking off his glasses to viciously swipe his tears away on his sleeve. A useless effort as the stiff, unclean cloth only irritated the already raw skin.
Though Flax knew a lot about what happened in this hotel, he would never have presumed to pry into what happened in this room the night Lenten had sat here on that bed in this room and watched Mei—the unspoken love of his life—check out.
It just wasn’t done. Not even by someone as unabashedly unscrupulous as him.
So he wouldn’t say a word about that.
But damned if he did know what to say.
Without much else to do, Flax sat down on the bed next to the miserable hotel manager, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Frowning, he rested his forearms on his knees before he rolled his tense shoulders.
He was not cut out for this job. It was really more of a Mei kind of thing.
But Mei was gone. And a drink was not going to fix that for Lenten.
Setting the bottle and glasses on the bedside table, he sighed. “You, uh,” he said with a cough, “okay there?”
Lenten rolled his bloodshot eyes at Flax for a second before sharply averting his gaze again.
Yeah, okay, bad question.
Flax grimaced, not used to—and quite honestly hating—feeling so inadequate. “You wanna talk?” he asked. “I mean, about it?” He shrugged his shoulders again. “Or about,” he hedged, “you know, whatever.”
The rumpled manager rolled his eyes again and made a rather un-Lenten-like face before shaking his head. He turned his whole body away. “Just leave me alone.” His voice was surprisingly steady and calm.
Flax’s lips thinned while he studied the man. “At least come to the kitchen with me then,” he urged. “You haven’t eaten anything. Let me make you something.”
“Please leave.”
“Why don’t you go on up to your room?” Flax suggested. “Grab a shower. A change of clothes. Some sleep.” He shrugged. “Something.”
“Get out of here, Flax.”
“You shouldn’t stay here,” he told Lenten softly, kicking his heel out to study his boot. “It’s not healthy.”
“Get out.”
“You’re just torturing yourself, man.”
“Now.”
“She’s gone; you think killing yourself is really gonna bring her back?” Flax shouted before he could stop himself.
Lenten turned to face the man, hurt accusation on his face.
Shit.
See, this was why he wasn’t the one sent to do this sort of thing. He just wasn’t cut out for it.
For a moment, they both just stared at each other, neither of them willing to comment. Finally, Flax awkwardly opened his mouth, an apology ready.
Lenten stared at the other man, his icy blue eyes hard as they glared. Speaking slowly, Lenten said, “Go. Away.” Giving a low growl, he stood and his hands fisted. “Get out. Now—”
“Olive, no,” Flax heard Calla say before the door burst open and the sweet, little petunia ran in with 220 bent down low close behind her, her arms outstretched as she tried to catch the girl.
“I wanna see Mei,” Olive stated, her voice heavy with defensive defiance. “I want Mei.” She scanned the room, her eyes looking for the woman who would never be there again.
She stopped, her breath catching when she saw the two men standing by the bed. She swallowed hard as a truth she wasn’t ready to deal with threatened.
Flax sighed while the small, redheaded child shook her short bob of curls petulantly. With her eyes squeezed shut, she pouted. “Where,” she asked, her voice so calm and so steady, “is Mei?” She opened her bright and angry eyes, daring the grown-ups to answer her.
Calla, with a paled, pained expression on her usually smiling, tanned face, dropped to her knees on the carpet with a sigh. “Aw, sweetheart,” she cooed, holding the girl by the waist, “we talked about this.”
For a moment, the three adults just stared at the child, their hearts bleeding for the sad, little thing. Flax gave a small shrug when Calla looked up at him beseechingly.
Yeah, like he had any of the answers right now.
So Flax turned to Lenten, who looked positively stricken while he stared at his tiny niece.
Lenten shook his head and shut his own eyes. He took off his glasses and wiped his hand across his face wearily. “I can’t deal with this,” he muttered almost too quietly to hear. “I…” He gave a weak, tired laugh. “I just can’t.”
The three watched him turn and leave the room, striding out the door into the hallway.
“Uncle Lark?” Olive asked, her small voice squeaking with worry. She turned around in Calla’s grasp to watch her uncle walk away. “Uncle Lark?” she called, her voice growing in volume and pitch as her words wobbled with unshed tears.
Sniffling them back, she wiggled, writhing under 220’s gentle but unyielding hands. The little weed shoved and pushed and shrieked, but Calla only pulled her closer in a tight embrace that wrapped around the girl. With her arms thrown over Calla’s shoulder, outstretched to the man who was already gone, she cried miserably, “Uncle Lark!”
Flax saw Calla stiffen while the girl’s sobs wracked through her tiny body, making her protests unintelligible.
Coming up to the two, Flax stood next to the weeping girl. Still staring out the door into the hallway, Flax cupped Olive’s shoulder comfortingly as he hugged her to his side and wished he could hate the damned, fool manager for what he was doing to the sweet, little pea.
“I just wanted to know where Mei is,” Olive muttered miserably. She turned her face into Flax’s side, drying her wet cheeks on his jeans.
Flax bent low to scoop her up into his arms. “I know, petunia.” Calla stood up to smile gratefully at him while he rocked her gently. “I know.”
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