Part one
Still buzzing from the energy of her book launch, Payton Sinclair savoured her hot chocolate’s warm, comforting embrace. The hotel bar was dimly lit, a haven of quiet luxury after the whirlwind of signings, speeches, and congratulations. Just as she began to unwind, the door swung open, admitting a figure that sent a ripple of recognition through the room and a jolt through Payton: Quinn Garret, the heartthrob actor filming a movie in the city.
Effortlessly charming’ look about him. His eyes scanned the room, landed on her, and a genuine, disarming smile spread across his face. He moved with an effortless grace to the empty stool beside her.
“Hello,” he said, his voice a smooth, appealing rumble.
“Hello, Mr. Garret,” Payton replied
He raised an eyebrow, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes. “Well, that’s not fair, is it?”
“What?” Payton asked.
“You know who I am but don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Payton, Payton Sinclair,” she replied, extending a hand.
His grip was warm and firm. “Payton Sinclair… I’ve heard that name mentioned several times today. Are you an author?”
Payton giggled, a sound that felt surprisingly light and free. “Yes, I am.”
He leaned back, studying her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You must have a drink with me then.” He gestured to the bartender. “Another hot chocolate for the lady and a vodka and coke for me .”
“Thank you,” she murmured, a little dazed by his sudden interest.
And so they talked—about her book, a romance novel she’d poured her heart and soul into, and about his upcoming movie, a historical drama that he seemed genuinely passionate about.
They discussed the challenges of creative work, the vulnerability of putting your art out into the world, and the exhilarating feeling of connecting with an audience. He was surprisingly insightful, a far cry from the superficial image often associated with Hollywood.
Hours melted away with surprising ease. When Payton finally glanced at the clock on the wall, she gasped. “Oh, my word, look at the time. It’s 4:30 AM. I better make my way to my room. I have to be up early.”
Quinn checked his watch. “Yes, me too. I have an important call at 6 AM.”
They walked to the elevators together, the comfortable silence punctuated by the background music of the hotel bar. As the lift doors pinged open on their floor, Quinn chuckled. “Well, wouldn’t you know it? We’re practically neighbours.” He pointed to the door directly beside hers.
They said goodnight, a lingering look passing between them before returning to their rooms. Payton slipped off her shoes, still replaying their conversation in her head. She was drifting off to sleep, a contented smile on her face, when a bloodcurdling yell shattered the peaceful quiet.
The sound, undeniably, came from Quinn’s room.
Payton jumped up, grabbed her bathrobe, and headed to Quinn’s room, knocking urgently on the door. “Quinn, are you all right?”
A muffled voice came from inside. “Yes, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
Payton could tell he was in distress. She could hear the crying in his choked and broken voice. “Quinn, please open the door just to see if you are all right.”
“I’m fine, Payton.”
“I don’t think you are. Please open the door.” She could hear him moving, a wincing noise sending a jolt of fear. This wasn’t just a bad dream; something serious was happening.
“Quinn, open the door now; otherwise, you leave me no choice but to get security.” She hated the threat, but desperation was clawing at her.
Slowly, the door opened ajar. Payton didn’t wait for an invitation. She pushed her way in.
The sight that greeted her. Quinn was slumped against the wall, his pale face streaked with tears and… blood. His white t-shirt was soaked, and his hands, his wrists…
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, her voice barely a whisper. Quinn had slashed his wrists.
Payton acted instinctively. She led him into the bathroom, her hand trembling as she reached for the clean white sheet on his bed. Tearing it into strips, she knelt beside him as he sank to his knees, his eyes filled with nothing but pain. She wrapped the makeshift bandages tightly around his wrists, applying pressure to stem the bleeding.
Payton didn’t ask any questions. Not yet. Later, maybe. For now, his survival was the only thing that mattered. She helped and guided him to the bed, carefully settling him among the pillows.
“Please don’t leave me, Payton,” he whispered, his voice raw with despair.
“I’m not,” she replied, her voice firm despite her heart’s tremor.
She kicked off her slippers and climbed into the bed beside him. Gently, she pulled him close, cradling him like a baby. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his sobs racked his body. She held him tight, offering warmth and silent comfort.
He clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder as he cried. He didn’t speak; he wept, letting out all the pain and anguish that had been bottled up inside. Payton held him, rocking him gently, whispering soothing words that she didn’t even realise she was saying.
She didn’t know what had driven him to this point, but she knew she couldn’t let him face it alone. She would stay with him, no matter what.
Finally, exhaustion claimed him. His sobs lessened, his breathing evened out, and his body relaxed against hers. Quinn cried to sleep, finally finding a temporary haven in Payton’s arms. As she watched him sleep, she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, she fell asleep with her head against his.
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C. Langley
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