Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

59: to be convinced

Elli. El. Our Mr. Lockwood.

I've heard variations of Elliot's name uttered by anonymous faces of cohort mates who, in comfortably draping their arms around Elliot, offering him TMIs about their lives or flashing megawatt smiles, implicitly claimed to be his best friends.

From the moment our relationship began with the photo of Michael in the casino, I'd refused to call him with a name that seemed to suggest even the tiniest bit of cordiality, let alone intimacy.

The habit had grown on me, and I'd always called him just one name.

'Elliot'.

Seeing Elliot, panting at the door with a hotel room card key in hand, I was glad I was sitting down. My knees would've given way otherwise.

He'd gotten my message.

"Yeah. I'm in my room." I smiled. "Don't worry about me, Elli."

Without sparing his son a second glance, Richard serenely sipped his tea, and put down the cup.

"The reputation of this hotel seems unfortunately overstated. A celebrity's privacy would hardly be protected by a dogged, deep-pocketed journalist."

The laptop on the coffee table was tucked away in Gerald's briefcase.

Elliot's eyes followed the laptop, as he steadied his breathing.

He stood at the entrance of the hotel room, one hand still on the open door. He was leaving the door open.

"I wouldn't disturb your time together. Ms. Horan, apologies for the disturbance."

With a benevolent smile and a dip of his head, Richard walked out of the room, followed by Gerald.

The two men's footsteps that had been muffled by the carpet in the room, reverberated clearly through the hallway, against the cold beige marble floor.

Very still and in our two places, Elliot and I listened to the footsteps, until they'd faded out of earshot.

Still at the threshold as if rooted to the spot, Elliot asked, quietly, "Are you okay?"

His voice was hoarse. Underlying it was a small, barely detectable quiver. His knuckles were white against the door knob.

I nodded.

"Mind if I come in?" He wasn't looking at me.

There was a taste of cobalt in my back of my throat. I'd been chewing on the insides of my mouth.

Only after taking a sip of the now cold tea, could I answer. "Come in."

~ * ~

"Richard has all the evidence too," Clare said, dryly, and calmly.

In the almost pitch black hotel room, Elliot lay on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. The room still faintly smelled like earl grey tea Gerald had brewed.

Whether by bribery or by threat, the elderly owner of 'Rivera Roberts' had given Richard the evidence that'd been entrusted to him by Isabella.

Richard had made a copy of the files, and left the originals with the owner. To see how Clare and Elliot would react.

This wasn't a surprising turn of events.

Now, they had no leverage over Richard. Richard and Michael were like a set.

"Oh." Putting an arm over his forehead, Elliot only mumbled.

"Elliot. What do you think it'll feel like? Living on after making our parents go to court."