Hookup ✓ [MikhAiah] [Book #3]

32

—🐶—

Aira clutches the shift gear, her knuckles whitening as she taps her thumb against it, an impatient rhythm matching the clamor of her mind. Every thought seems to overlap—anger, betrayal, confusion, all clawing at her as she presses harder on the gas. The highway blurs by, but her destination doesn't seem any clearer. Finally, the drive takes its toll, and she finds herself parking in front of a hotel, the familiar glow of its lights grounding her. She grabs the stack of papers, shoving them deep into her luggage before stepping out and handing her car keys to the valet.

As she steps through the hotel's front doors, the receptionist glances up and instantly recognizes her. "Welcome to—oh, welcome back, Miss Riley."

Aira musters a small, polite smile. "The penthouse, please," she says, her tone cool and unyielding.

The receptionist nods, slipping her the keycard with practiced efficiency. "Certainly, Miss Riley. And should I arrange for your usual amenities?"

Aira doesn't hesitate. "Yes. A bucket of ice and some beer. Thank you."

She doesn't linger, taking the keycard and her luggage to the elevator. Inside, the silence presses in, and she lets out a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing briefly as she tries to ground herself. By the time the doors slide open, revealing the private corridor to her penthouse, she feels the weight of exhaustion settle heavily in her chest. She slides the keycard, and the door unlocks with a soft beep. Cool air hits her as she steps inside, and a fleeting sense of solace washes over her. No one knows about this place, not even her closest friends. This was her escape, her sanctuary—far removed from her father's influence.

She tosses her luggage onto the couch and stares at it, a tumult of emotions roiling in her chest. She isn't the type to linger on anger or hold grudges. Yet here she is, weighed down by disappointment and betrayal. After a beat, she grabs a towel from her bag and heads to the shower. The rush of water is a welcome balm, washing over her, cleansing her even as questions continue to swirl. Why had her father lied? What memories had he hidden from her? And what happened in the past that was so terrible he'd erased it from her life?

When she steps out, her skin warm and flushed from the heat of the shower, she wraps herself in a bathrobe, tying it snugly around her waist. Her gaze lands on her phone, lying face-up on the coffee table, its screen lit with missed notifications—calls from her father, messages from friends, all reaching out with concern. Her jaw tightens. Her father must have told them something. The last thing she wants is their sympathy, or worse, their pity.

She sighs as her phone vibrates once more, and Miki's name flashes on the screen. Where are you? The message makes her pause, a strange ache spreading through her chest. Everyone had exchanged numbers when she started managing the band, but she hadn't expected Miki to actually reach out like this. A tension headache begins to creep in, pulsing dully at her temples.

"Right... that clinic at the resort gave me something for this." She rifles through her luggage, finding the packet of headache tablets. She pops one into her mouth and follows it with a long sip from a bottle of water she'd stashed in the fridge.

Another message pops up as she sets the bottle down. Aira, your father's looking for you. She groans, muttering, "Stop messaging me," and flips her phone to Do Not Disturb, tossing it to the side.

She reaches back into her luggage and pulls out the papers again, leafing through them. Hospital bills. Redacted names. Legal papers. Her fingers skim over each document, trying to piece together an impossible puzzle. Her doubts intensify. Did she even have an aunt named Aria, or was this just another fabrication?

Sighing heavily, she sinks into the couch, lying back with her head propped against the cushion. "I hate this, Mom," she whispers to the ceiling, the edges of her vision growing hazy as sleep creeps up on her.

—🐶—

When her eyes flutter open, she's no longer in the penthouse. Everything around her is washed in black and white, soft edges blurring her vision. She recognizes the setting—

A playground.

Full of children laughing and playing. A bittersweet pang runs through her as she watches the scene. Is this... a memory? The pill must be wearing off, letting a shard of her past slip through.

"Aira!" A young voice calls out, high and bright. She turns, searching, and finds herself looking at a little girl—herself, dressed in a playfully patterned dress with a single ponytail. The sight almost makes her laugh. It's exactly how she'd pictured herself back then, always running and playing without a care.

"Hi, █████!" Little Aira calls, skipping up to another child. "████'s mom said she can't come out 'cause she's sick," the other child says, and little Aira frowns.

"Aww..." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out something small and shiny. "Can you keep this for ████?"

As little Aira hands over the object, the sun catches on its surface, making it glint so brightly that her vision blurs. But just as the object shifts out of view, she hears a faint voice calling from afar.

"████! Let's go, sweetheart!"

Little Aira glances back and waves. "See you tomorrow, █████!" she calls, her laughter echoing in Aira's ears as the memory fades, the playground dissolving into darkness.

—🐶—

With a sharp gasp, Aira jolts awake, the penthouse's dim lighting greeting her. She blinks rapidly, the hazy memory lingering but slipping through her fingers like sand. Those redacted names on the papers... maybe they were linked to whatever happened back then. But nothing makes sense.

The doorbell rings, pulling her from her thoughts. She remembers her order and makes her way over, tying her robe tighter around herself as she opens the door to a hotel staff member holding a bucket filled with ice and bottles of beer.

"Bucket of ice and beer for Miss Riley," he says politely.

"Thanks." She takes it, nodding briefly before closing the door behind her. Right now, she has no energy for pleasantries. All she wants is the quiet and the haze of alcohol.

She sets the bucket on the table and reaches for her phone, watching it light up with notifications—messages from Sandy, Mela, Selene, her father, her bandmates... and Miki. She scrolls through them, the words practically repeating themselves in her mind: 

Where are you? 

Your dad's looking for you. 

Are you okay, Aira?

When she clicks on Miki's message, though, something about it makes her pause. 

Where are you? I won't tell anyone. Just tell me you're alright.

For some reason, the simple message from Miki brings her an unexpected sense of calm. She smiles, a small, tired smile as she glances at the scattered papers around her. Her fingers move almost on their own as she pours ice into a glass, followed by beer, the cold liquid seeping down her throat as she types out a reply.

"Crescent Hotel. Come alone."