That was a dreadful thought.
“Okay,” I nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Dean grinned triumphantly and fist-pumped the air before performing some sort of happy dance.
He looked like he was having a seizure.
“Alright, Will,” again with that horrid nickname, “let’s pick.”
He spread out the map of the United States.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
My breath stuttered but I did as he said and closed them.
“Now pick.” His breath fanned across my cheek.
I swirled my finger around and then stabbed the map.
I opened my eyes and read the name of a city I’d never heard of. “Palatka, Florida.”
Dean handed me the map and backed the car out. “And now we just have to figure out how to get there.”
He said it like it was going to be so easy.
I knew it was going to be anything but.
One thing was for sure, though, it was going to be an adventure.
Our adventure.
Dean
We stopped for the night in a small town in North Carolina.
So far our trip had been pretty uneventful.
Most of the towns we passed through shouldn’t even really be considered a town. I was positive the number of cows surpassed those of the people.
We stopped a few times and explored a few of the places, but never lingered long.
The most exciting thing we found was an abandoned building with a dragon sculpture out front. Willow took endless pictures of it and then tossed her camera at me and proceeded to climb up the dragon to sit on its back. She’d then tossed her hands in the air and ordered me to take a picture of her.
Once we got back on the road we speculated about the dragon—why it was there, who had made it, and why it ended up abandoned.
When we crossed the line into North Carolina shortly after, Willow made me stop once again. This time so she could have a picture of herself standing in front of the state sign. She’d even dragged me into one of the photos. I pretended to be irritated, but I was secretly happy that she was so intent on documenting everything—even scribbling in her notebook all the time. Any time I tried to get a peek she slapped it closed and glared at me.
The sun was just beginning to set when we pulled into the motel.
It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, but it would do.
I grabbed our bags and my guitar and headed into the small office to check-in.
Willow had her backpack slung over her shoulder and her baseball cap on backwards. She’d grown tired of her hair whipping against her face and put the hat on to help.
“How many rooms?” The bored receptionist asked.
I turned to Willow, not sure what she’d want to do.
“Would you mind sharing?” She asked.
I shook my head. I’d rather share. If she was in another room I’d worry endlessly about what she was up to—because Willow could get into all kinds of trouble if released into the world alone. This way I’d know she was safe and not up to no good.
“One room, two beds,” I told the receptionist.
“I need a credit card and ID.” Her voice was monotone—about as dead as her personality.
I handed it over and she sighed heavily, like it was such an effort to enter our information into the computer and give us our room key.
After we had our key we headed out to our room.
We entered from the outside and I was glad we’d been given a room on the lower level near the car.
I slid the keycard in and held the door open for Willow to enter first.
She hurried inside and collapsed on the bed, her limbs spread out like a starfish.
I couldn’t help but laugh at her as I set our stuff down.
“Tired?” I asked her.
She rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand. “Not really. But I’m sure you are. You did all the driving.”
I shrugged. “Driving doesn’t bother me.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and stretched my legs out.
“Thank you,” Willow said softly, surprising me.
“For what?” My brows furrowed together with confusion. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done for her to be thanking me.
“For offering to come with me. For being my friend. For lots of things.”
“You don’t ever need to thank me,” I told her.
“Yes, I do.”
I nodded my head in response. Sometimes you didn’t have words.
I rubbed my hands over my jeans, suddenly feeling nervous for some strange reason.
“You can shower first.” I pointed towards the small bathroom, like she didn’t already know where it was.
“You sure?” She asked, making no move to stand.
I nodded.
She hopped up from the bed, almost bouncing as she walked over to her duffle bag.
She grabbed it up and headed into the bathroom.
While she was showering, I drove down the street to the Burger King I saw on our way in. I knew what Willow liked to eat so I didn’t even have to ask her before I left.
When I returned she was sitting on the bed, cross-legged, scribbling in her journal.
Her blonde hair was damp and the ends dripped onto her purple tank top.
I couldn’t help but eye the swells of her breasts and the endless miles of her legs exposed by her pajama shorts.
She looked up at the sound of the door and set her notebook aside.
“Food!” She cried clapping her hands together. “You’re my hero!”
Why did my whole body warm at those words?
“I was hungry, figured you were too.” I shook the bag and strolled over to her bed. I sat down beside her and stretched out my legs.
I handed her the bag of food and she began rifling through it while I set the cardboard cup holder between us.
“You remembered!” She cried, pulling out the pack of chicken nuggets.
“You always order chicken nuggets and fries.” I shrugged. “I figured that hadn’t changed while you were gone.”
“You’re too good to me.” She leaned over and her plump pink lips pressed to my cheek.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
What the fuck was happening to me?
“Nah, Will,” I shrugged, “that’s just what friends do.”
She cracked a half smile and bounced on the bed as she reached for the packet of sweet and sour dipping sauce.
I pulled my burgers and fries out of the bag and sat back.
My stomach rumbled at the smell of the food and Willow giggled.
“Your stomach sounds like a bear.” She smiled as she dipped a fry in the sauce. “I can’t believe you’re still hungry after everything you’ve eaten today.”
“I’m always hungry.” It was the honest truth. I’d driven my mom mad when I was a teenager. She couldn’t keep the pantry stocked with food because of me.
I bit into my burger, eating nearly a quarter of it in one bite.
Willow flicked a piece of damp hair out of her face and wiggled around. She was constantly moving. The girl couldn’t sit still if her life depended on it.
“I think we did pretty good today. We didn’t get lost once.”
“We’re still relatively close to home,” I reminded her. “Most of the routes are still familiar.”
She shrugged. “That’s true.” She paused, nibbling on one of her chicken nuggets. “How far do you think we’ll go tomorrow?”
“No idea.” I crumbled up the empty wrapper and reached for my second burger. “If we find a place worth stopping, we will, and if we don’t we keep going.”
She nodded, absorbing my words. “I like this plan of yours. I mean, it’s a lot like my plan with my friends, because I had no idea where I wanted to go, but I was planning to use a navigation system. Getting lost with Lauren and Greta wasn’t appealing.”
“But getting lost with me is?” I jested, curious as
to what she’d say to that.
She pondered my words and reached up to brush a crumb from her bottom lip.
Finally she spoke and her voice rang with certainty—there was rarely any vagueness with Willow, and said, “Yeah, it is.”
She finished eating and stuffed all the trash in the empty bag.
She picked up her drink and slurped at it, seeming lost in her thoughts, which was rare for Willow. Normally she spit everything out, not caring that she might be better off keeping her mouth shut.
But she was different now.
It’d happened while she was at college.
It was as if a bit of her free spirit had been dampened.
I didn’t like the thought of Willow not being herself—of turning into an emotionless robot like the rest of the world. I wanted her to find her way back to who she was.
I finished my food and disposed of the bag in the lone trashcan in the room.
I grabbed my bag and went to shower while Willow returned to her journaling.
I was going to have to snag that thing and see what she was writing in there.
By the time I’d finished in the bathroom it was nearing ten o’ clock.
Willow had set her journal aside and was lying in the bed wide-awake.
“You want the TV on?” I asked her.
The TV in the room looked ancient. It was one of those with a curved screen that jutted way out in the back. Honestly, the thing should be considered a fossil.
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
I turned it on, just to have the background noise.
Neither one of us did well in silence.
I slid into bed and rolled over to face Willow in hers.
There was a small, wistful smile dancing across her lips. “Do you remember that time when we were little and convinced our parents to let us sleep in tents?”
I laughed at the memory. “Yeah, I remember. You got scared in the night and ended up in my tent. Your dad was so pissed when he found us.”
She laughed too. “We’re always pushing his buttons, aren’t we?”
I shrugged. “He’s just worried that I’m going to take advantage of you.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Why would he think that?”
“For starters, I’m a guy and he’s your dad. That’s already a strike against me. Most dads don’t like their daughter’s being friends with boys, and we were friends from the time we were toddlers. Also, I’m a little bit older than you, so he would think I might pressure you into something.”
She rolled onto her back and laughed at the ceiling. “He’s so silly. I mean, he wasn’t this overprotective when my prom date came to pick me up.”
“I guess it’s because I’ve always been there for you and he knows that I always will be. And as your dad, he’s always going to be there for you too. Whereas what’s-his-face was just a fleeting thing.”
“His name was James,” she laughed, “and I know you remember that because you called him James the Jabber.”
“He did talk a lot.”
She threw a pillow at me and her musical laughter filled the small room.
We weren’t at home, but the sound of her laughter made it feel like we were, because Willow was my happy place.
I’d missed this.
I’d missed her.
And I was only beginning to realize how much I needed her.
Willow
Dean was already awake when I finally cracked open my eyes.
He was dressed, his brown hair curling around the collar of his shirt.
When he turned around I couldn’t help but smile at it. It said: THUG LIFE. DROP THE T AND GET OVER HERE.
Dean and his endless supply of funny shirts always amused me.
“Morning,” he greeted me cheerily.
“Good morning,” I replied, rubbing my eyes. I sat up and stretched my arms above my head. “What time is it?”
“A little after seven,” he replied, picking up his guitar and sitting it beside the door as well.
I rolled out of bed and reached for my duffle bag on the floor. I pulled it over to me and shuffled my clothes around until I found the shorts and top I was looking for.
I passed by Dean and into the bathroom to change.
My hair had dried into a frizzy mess and I was surprised Dean hadn’t been scared for his life. I was looking pretty monstrous.
I combed it through and pulled it back into a messy bun. Several pieces escaped and fell forward to frame my face.
Once I was dressed in my ripped shorts and favorite tank that was frayed on the ends I opened the door to find Dean sitting on the edge of the bed strumming his guitar.
He was humming the song and his eyes were closed.
He seemed to be in his own little world and hadn’t even realized I’d come out of the bathroom.
I sat down beside him and his eyes jolted open when the bed dipped with my added weight.
“Keep going¸” I encouraged, “I haven’t heard you play in forever.”
His lips tipped up into a smile.
He’d been playing softly before, but now he played with vigor.
He began to sing too and I broke into laughter when I realized it was a One Direction song.
Only Dean.
He played through the whole song and then set the guitar down by his feet, but held onto the neck.
“Ready to go?” He asked me.
I nodded. “It’ll take me two minutes to get everything back in my bag.”
“I’ll get the car loaded then.” He stood and picked up his guitar before making his way to the door.
I grabbed my journal and pencil from the bedside table and stuffed it into my backpack.
I unplugged my phone from the charger and sent a quick text to my dad telling him we were on the road again and I’d call later.
I scanned the room and bathroom, making sure I hadn’t left anything.
I spotted my hat lying on the chair in the corner and I swiped it up, fitting it into my backpack in case I needed it later.
When I opened the door Dean was making his way back to the room.
“Let me get those.” He jogged forward and grabbed my bags.
Dean was a bit old-fashioned, and what I meant by that was he was the kind of guy who thought he should always hold the door for a woman¸ or in this case, carry the bags.
He set my backpack on the floor of the passenger seat and put my duffle in the trunk with his.
“I’ve gotta go return these.” He held up the room keys, wiggling them between his fingers. “I’ll be right back.”
I sat on the hood of the car while I waited for him. I didn’t want to get in the car just yet since I figured I’d be confined to it for the next few hours.
Dean came out of the building, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What happened?” I called and he looked up. His green eyes were full of confusion.
He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the office, as he walked. “That woman just hit on me.”
I snorted, unable to control the reaction. “Was it the same one from last night?” I hopped down from the car and toed my shoe against a loose piece of asphalt.
He shook his head. “Nah, a different one. Older.”
“Older?” I cackled. “Got the cougars coming after you now, Dean?” I bumped his arm with my elbow.
He looked horrified, which only made me laugh harder. “Shit, I hope not.” He glanced back like he thought she might be following him. “Hurry up. Let’s go.” He put his hand on my waist and gave me a little shove back towards the car.
“Are you sure?” I turned around and made like I was going to head into the office. “I think I need to ask her a question.”
I didn’t make it more than two steps when Dean swept me up into his arms and over his shoulder.
“Ahhh!” I screamed.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you go back in there.” He carried me over to the car and dumped me
into the seat.
I felt a bit lightheaded but it was too funny for me to be mad.
Dean then proceeded to buckle me in and held his hand out in a stop motion. “Stay,” he ordered.
“I’m not a dog, Dean.”
“Well, you could use some obedience training,” he quipped.
“Asshole,” I muttered, but I didn’t really mean it and he knew it.
He slid into the car and grinned at me when he started the engine. “Day two of Dean and Willow’s Epic Road Trip starts now.”
I grinned. “You’ve named our road trip?”
“Of course,” he looked both ways before beginning to back out, “everyone knows you have to name it.”
“Why is it epic? It might be a total fail,” I countered.
“Ah, but this is us we’re talking about here. We’re already so epically amazing that this road trip could never be a failure.”
“I like it,” I admitted.
“Good.” He grinned. “Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
I couldn’t even be surprised.
We stopped a few miles down the road and went through the McDonald’s Drive-Thru because Dean wanted to eat while he drove.
I handed him his greasy heart attack inducing breakfast sandwich.
“Enjoy your clogged arteries.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I will.”
He proceeded to take an exaggerated bite, gulping down nearly half of the sausage biscuit in one bite.
I tried to hide my disgust.
I really did.
Okay, I totally didn’t, but Dean didn’t care anyway.
I pulled out my own healthier choice—although, healthy and McDonald’s didn’t really go together—and took a much smaller bite.
“Aw, look at you eating like a little lady,” he joked, smiling around his food.
“I’m no lady,” I said, a bit peeved, and then took a bigger bite.
He chuckled at my reaction.
Still chewing on my gigantic bite I rifled around in my backpack for my journal and marker. I knew I had a sharpie in there somewhere.
I nearly cried with joy when my hand finally closed around it.
I took another bite of my sandwich and laid the journal in my lap while I uncapped the sharpie.
Dean kept glancing over, trying to figure out what I was up to.
“Eyes on the road,” I warned him as I leaned over the journal, scribbling across it.
The Road That Leads to Us Page 6