Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2)

by Lowe, T. I.

  Sawyer is here, of course, but he knows to keep his distance. He has her on his arm. She is fresh and new and so stupid, hanging all over him as though she may get to keep him. He’s coddling her and wearing her like a trophy tonight. I guess that means he is still playing the role of her boyfriend. This stings, but with some alcohol in my system I’m well on my way to numbing it out.

  I’m starting to wobble a bit after only two shots, so I’ve started nursing a bottle of water. That high quality stuff kicks your butt quicker. The expansive loft space has an industrial vibe—with exposed brick walls and grand wood beams on the ceilings accompanied by shiny metal ductwork. I stroll the space, stopping occasionally to catch up with some acquaintances, but tire of this rather quickly so I ease over to the eight-foot windows to check out the view of the New York skyline. All those lights twinkling in the dark night have always reminded me of Christmas lights.

  The smile automatically pulls at my lips when someone’s reflection comes into view from behind me. He stands looking me over leisurely, thinking he is getting away with it. A giggle comes close to escaping me, but I hold it together. I want to see how long he plans on checking me out. He does this for a few long minutes until a woman requests his attention. Always the gentleman, he offers it to her.

  Greyson Stone has showed up tonight and I’m ready to go attack him with questions I want answered. I keep my eyes on him as a cute guy delivers me another shot. I down the sharp tangy, tequila quickly.

  “Be a sweetheart and take care of the glass.” I bat my heavy eyes at blondie.

  He obliges, of course, with a lazy wink. “Sure thing, doll.”

  I don’t want the booze bloodhounds to catch me with a glass in my hand. They know my rehab record, so it’s obvious I’m a prime target tonight. I actually feel people watching me, or maybe my guilt is tapping me nervously on the shoulder. Either way, I’m dreadfully anxious.

  The last drink kicks in and every joint in my body becomes nice and soft. Now I’m beginning to forget why I’m supposed to be behaving or why I should really care. Shrugging those notions off, my gaze seeks Greyson out again. He’s not hard to find, being that he looms over the entire crowd. He is the tallest person I know. He has his back to me, so I creep up and wrap my arms around his waist.

  “Gotcha!” I squeal.

  Greyson turns in my arms with a smile tugging at his full lips, but keeps it in check. Hmm… Those lips… They are so full and pouty. Those lovelies begin to move as I focus on them. “You realize there are eyes watching you tonight. Someone’s going to get you, if you don’t straighten up.” His six-foot-seven-inch frame towers over me. I’ve always liked how tall he is. I’m taller than most, so he makes me feel more dainty.

  I roll my eyes at him. Typical Greyson. He hasn’t seen me in over two years, yet he goes straight into reprimanding me.

  “Just chill, honey. Stop being the fun police.” I pull him away from some girl without a second thought. “I do know someone has been watching me tonight. Let’s go somewhere so you can watch me some more.” I wink at him and start moving us through the crowd.

  “I’ll catch back up with you later,” he reassures the dismissed girl over his shoulder—ever Mr. Polite.

  I keep dragging Greyson along with me until we are in a less congested corner, and openly check him out with one hand perched on my hip and the other tapping my chin. He stands before me, wearing relaxed-fit jeans and a white oxford shirt casually buttoned and untucked with an unzipped hoodie peering from underneath a dark blue sports coat. He looks ultra-cool as always even though I think he is using my tactic of layering clothes to add volume to his bony frame. Those dazzling green eyes look a bit amused at me, but I continue to inspect him anyway. I even do a full circle around him while gliding my fingers along his shoulders and back for good measure. He tenses under my touch, causing me to giggle in approval. I like making this big guy nervous. Once I face him again, I do another full body scan. He’s not as pale as he was and the dark circles under his eyes aren’t as prominent as they were a few weeks back. I pull the charcoal fedora from his head and tsk my disapproval. His hair just won’t do.

  “I hate your hair,” I say bluntly.

  Greyson runs his hand over his head. His hair is nearly shaved completely off. He shrugs before grabbing the hat from me and replacing it on his head.

  “Just where have you been hiding, and why do you look like a flipping vampire?” I blurt out. My swaying is becoming more pronounced so he slides his hand protectively underneath my elbow to steady me.

  “You guessed it, smarty. I’ve been portraying a vampire.” His eyes twinkle with sarcasm.

  I don’t know if I believe him or not.

  “Look. You not letting me know where you’ve been…” I shake my head dramatically, but have to stop when dizziness invades me. “Not cool, my friend.” I tap him on the chest.

  “Why’s it matter to you where I’ve been?” Greyson tilts his head and waits for my answer. The head tilt thing is a signature Greyson expression. I know he’s really listening when I see this. And man, can he do something delicious to ad campaigns with that very same move. He is just so yummy.

  I lean closer to him and produce my signature pouty face. “Because you’ve always been my favorite. I’ve been worried about you.”

  This makes him straighten his stance and smirk at me, as though he doesn’t believe me. I’m drunk and don’t know any better, so I start giggling and can’t stop.

  “Shh… You don’t want to attract any attention tonight.” He looks around with worry only evident in his eyes as he keeps his casual demeanor intact. I, on the other hand, am failing miserably.

  “Don’t I know it.” I agree with a snort. Man, am I wasted. I should have just said NO. This thought causes me to snicker even more.

  Greyson starts pulling me towards the exit. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  I stop in my tracks and try to think this through. My mind is swimming in a toxic sea of tequila, making it nearly impossible.

  “Hmm… Last time you told me that, I woke up in rehab.” I try to glare at him, but I’m pretty sure I only pull off an eye squint.

  He rubs his head along the edge of the fedora, giving away his slight frustration, and all I can think about is why on earth would he agree to an ad contract making him cut his hair so severely short? This man’s luscious hair should always be on display. It’s a crime for those locks to be gone.

  He gives me another sly look after a few beats. “Fine. Stay here and see where you end up.” He releases me and walks back to his company from earlier, leaving me swaying alone.

  But I’m Julia Rose and am never one to be alone for too long, so another guy offers me a lite beer. I’ve got an awful case of cotton-mouth from the tequila, so I gladly accept it. I spend some time with this Italian stud, until I’ve consumed two beers and can barely stand upright. He is offering to take me to his apartment, and that sounds like such a great idea to me.

  We are making our way to the exit when Greyson is back beside me in a flash. Things start to get really fuzzy at this point and the night begins fading in and out. I’m in trouble. My eyes won’t adjust and they keep a constant blurry quality that I can’t shake off.

  I blink my eyes and I’m at the party. Then I blink again and now find myself in a taxicab with New York City zooming by. There’s no recollection of leaving the party, as with my world spinning. Clamping my eyes tightly, I try willing it to stop. Opening my eyes, I find myself in my apartment, sitting in the dining room. That’s odd in itself because this is a room I never use. Greyson stands before me, but I thought I was with the Italian stud?

  I blink and am now being handed a slippery glass of water that I am having a hard time keeping a grasp on.

  “Hold it tight. Don’t let it slip,” Greyson keeps instructing as he moves in and out of my vision. I hear him say something about an adventure. Then I hear something shatter all over the dining room floor.

  “
Don’t move, Julia. You’ll get cut,” he says.

  I try to sit still as I’m told to do. My mouth is beyond dry, so I lift the glass to take a sip. It’s gone. Oh… I guess I dropped it. I couldn’t help it though. My hands are numb. Everything is numb.

  Later… I think it’s later… I find myself in a strange bed and I swear to you it’s moving. I’m definitely not in my apartment. This space is smaller and very unfamiliar. My scrambled mind tries to be worried, but my world completely abandons me before I can grasp ahold of it.

  ~~~~

  Morning finds me all kinds of hung over and I’m scared to open my eyes. I lay here, trying to piece the night back together, but my head is pounding and my mouth feels like the desert. I pull the blanket over my head and try to put off consciousness for a little longer, but it’s not working because I have to pee something fierce. I peep an eye open and panic sets in and overrides all my other problems.

  I. Don’t. Know. Where. I. Am!

  I’m in an RV! What? I jump off the bed and scan the RV for some familiarity. A wave of vertigo slams into me and I have to steady myself against the wall for a few moments. Standing in this spot, I regard my surroundings, while clutching my pounding head. It’s a brand new fancy mini mansion of an RV, but I find no comfort in that. There’s no memory of any of it.

  How did I get here? Why can I not remember?

  Eventually I stumble towards the back where I find a bedroom, and looking inside I am almost comforted to find Greyson, lying face down asleep. I could strangle him and have to fight for some restraint in not doing so.

  “Greyson,” I say urgently as I shake him awake. He grumbles and turns over to get farther away from me. I continue to shake. “Greyson!”

  “What?” he mumbles in aggravation as he continues to lay here.

  “What am I doing here with you in some RV?” I hop onto the bed and shake him mercilessly.

  “Stop shaking me,” he grumbles. “You said you wanted to go with me.”

  “Go where? Greyson, look at me,” I whine in panic.

  “Humph.” He grumbles some more, but rolls back around and looks at me with barely cracked open eyes.

  My breath catches at how awful he looks. “What’s the matter?” I perch on the side of the bed and study his features. He looks exhausted with those dark circles vividly prominent under his eyes, causing the paleness of his skin to be pronounced again. He actually looks hung over, but he never drinks. I don’t recollect him drinking anything but bottled water last night, but I did lose a chunk of the night somehow. “You weren’t even drinking last night,” I say in confusion.

  “No, but I drove all night and I really need some sleep, please,” he mutters as his eyes ease shut again.

  I shake him on the shoulder, but abruptly stop. A gasp escapes me when I spot a long thick scar on the left side of his upper chest. My fingers test the texture of the horizontal pucker, feeling Greyson stiffen.

  “What happened to you, Stone?” My voice chokes out the words.

  He bats my hand away and pulls the cover up to hide his bare chest. “Knife fight. You should see the other dude.”

  “Seriously?” I spot another scar on his neck, but keep my hands to myself.

  “Yes. Now leave me alone so I can sleep.” Without waiting for a reply, Greyson rolls back away and places a pillow over his head.

  I leave him be for the moment, because quite frankly the bathroom is screaming my name. There’s only one other door besides the exit in the RV, and it reveals a bathroom when I push it open. I take care of business and move over to the sink to wash my hands. This is a pretty swanky getup. It’s a roomy bathroom with high-end tile work and a granite countertop on top of the vanity. I’m surprised but so glad to find my toothbrush and toothpaste sitting by the sink. As I’m scrubbing the vile taste out of my mouth, something hits me Greyson said a few minutes ago. He said he had been driving all night…

  I spit the toothpaste out and throw my toothbrush into the sink before darting back into his room. Jumping on the bed, I begin shaking him vigorously and demand, “Greyson Stone! Tell me right now where you’ve taken me.” I’m crying loudly now. He immediately opens his eyes and looks at me in alarm. “Please don’t take me to some rehab.” I sniffle the words out, knowing I cannot do rehab again. They want you to admit or at least try to figure out what is behind your addiction, and I have no desire to go near that subject with a ten foot pole. I’m nearly panicking.

  “No rehab, Thorton. So dry it up,” he says in a deep, husky voice full of sleep.

  “Then where are we and why?” I let go of his shoulder, sit back on the bed, and wipe away the tears.

  “At the moment, we are in a campground in Maine.” He rubs his hands over his weary face and sighs in aggravation.

  “Maine?” I could kill him. “Why in the devil are we in Maine?”

  “It’s where the adventure begins.”

  “What adventure?” I massage my temples, hoping to ease some of the throbbing. Nothing is making any sense.

  “I’m going on an east coast road trip. Top to bottom. You begged me last night to bring you along.”

  “I was drunk. You knew that.”

  “Look, I drove all night. I really need to sleep right now. We’ll figure out where to go from here after I sleep.”

  “You’re taking me back home!”

  “Most definitely. What was I thinking?” he mumbles as he turns over once again. “Get out,” he says gruffly.

  Well. What now? I don’t know what to do and I’m hurting too bad to sort it out, so I leave him alone as he demands and go explore the full-sized fridge. Thankfully, it is well stocked. I grab a bottled water and chug all of it in one long gulp to help with the dehydration. It only takes a little bit of rummaging in his cabinets to find what looks like a small pharmacy and to grab some aspirin. I feel like death, so I crawl back in my bed and try to shut the world out for a while.

  A few hours pass unnoticed before I reawaken. I sit on the edge of the bed to get my bearings. This full-sized bed is surprisingly comfortable. The bedding, and the entire RV for that matter, is in my color palette of choice—black, white, and silvers. Well, it’s more in gray tones, but close enough. It’s stunning, to be honest. I wipe my eyes and scan the interior. Behind the passenger seat, I see two familiar luggage pieces and my purse. Relief washes over me with having clothes. I am still wearing what I wore to the party, minus the pants. Not very good sleepwear, just let me tell you.

  I ease off the bed and go peek in on Greyson. He is still out like a light and is cocooned under his plush gray comforter. I guess he is in need of a good bit more sleep so I leave him alone and go for another bathroom visit. After I scrub the fuzz from my teeth for the second time today, I find myself getting fidgety. I plunder through my purse and am relieved to find my phone. There are more messages and email than I have any desire to face, so I skip them and pull up my calorie app. I roughly estimate that I threw back four shots of tequila along with two lite beers. Well, that’s what I can vaguely remember, anyway. I plug the drinks along with the Lean Cuisine into the calorie calculator and almost panic when it indicates I have indulged in a whopping nine hundred calories. There’s no choice in the matter now, so I rummage through my bags and quickly pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I’m so glad my running shoes have made the trip. I lace them up and grab my earbuds and iPhone armband that I always keep in my purse.

  I have eight miles I need to knock out, like right now. I ease outside and take in my surroundings. My phone indicates that it’s already two in the afternoon, but this place is pretty deserted. Maybe late March isn’t a popular time for Maine camping? The air is a bit cool, but I welcome it as I pull my hair into a ponytail. Hopefully the clean, crisp air will help clear my head while I burn off all that booze. What on earth was I thinking last night? I wasn’t just asking for it—I was begging. I really need to knock that drinking off. It’s getting out of control.

  While stretching, I g
et a good look at the RV so I will remember to return to the correct one later. It will be easy, though. It’s by far the biggest and sleekest one here. It is in a black and silver color scheme and is one tough looking motorhome. Taking a few moments to look around until I find the small post that indicates that we are on site fifty-three, I type the site number in under my notes app on my phone then set up my run app for eight miles. With the running playlist up and running, I strap my phone to my arm and position the earbuds in my ears. The entire campground looks to be a big looping trail. Perfect.

  I take off slowly in a jog for the first quarter mile before picking up the pace. I want the eight miles behind me, so I need to push it, and push it I do. My focus stays on the trail before me as I impatiently wait for the voice indicator to count down the miles. Too much partying last night causes me to be sluggish, so I know my time won’t be anything impressive. Wanting this over with as fast as possible, I dig deep and push through. I clock in at an hour and fifteen minutes by the time the voice indicates those eight miles are complete. I’m a good half mile from the RV so I slow and walk the rest, trying to get rid of the jitteriness in my legs. They feel like Jell-O.

  By the time I reach site fifty-three, my body is close to collapsing. My heart is pounding in my ears and the possibility of puking is a dangerous threat. I’ve robbed myself. I guess the runner’s high has been cancelled out by my hangover. Spots start whirling in my vision, and I sense myself falling forward before the dark veil completely swallows me.

  “Suga’, you okay?” I hear someone call to me. The voice sounds distant, so I ignore it.

  Something wet is lapping at my face and it startles me enough to wake up. I find a little white fur ball is licking me. Yuck. I yank my face away from it and roll over to coerce my body into a sitting position. I place my head between my legs to ward off the dizziness that slams into me.

  “Suga’?” a sweet voice asks. I glance over my arm but don’t risk raising my head just yet. She’s a Miss May lookalike minus the rich brown skin. This lady is pale as paper. She is holding a leash, but the fur ball isn’t attached and is now licking my sweaty calf. Gross little thing.