On the Way to You Page 4

  Emery pulled his sunglasses off, dropping them into the center console. “Hope you like gumbo.”

  The hotel was nice.

  Really nice.

  I sank down into the mattress of the bed closest to the door, stretching my legs out and rubbing Kalo’s head as I looked around. We were right in the middle of the French Quarter, and the rich golds and deep reds of the bedding and curtains in our room made me feel like I’d stepped back in time. It was a small room, and the architecture was straight out of the twenties, the tall arches and intricate windows, but it was regal. And expensive, that I knew without asking.

  Emery dropped his bag onto the opposite bed, eyes on his hands as he unzipped it and shifted through, pulling items out and plopping them onto the comforter. I was still looking around, stomach dropping at the thought of how much it cost to be in the center of the city, where everything was happening, in a hotel this beautiful.

  “I can help pay for the room,” I finally said, though my throat was dry with the offer. I had money saved, but I’d still planned on saving for a few more months. I needed to make what I had last, and that wasn’t going to happen if we kept staying in places like this.

  “Not necessary,” Emery said, fishing out a small black toiletry bag. “I’m going to take a quick shower, if you want to do the same after I’m done. Then we can go grab dinner and explore a bit?”

  My stomach flipped, and I hated it. “Sure.”

  I smiled, tucking my hands under my thighs, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He eyed my feet, and in a second all the blood in my face washed away.

  Here it comes.

  I waited for him to ask, to point it out, to look at me with pity and sorrow.

  But he didn’t do any of that.

  “You’re short,” he said, matter of factly. “Like, really short.”

  “I’m five foot,” I defended with a chuckle. “It’s not that short.”

  Emery quirked a brow. “I’ve seen taller fifth graders.”

  “Weren’t you going to take a shower?”

  He smirked, heading for the bathroom without another word. When the door clicked closed behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief, popping up from the bed to retrieve Kalo’s food from my bag. The little food and water bowl I’d picked up from the gas station popped up like a kid’s toy, making bowls from flat plates, and I poured the pebbles in before reaching for my water bottle and emptying the remaining contents into the opposite bowl.

  “Dinner is served,” I said to her, rubbing behind her ear as she hopped down from the bed and went to work devouring the food first. I stretched my arms over my head, walking to the window and opening the curtain.

  The sun had already set, one of my least favorite parts of fall. The days were too short, the sunshine too brief, but nighttime in New Orleans looked a lot brighter than it did in Mobile. The lights twinkled from the street below, the crowd already large and loud, the night alive.

  I sifted through the clothes I’d brought, realizing I had definitely not prepared for going out. Sitting in a car? I had clothes for that. But going out on the town with Emery Reed in New Orleans? Yeah, I had nothing.

  I heard the shower kick on as I settled on a simple, thin black t-shirt that tied in a knot at the front and a pair of dark jeans. I set the clothes to the side, along with my own toiletries, and then I plopped down on the bed again, looking at Emery’s stuff spread out on the other.

  My eyes flicked across the heaps of clothing and came to land on a thick, leather-bound book with a thin ribbon of the same leather marking a page in the middle. I tilted my head, eyeing it curiously before crossing the small space between the beds and picking it up.

  I knew it wasn’t polite to touch his things, especially without asking, but that didn’t stop my fingers from brushing across the worn cover, or tracing the frayed edges of the paper, or flipping it open to the first page and breathing a little shallower when my eyes found skinny, messy script inside.

  Grams wants me to start a journal.

  She bought me this because she said it looked manly enough for me to maybe give it a shot. I still don’t want to do it, but it’s Grams, and she knows whatever she asks me to do, I will.

  My therapist told me to start a journal a few months ago and I, politely, of course, told her to fuck off.

  She wanted me to write about my feelings.

  I told her I didn’t have any.

  But Grams said I should write out my thoughts, that I should write about the good days and the bad days to see what triggers each. She wants me to write about the dreams I’m having. I’m already annoyed just from writing this, so I doubt I’ll stick to it.

  I never stick to anything.

  I slammed the book shut, hand splayed on top of the front cover with my eyes bulging out of my head as I looked around like someone had seen me. Kalo was the only one, and she didn’t seem to care as she lapped up the last of her water and jumped back onto the bed, circling the foot of it twice before flopping down.

  It’s his journal.

  My heart beat loud in my ears as I looked back down at the leather, thumb tracing the stitching at the edge of it before I slowly flipped it back open.

  This is wrong. This is private. This isn’t meant to be seen.

  A loud tropical beat sounded from across the room and I jumped, nearly flinging the journal across the room.

  It was my phone, and I shook my head, making sure the journal was right where I found it before grabbing the ringing device from where I’d left it on my bed.

  “Well, hello, best friend,” I answered, flattening a palm over my racing heart as I sat on the edge of my bed.

  “Don’t ‘hello, best friend’ me,” Lily snapped. “Why did I get a notification that you shared your location with me? And WHY ARE YOU IN NEW ORLEANS RIGHT NOW?”

  My eyes skirted to the bathroom, the sound of the water running still filling the otherwise silent room. “Because I left Mobile.”

  “I can see that. It feels kind of creepy, actually, watching your little dot move across the map.”

  “For good.”

  She paused. “Wait… are you… is this it? Oh, my God, are you on your way to Seattle?!” Someone shushed her in the background. “Oh shut up, like you need complete silence to study for biology.”

  “Where are you?” I asked on a laugh.

  “The library. It’s where I live now that I’m in my core classes.” Someone shushed her again. “Bite me!”

  Lily was in her third year at the University of Illinois, slowly but steadily working toward her degree in speech therapy. She’d had the worst lisp when we were younger, and if it weren’t for her own therapist, she’d likely still have it. She wanted to be just like the girl who’d worked with her, helping young kids work through speech impairments. As happy as I was for her when she finally overcame it, I was thankful she had that lisp. Our imperfections brought us together — her speech, my leg — and without her friendship, I wouldn’t have made it through high school.

  “Why don’t you just text me?” I suggested, but my heart tightened, hoping she wouldn’t hang up. We barely talked on the phone anymore, almost always texting, and I missed her. She was the closest thing I had to a sibling, and her family was the only reason I believed a house could really be a home, if the right people were inside it.

  “As if,” she answered quickly. “Wait, so did you get in? Did you rent a car? I’m so confused.”

  “I’m with a boy.”

  Lily paused, like she’d misheard me. If I was her, I’d have thought the same. I didn’t talk to boys — that was always more her forte. “Um, do I know this boy?”

  “No. I don’t even know him.”

  “Wait. You got in a car with a stranger?”

  “Hence why I shared my location,” I reminded her. “Actually, Tammy shared it. I was too busy freaking out and listing all the reasons I shouldn’t go.”

  “Well, I can add a few to the list!” she yelled. “Who is he?
Are you safe? What if he’s a murderer?!” She whispered the last word, as if he could hear her through my phone, or maybe she was finally being considerate to the other students in the library with her.

  I laughed. “Look, I promise I’ve already freaked out enough for the both of us. But he’s… nice. And he’s not going to kill me,” I added, scrunching my nose. “I don’t think.”

  “Real comforting.”

  “At least, if he does, you’ll know where to find the body.”

  “Still not helping.”

  I chuckled again. “I’ve got it under control,” I promised her. “He’s a good guy.” I believed myself when I said it, even though I had no proof to back it up. Not yet. Not enough to feel as confident as I did when I said the words.

  Lily scoffed. “Like I care if he’s a good guy. Is he hot?”

  I didn’t get the chance to laugh before Lily rambled on, asking me question after question and listing off reasons why this was absolutely insane. But there was no way I could have responded to a single point she made, anyway, because the bathroom door swung open, and Emery walked out of the steam with only a towel wrapped low around his hips.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t hear Lily anymore. I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t not stare at him.

  His shaggy hair was damp, dripping water from the ends of it down his neck and over the lean muscles of his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, all the way down to the edge of the towel. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly with his eyes on the phone in his hand. It was playing music and he paused it, not even looking up at me when he spoke.

  “She’s all yours.”

  His arms were so muscular.

  His abs were so defined.

  His waist was so lean.

  His towel was so low.

  I snapped my eyes shut, shaking my head. “Uh, I have to go, Lily. I’ll call you later. Love you, bye.”

  “Wait—“

  I ended the call, plugging my phone into the charger before grabbing the clothes I’d set aside and the small bag with my extra liner and socks, dipping into the bathroom without another look in Emery’s direction.

  I still wasn’t breathing as I ran the bath water, peeling my diner uniform off and propping myself on the edge of the tub. I stared at the heap of cloth on the floor as I removed my prosthesis, realizing I would never be wearing that uniform again.

  Even though I’d done it for more than eight years, taking off my leg was still just as strange to me as it was the first time I did it. My hands moved on autopilot now, though, where they used to stumble through the process, fussing with the pin that would release all the parts with a simple click. I watched my hands numbly as they removed the leg, sliding it off the thick socks that I wore beneath it. I peeled them off next, one by one, followed by my liner, and then I was face to face with my scar.

  I took my time cleaning my stump before lowering myself completely into the water, sighing as the hot water rushed up to my neck. I let myself soak for a while before washing my hair and cleaning my liner, then I dried myself with one of the fluffy towels, switched to the new liner and socks, and slid my stump back into the prosthesis, standing to wiggle my knees until it clicked into place.

  The bathroom mirror was fogged over, and I ran my hand over the glass, making a circle just big enough to see my face. I knew what my body looked like. I knew the petite frame of it — the barely there chest, the narrow hips, the tan, freckled skin. And I knew the left thigh was thinner than the right, and that it ended in an uneven, unnatural cut just below my knee. Even with my leg on, even with the socks thickening my thigh and knee, I never forgot what was missing. I never forgot what I’d never have again.

  My long, wet hair stuck to my back as I dressed, and I smoothed a thick drop of keratin oil between my palms before brushing my fingers through the strands. I could barely see without my glasses on, which was fine by me, and I didn’t push them back into place until I was fully dressed and pulling the bathroom door open.

  Emery’s eyes found me when I emerged from the bathroom, and I stood at the door with my rumpled uniform tucked under one arm and my toiletry bag hanging from my opposite hand. I planned on moving, on walking back over to my bed and sitting next to Kalo, but once his eyes found mine, they pinned me. They felt more like hands as they made a slow descent all the way to my Toms. The strong and steady way they took me in, how they wrapped around my arms, holding me in place, making it impossible to breathe, let alone move.

  His eyes were darker in the hotel room light, and his hair was still damp as he ran a hand lazily through it. “I’m not that hungry yet, are you?”

  “I could wait,” I lied, my stomach growling in protest as my feet finally found the ability to move again. I tucked my dirty clothes into the side pocket of my duffle bag, slipping a new hair tie over my wrist as I turned back to face Emery.

  “Cool. Let’s hit a few bars before dinner, then.”

  “Okay.”

  He eyed me. “Don’t look so scared.”

  “I’m not,” I lied again. His journal peeked out from where he’d stuffed it back into his bag, and I ripped my eyes from it and back to him.

  Emery stood. “First thing’s first — we need costumes.”

  “Costumes?”

  He crossed the room to me, stopping with less than five inches between us, his own body towering over mine as a barely there smile found his lips. “Well, it is Halloween, isn’t it?”

  My twenty-first birthday wasn’t for another three months, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I said I didn’t drink. But it was. Every single time. Because even if it wasn’t legal for me to have a beer yet, it was still normal for me to want one. Except I didn’t. I never had.

  I told Emery this as he picked random headbands off a street cart on Bourbon, placing one after the other on my head and tilting his head to the side as he watched me, trying to decide what I should be for the night. He had a pirate patch over his eye and a bandana tied over his hair, along with a fake gold earring clipped on his left ear. He completed the look with a pirate sword hooked into a brown leather belt at his waist.

  For me, the choice was between a cat and a devil.

  Neither made sense, since I was allergic to cats and my list of sins was five lines long, the worst of the offenses being that I stole a backpack from Mr. Harold’s store when I was thirteen.

  Still, Emery decided the devil horns suited me, and after I was equipped with a red plastic pitchfork and a tail that hung awkwardly from my tailbone, we were swallowed by the chaos that was Bourbon Street.

  I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. There were hundreds of people crowding the street, pouring in and out of bars, all of them dressed in costumes and their necks decorated with layers and layers of beads. It wasn’t even Mardi Gras, but I learned quickly that it didn’t need to be for everyone in that city to celebrate and show skin for plastic necklaces.

  Emery grabbed my elbow and pulled me closer to him as we walked through a particularly crowded part of the street, his eyes on a bar in the distance.

  “It’s like you’ve never been to a block party before,” he said, his mouth close to my ear.

  I just laughed, my gaze not catching on one scene for too long before I was finding something else new. “I haven’t. This is… insane. There are so many people, and it’s so loud!”

  “And smelly,” he added, and I laughed again. He wasn’t wrong.

  Emery had to guide me the entire way until we got to the bar, especially since I was stopping at every street performer we passed along the way. There were saxophone players and flame throwers and magicians, voodoo doctors and bead vendors, and a group of religious protestors holding up signs that read, “Jesus Is Watching.” There was so much to look at that it was impossible to see it all, but I still tried, eyes wide as I took in everything for the first time.

  “You sure you don’t want anything?” Emery yelled over the live music in the first bar we slid i
nto. He had ordered a grenade, which made me fear for his life.

  “I wouldn’t mind a water.”

  His brows knitted together, a curious expression flashing on his face before he ordered me the water, taking the barstool next to the one I’d propped myself onto.

  We turned in our seats, listening to the middle-aged man playing an acoustic guitar as he made jokes with a bachelorette party gathered around his tiny stage. It was curious that the bar was so packed and loud and yet felt so intimate and cozy at the same time. It was like we were all just a group of old friends, reunited for the evening.

  I sipped on my water as the man on stage started his version of “Sweet Caroline.” My free hand was absentmindedly rubbing my left thigh, but I pretended I was just tapping along to the beat when Emery’s eyes would catch on my fingers. Sometimes it was phantom pains, other times it only felt like pins and needles, like my leg was asleep, and right now I had a combination of the two as my feet dangled from that barstool.

  We weren’t there for long before two things happened at once, almost so in sync I thought they were planned.

  One, an adorable brunette more than a little blessed in the bust area propped herself right between Emery’s legs, her chest directly in his line of sight as she leaned up to whisper something in his ear. I flushed red, tearing my eyes from the scene and back to the stage, but my view was blocked by a dark-haired, tattoo-covered man as he smirked down at me.

  “Water, huh?” he said, appeasing my half-empty plastic cup. “I knew they went hard in NOLA, but no one warned me about girls like you.”

  My cheeks heated double-time, and a nervous laugh shot from my lips as I took another sip.

  He seemed to be about my age, maybe a little older, and he leaned one elbow on the bar to my right, effectively separating me from Emery and the busty brunette from the bachelorette party.

  “I’m Vinny,” he said, reaching out a hand for mine. His entire forearm was covered in ink, and my eyes traced the lines of it as I slid my hand into his.