Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
REESE
“Reese.”
My name whispers like a chant in my head, soft at first, but building with urgency until something jiggles my shoulder.
The beautiful mountain scenery around me shatters into a thousand glass fragments.
Desperate, I rush to pick up the pieces and return to the peaceful state I once had.
My shoulder is shaken again, and I grumble into my pillow.
“Go. Away.”
“Get up, Reese. The driver says we have to get off the bus.”
Bus? I open one eye, and a blurry leather seat comes into focus.
I jerk upright and wince, the side of my neck stiff and tender.
Tristen’s face comes into view next and the flood of memories hits me, and I wish I could escape back into my dream world rather than deal with the awkward day that lies ahead.
Tristen the-bane-of-my-existence Davis kissed me.
And the worst part? I liked it.
Like how the world fell away when I listened to his voice, it was the same when his lips pressed into mine.
Only this was more intense and charged with electricity that I felt it ripple through my entire body.
Even now my brain easily recalls the tingle of his lips and the scrape of his beard on my chin—and I want more. More of Tristen.
I hate that yearning he’s aroused in me. Because I know that to him, this is all a joke. He’s playing into the fact that I hadn’t realized I was talking about him the entire bus ride. I bet he thinks he’s so hilarious. Ha. Ha. Such a funny prank to pretend he likes me.
I’m not falling for it.
Cringing, I remember how honest I was with him . . . ugh . . . I even said I felt a connection with his voice.
The only connection I want to feel with Tristen is my fist in his face.
Oh, I plan to rip into him about his prank. He’s not getting off easy. There’s so much I want to scream at him, but I just can’t right now. My body is in that state of limbo between alert and slumber, leaning more toward the latter.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I instantly panic at the drool crusted at the corner of my mouth. I wipe it away, hopefully before Tristen notices.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “No talky. Coffee first.”
“Sir, can you just carry her off of the bus?”
I squint up at the strange voice, my brain still fuzzy. Nobody is carrying me anywhere.
“Not if I want to keep my hands. She’s going to get up. Right, Reese’s Cup?”
Stretching, I lift my elbow up and rotate my neck with a hiss. I glare at him through one eye, knowing he’s deliberately irritating me.
I’m still rubbing sleep from my eyes as Tristen drags me from the bus, my backpack slung over his shoulder. It’s a weird out-of-body experience, like I’m drunk but without my buzz, as I stumble behind him. My arms are limp, my feet are cement blocks, and my eyes are as dry and gritty as the Sahara.
He grabs our luggage waiting on the curb and loops the straps of my backpack around my arms as I groggily stare through him, too tired to care.
When he touches my hand, I yank it from his grip.
“Stop touching me.”
“Man, I forgot what a joy you are in the morning. Can you wake up already?”
“I am awake.”
“Then open both of your eyes.”
Oh. I peel my right lids apart and let the rest of the bus station come into focus.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask with a yawn.
“Not long enough. An hour maybe?”
Ugh. This explains why it feels like I’m dying.
“Where are we?”
“Dallas.”
Dallas? Wait . . . wait . . . A spike of adrenaline hits me, firing through me like lightning. I grab Tristen’s front in a panic. “You let me sleep past our stop?!”
He pries my fingers from his jacket one by one. “I didn’t. We’re in Amarillo, but I thought you’d need a jolt to get you moving.”
I open my mouth and clamp it closed so fast my teeth rattle. What did Granny always say to me? If you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.
Apparently I’ll be unable to talk to Tristen for the rest of the day. Or possibly ever.
Turning away from him, I slip off my bag and search through the pockets.
“Just going to ignore me now?” he asks with a bite to his tone.
I pause for a second before returning to check another side pocket. My lips stretch, the dry skin taut on the verge of cracking. “I need . . . my gloss.”
He groans dramatically. “Of course you do.”
“What do you have against lip gloss?”
“Nothing,” he barks.
If we are fighting about cosmetics, we’ve hit a new all-time low. We both need to rest and eat a meal that hasn’t been purchased from a vending machine before we lose our minds. It’s moments like these that I always say the things I regret the most.
And I really don’t want to apologize to him today.
I grab my gloss out of the zipper pocket and clumsily apply it. The tight pinching on my chapped skin stretches comfortably, and the grips of panic release from my chest. I have absolutely no idea why my dry lips are one of my triggers, but at least it’s easier to manage than my anger.
“Are you done primping? I want to get to the camper so I can pass out. What’s the name of the guy we’re meeting?”
Primping? I frown but once again take the high road. Be proud of me, Granny.
“Gary Snead is his name. He said he would be outside the station . . . somewhere. It doesn’t look like there’s much around here to begin with.”
The Amarillo bus station is a fraction of the size of the one in Denver.
Surrounded by a fence, a long road loops around the main building, a hub for passengers to wait.
Along the loop, multiple overhangs are marked for the different bus stops, including the one we disembarked with the Greyhound logo.
Fumes of exhaust overpower the open lot, only growing stronger as a new bus squeals into the parking spot adjacent to us.
It’s a slow and steady stream of buses. As one bus comes in, another one is heading out.
Outside the iron gates, new cookie-cutter houses are mid-construction, with a few graffitied houses sprinkled in.
The whole area appears to be getting a facelift to match the new station, but it still doesn’t stop me from tugging the strap of my backpack tighter and keeping a wary eye as I walk down the station sidewalk.
Home suddenly seems far away.
Tristen takes a step closer to me, and for once, I don’t mind his protective instincts.
“Is there a parking lot where we should be meeting him? I don’t see one.”
A middle-aged man stands outside the gate, holding up two pieces of paper taped together with my name scribbled across. He holds up a hand when he sees me, sending me a friendly wave.
“I guess that’s Gary over there.”
His jaw drops. “You don’t know?”
“He didn’t send me a mug shot if that’s what you’re asking.”
“This whole thing doesn’t feel safe. Stay close to me, okay?”
I bark a laugh at that.
“Calm down, Romeo.”
Tristen’s head whips toward me and a hint of pink flushes his cheeks and through his beard. “That’s not what I meant.”
A satisfied smirk pulls up one side of my mouth as he grumbles the rest of the walk out of the station and through the gate to where the man waits.
“Howdy, there. The name’s Gary, Gary Snead.” He shakes Tristen’s and my hand in a firm and almost painful grip as we introduce ourselves. “Welcome to Amarillo. Hope y’all had a good drive down.”
Both Tristen and I share an awkward glance before I clear my throat.
“It’s been . . . interesting. I’ll say that.”
I can sense Tristen’s eye roll without even looking at him.
“So, where’s the RV parked?” I ask, scanning the dirty streets.
“Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t bring that to these parts. Y’all want it in one piece, I reckon?” He chuckles and adjusts the brim of his Dallas Cowboys ball cap. “It’s parked up yonder at the campsite. We’ll ride over in my truck once ya get yer things loaded up.”
“So we are riding with you to the campground?” My eye twitches.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the camper is there? The Winnebago you sent my brother in an email?”
“Yep, it’s sitting up pretty for ya right now.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to motivate myself to get back into another vehicle again. “How far away is it?”
“As the crow flies, about ten minutes, give or take. Come on, now.” He turns and walks away, expecting us to follow.
“As the crow flies?” Tristen whispers to me and raises a brow. “This trip just keeps getting better and better.”
“Don’t give me grief. I didn’t plan this trip out. Talk to Des,” I whisper out the side of my mouth as we follow a few paces behind Gary.
“Oh, I plan to. He’s getting a piece of my mind about sending you out here on your own. Bet you’re glad I came with you now.”
“Eh. Not really.”
We stop at the rear of Gary’s fancy truck, the robin’s-egg blue paint glossy like it was recently washed.
“Of course not. What was I thinking?” He chucks my suitcase with a little extra force into the back of the truck. It clanks as it tumbles into the back.
“Watch it. If you break one of Lewis’s tools, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have stolen them to begin with.”
“Borrowed. I borrowed them.”
Gary clears his throat, eyeing me carefully.
“We’re just joking around,” I say with a fake laugh. I must pass inspection because he hops in his truck without another word. I elbow Tristen in the ribs as soon as Gary is out of sight.
He sucks in a breath. “What the heck was that for?”
“All the things. I have too many to pick from.”
“And here I thought you were going to thank me,” he growls, taking a step closer to me.
“Wow. You really are delusional.”
The truck window rolls down.
“Hey, y’all. I hate to rush this lover’s tiff goin’ on, but I’d like to head on back to the missus before my breakfast gets cold.”
Tristen grabs my shoulder, turning me so I face him.
“So, we’re really doing this?”
“I mean, we’ve come this far.”
“It’s your call.”
Blinking, I take a moment to realize he’s putting the decision in my hands. Since the beginning, this has been a wacky process, but if it’s what Des wants . . .
I nod. “We got this.”