17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Chloe
I’m not a huge fan of winding roads. Normally they give me a headache, but today they are stirring my stomach like a witch brewing a potion. The leaves are starting to turn orange and red, and while they provide a pretty distraction, it’s not entirely helping.
I’m sitting in Dawson’s front passenger seat, looking straight ahead, drawing in slow controlled breaths. It’s taking everything in me not to spew in Dawson’s car, which does not look like a typical family vehicle. I’m not sure of the car’s age, but based on the shiny leather, clean carpet, and dust-free dashboard, I’d say it’s either new or Dawson keeps his car as clean as his house. I don’t know why I pictured goldfish crushed into the floor and wrappers everywhere, but I did.
“Remind me what activities we need to have room for at the venue we choose?” Dawson asks.
“I won’t have a finalized list until after we go to Cornbelly’s and see what they have. But I’m thinking a craft station for kids. Space for the food trucks. The caramel apple bar, ring toss, pumpkin bowling, darts or archery depending on what we can find, pin the feather on the turkey, and a basketball shootout. Oh, and I’d also like to have lawn games like cornhole and ladder ball.”
Dawson maneuvers us around the biggest S-curve of the drive. My head goes woozy and my stomach roils. Please don’t barf.
“How much space does this group site have? I’m worried that with everything we have planned, it won’t be enough.”
“That’s why we’re checking it out.”
Dawson swerves to avoid hitting a biker on a blind curve.
I moan, holding my stomach.
“Chloe? Are you okay?”
“There’s a reason I hike in Park City and not in the canyons.”
“Uhhh…I hate to state the obvious here, but if you don’t like this drive, why are we considering it as an option?”
“Because it sounds fun and perfect for fall.” Bile shoots to the back of my throat. We’re close to our destination, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it. I moan again. “I’m carsick. Pull over.”
“There’s no shoulder on this stretch.” Dawson’s eyes dart from me to the road. “As soon as I can, I will.”
Closing my eyes, I continue the slow breaths that do nothing to ease my nausea.
My elbow gets knocked off the middle console. I crack an eye open. Dawson points inside the console.
“Can I help?” What exactly I think I can do is beyond me .
“There’s a blue vomit bag, like the kind at the hospital, in there. I bought them for our road trip home in July in case Finn needed it.”
Bless this man for being a prepared father. I sort through papers, napkins, straws, car chargers, sunglasses, and a few other odds and ends. At the very bottom, I find the item I so desperately need. And just in time too.
The second my hot hands get a hold of the blessed plastic, my stomach heaves. My nose runs and tears gather in my eyes. Another wave hits and this time, puke comes out. The smell is overpowering, to the point it makes me vomit again.
“Hang on, Chlo. There’s a parking lot ahead.”
My answer is stomach bile joining the other nasty contents in the blue bag. Tears and snot stream down my face. My limbs shake, my throat burns, a nasty taste coats my tongue, and all I want is to crawl in a hole at the earth’s core and never come out again. I can’t believe I barfed in front of Dawson.
Humiliation stings my cheeks.
Dawson stops in the parking lot, throws the car in park, rolls the windows down, then jumps out of the car like it’s on fire.
He may want to burn it after this. The stench is awful.
Grabbing the napkins from the console, I swipe at my face.
Dawson throws my door open, helping me get out of the car. The fresh air feels amazing on my skin. “I’m incredibly sorry and super embarrassed. Any chance we can pretend this didn’t happen? ”
Dawson’s hand rubs circles on my back. “Unfortunately, it’s seared into my memory. But trust me, this isn’t the first or last time I’ll deal with a puking person. At least you got it in the bag, unlike Finn.”
“That’s why your car looks brand new? Finn threw up on your drive to Utah?”
He nods. “I try to keep it clean, but yeah, we found out that long drives and Finn don’t get along so well.”
And lucky for me, I got to be the one to remind him of that. “Your idea to skip this as an option has merit.” I search for a garbage can but don’t see one anywhere.
“Can I get you your water bottle and some gum?”
I throw a hand over my mouth. How bad does my breath smell? “Yep,” I squeak. It’s a good thing this isn’t a date and I’m not trying to get a kiss at the end of the night.
Dawson grabs my reusable bottle and thrusts it at me. I take a swig, swish it around my mouth, then spit in some nearby bushes. Ugh. Puking is nasty.
“Do you see a trash can anywhere?” I’m so done holding the blue bag.
Dawson searches the parking lot like I did. He shakes his head. “No, but I have a few empty grocery bags in my trunk. We can put it in there until we find a dumpster.”
Dawson must be a boy scout. Prepared for anything and everything. “Dawson?”
“Yeah?” he asks, popping his trunk.
“Thanks for not yelling at me.”
A deep V forms between his brows. “Why would I get mad at you over something you can’t control? ”
Not sure how many people he’s been around, but I’m fairly certain the majority wouldn’t love being stuck in a car with the smell and sound of vomiting. “Because I knew there was a possibility I’d get car sick, and I asked you to come here anyway.”
Dawson shakes two grocery bags open, stuffing one inside the other. “I think this experience has been way more unpleasant for you than it has been for me.”
I dump my blue bag inside the others and quadruple tie the handles together. There will be no leakage on my watch. “Really? Even with the lingering smell in your car?”
Dawson scrunches his nose. “Yeah, okay. It’s unpleasant, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“You’re sweet, Dawson Reed.”
Dawson shakes his head at me like I’m ridiculous.
He may think he’s not, but he totally is.
Getting back in the car isn’t an option yet. Dawson and I take a stroll on the hiking trail, allowing my stomach time to settle. My canyon idea is officially crossed off the list of possibilities.
“I’m bummed this didn’t work out,” I say. “Being surrounded by trees, doing crafts, and playing games here sounded like a lot of fun.”
“It does. Although it’s a lot of work for the two of us to pull off for so many guests.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “We’re in charge, but I’ve already reached out to the high school kids in the National Honor Society and Latinos in Action groups. They need volunteer hours, and wouldn’t you know helping us at our fall festival is a lot more fun than some of the other projects they’ve done.”
My foot strikes something solid on the trail and I go careening forward, arms flailing. “Aah!”
Arms wrap around my stomach from behind, pulling me to safety. “Are you okay?”
My heart races. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, it almost seems like he pulls me in closer to his chest and his arms squeeze me tighter. My heart calms and heat envelopes me like Dawson is my own personal furnace. This comfort, having someone so near, is nice. I know I should step away, keep things as friendly between us as possible, but I’m enjoying this moment too much to do the rational thing.
“You didn’t tell me you were so accident prone.”
“I’m usually not.”
Dawson drops his arms, stepping away from me. “Could have fooled me.”
“I’ll keep my head on the ground from now on.”
“Really?” His brows raise. “Let me know how that goes for you.”
I pause. What did I say? Oh jeez. “I meant eyes!” I point from my eyeballs to the dirt trail. “I’ll look at the ground and not back at you.”
He chuckles. “Ah, yes. Trail Safety 101. ”
I start walking again, this time looking out for dangers on the path like roots, rocks, or snakes. “Do you hike often?”
“Not as much since having Finn, but I get out when I can.”
I step over a half-buried boulder. “Where did you hike in Tennessee?”
“There was an eight-mile hike that reminded me a lot of Utah because of the huge trees.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s probably why it was my favorite. Because it felt the most like home.”
“Did Nashville ever feel like home?”
“No.”
Dawson seems to open up a whole lot easier than Carter, but if I have to whip out my detective skills to get more information from him, I will. “Because you missed your family?”
“Yeah, that was part of it.” He sighs. “The biggest issue was I had this idea in my head of what a home and family should be like, you know? And Willow and I never got there. Even though we lived out there mainly for her, she still never seemed happy. Willow and I wanted different things, and no matter how hard I forced us to work, it wasn’t going to happen.”
“What is an ideal family for you?”
“Call me old-fashioned, but it’s a mom and dad in the home, working as a team. It’s dinner together every night, movie nights on the weekend, camping trips, and holidays together. It’s raising our kids as a united front.”
Tears sting my eyes. I’m grateful I’m in front of Dawson and he can’t see my face right now. More than anything, I want that too. But I’m too afraid to have it. “I don’t think you’re old-fashioned.”
“Really?”
I’m tempted to look over my shoulder at him again, but I won’t risk another fall. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“Do you want the actual reason or the one I’m tempted to tell you?”
We’re in the middle of a dirt path, pine and aspen trees surrounding us on both sides. I spin around, pulling Dawson to the side of the trail. “The truth, please.”
He eyes me, stares off into the distance, then turns his gaze back to me. “I want the record to show what I’m about to tell you I haven't admitted out loud before. And the only reason I’m doing so now is because you’re way too easy to talk to. If you don’t like what I say, you should put up a deterrent, so I don’t find myself spewing my deepest, darkest secrets all the time. Understood?”
Dawson’s eyes are as dark as the tree trunks behind us. There’s vulnerability and pain etched in them. “I understand and won’t repeat anything you say to anyone.”
He rubs the side of his neck. “Willow promised for years to find a balance between music and family, but music always won. I guess when people tell me they want the same thing as me, I question their answer. Are they agreeing because they think it’s what I want to hear, or do they legitimately feel that way? Willow always said one thing and did another, especially when it came to Finn.”
I’ve struggled with Willow from the moment Dawson told me about her. But this? Her leaving hurt more than just Finn. How long did Dawson believe her lies? I want him to trust me. That’s not something automatically given though; it’s earned. And I promise to do everything I can to show Dawson he can trust me. I mean what I say and it’s not empty words.
I invade Dawson’s personal bubble, throwing my arms around his neck, doing my best to comfort him. To let him know Willow is an anomaly. I’m all in with this hug and there’s no turning back. I’m officially addicted. As a friend. I may want a family like Dawson, but I can’t risk the consequences if I turn out like Mom.
“I’m sorry you went through that. You deserve to be happy, Dawson.”
Dawson wraps his arms around my back. “Thank you.”
I breathe in his clean, fresh scent, soaking in the comfort of being in his arms, even though I meant to be the one cheering him up. Being held by him is like my heart is made of a mold and Dawson is melted steel being poured in, filling all the cracks and crevices, making me stronger than before.
My stomach lets out a growl. It sounds like an alien-monster howl. “I think I need some food in my system. Can we grab some dinner?”
Dawson smiles. “My sob story affected you that much, huh?”
Or the vomiting, but who’s keeping track? “One hundred percent. Yes.”
He steps away from me. “I should tell you about the time Willow said she’d join Finn and me for Christmas Eve dinner and never showed up. ”
I slowly shake my head, my nostrils flare in fury. “The more I hear about her, the more I want to strangle her. Tell me more about you, please?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”