CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR COEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
COEN
I pack up the truck, get her a sandwich for the road, and settle things with Lula. Then, we’re on the road by noon.
I’m feeling pretty good after the absolutely mind blowing sex we had in the motel.
It might be the best I’ve had in…I don’t actually know how long, maybe ever.
It wasn’t just the sex, though. It was everything.
It’s amazing what being around good people with no expectations, having a good meal, sleeping all night, and getting laid in the morning will do.
There’s a recurring sensation in my chest that I’m not familiar with anymore.
It’s been coming and going the last few days, but today, I think I know what it is: interest.
I’m interested in where we’re going.
In what we’re planning on doing.
I’m looking forward to wherever we land tonight, what we’ll eat, what we’ll do when we get in bed together.
The sensation is like…coming back to life, a trickle at a time.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask, flipping on the cruise control and settling back once we’re on the highway.
“Hmm…what state will we be in by the afternoon?”
I touch her thigh. She’s in these little pink shorts that show miles of tanned leg, a rope bracelet around her ankle.
She put a little linen shirt over her bikini top, and it’s giving me a nice view of her stomach.
Forcing myself to drag my eyes back to the road, I tap the screen to bring up the map.
“We’ll be in Texas around mid-afternoon,” I say.
“What’s in Texas?”
“Lots of things.”
“The world’s biggest ball of yarn,” she says. “In Lubbock.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“I don’t know if that’s real. It’s in this TV show I used to love before they cancelled it,” she says. “It’s like sci-fi, end of the world. Dystopian. ”
“What’s it called?”
“Revolution or something. Have you seen it? It’s kind of niche, but I had a huge dystopian phase when that’s all I wanted to read and watch.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a lot of time to watch TV. Or movies.”
She frowns, shifting so she can face me and crossing her legs. “Is that it? Or are you just not interested in anything?”
That makes me take a pause and think.
“I haven’t been interested,” I admit.
“What do you do at night? To unwind?”
The highway is getting a little fuller as we near a city. I flip off the cruise and sit up in my seat.
“I work out a lot to deal with the adrenaline,” I say. “I have a lot of issues coming down after being on stage.”
“Why’s that?”
I shrug, fingers tightening. My pulse accelerates slightly.
“It’s like the craziest drug you’ve taken.
Tons of adrenaline, people screaming, pressure, and you perform in real time, live.
While it’s going on, it feels so fucking good, you don’t want it to end.
But when you step off the stage, it’s the biggest crash you’ve ever felt. ”
“Like a depressive crash?”
“Just like pulling a plug. When I did my first gig as lead guitar for Dax Williams, I used to leave the hotel at midnight and pace in the street all night until Jamie found out. It wasn’t safe anymore, not with people starting to recognize me.
That was about a year before I was pulled aside and told I needed a security guard.
Then, there was nowhere to go but to the hotel gym and just run on the treadmill until I was so tired, I couldn’t stay upright. ”
She’s quiet. Then, she touches my forearm.
“I appreciate you telling me things,” she says, offering a soft smile. “I know it doesn’t come easily to you.”
I shrug, but all I can think about is how gentle she is, how I never feel any judgement when she talks.
She’s open, without secrets or ulterior motives.
That makes me protective. Clearly, other than the mess with her parents, she hasn’t been hurt.
At least not in the ways I have. In my career, I’ve been screwed over by friends, had money stolen, opportunities taken in favor of someone bigger or better connected.
Hell, my most serious relationship resulted in my girlfriend cheating on me with a bigger producer.
And I didn’t even blink when I found out. I think I was expecting it.
She had a career. I did too, but it clearly wasn’t good enough.
I swallow, gazing out over the endless highway.
I’m too young to be this jaded. It’s not healthy. My brain is all fucked up from being on guard all the time.
“You okay?” Her hand is on my thigh now.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing down my brief moment of self-pity.
“Hmm, what about we go see a movie?” she says.
“In a theater?”
“Yeah. When was the last time you did that?”
I think on it. “Honestly, I don’t remember.”
“I’ll bet we can figure out a place with a theater. Ooh, maybe like a drive-in, where we can sit in the truck.”
My head goes right into the gutter, thinking about making her spread her thighs so I can focus on my attention somewhere else while she pretends to watch a movie.
“Let’s see if we can find something when we stop for lunch,” I say.
“Perfect.”
The highway is fresh out of Ma and Pop places, so we end up having to stop at a McDonalds, which I don’t mind.
This was one of the few places my mother and I went out to as kids, because the burgers were so cheap back then.
We dip into the air conditioning, the scent of fried food hitting my nose.
This is a different kind of being on the road.
When I travel on the tour bus, we rarely have time to stop for lunch.
Jamie usually brings a bunch of sandwich materials, and we supplement those with gas station food.
Maybe we could do with being a little less utilitarian. We started that early on to cut costs and just never stopped.
What was the point? For the band to sit around a table, exhausted and greasy from being on the road? We already see each other twelve hours a day.
I touch her lower back, standing behind her like we’re a couple.
Deep inside, I already think we are. I know that’s a problem I’ll have to address later, but right now, I want to feel like a normal person.
“What do you want, baby?” I say.
“I’ll do a double quarter pounder, a large fry, a diet coke, and a small ice cream cone,” she says decisively.
“Alright,” I say. “I think I’ll do the same.”
We order and find our seats. She pulls up her phone and starts searching.
“Whenever we would go into the city, Dad would take us here,” she says. “I used to think it was so special.”
“Huh. My mom did the same thing.”
“There you go,” she says, smiling. “One thing we have in common.”
“Fast food?”
She cocks her head. “What’s wrong with fast food? I love it.”
“Nothing. I can’t eat it the way I used to, not now that I’m thirty-six. I wake up with a headache sometimes after.”
She glances up, swiping her phone. “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“How much younger I am than you. Eleven years.”
I think about it, unsure if this is a trick question. “It’s not something I usually go for, but I think it can work. It’s not decades.”
She doesn’t answer, but she has a little smile on her face as she goes back to her phone. The cashier calls out our order number, and I retrieve the bags, coming back to unpack everything across the table. She sets her phone aside and pops the top off the burger box.
“Oh, God, that looks good,” she breathes.
I love how excited she always is for her food. I’m trying to be more like that, after years of shoving food in my mouth so I can get on to the next thing.
That’s no fucking way to live.
She takes the top off the bun and puts extra ketchup on it. “I used to pick the pickles off and eat them hot,” she says. “It was my PMS craving. That, and shooting ketchup packets.”
“What now?”
She laughs, shaking her head. I have to wait for her to chew and swallow her first bite.
“I get a lot of weird PMS cravings. There was a time when it was hot ketchup packets from McDonalds.”
“Like…just the packet?”
She nods. “Yep. I’d rip the top off and shotgun that motherfucker.”
I laugh out loud, and she laughs along with me. We both sober, and our eyes meet. She tucks her hands into her lap and shifts. I can tell she wants to say something.
“You alright?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m really alright. I’m….”
“What? You can say it.” I set my food down and reach for her hand. She lets me take it, squeezing lightly.
“I’m really happy,” she says. “This is fun.”
If I’d met her months ago, I’d break down right now and tell her I think I have real feelings for her.
Or something even more crazy…like she’s the first person who has made me happy in years.
But it’s only been a few weeks, and I know how hesitant she is because of my work, so I swallow all those words.
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”