25. And straight on till morning
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
and straight on till morning
After food, once we get back to the hotel, I shower and lay down, determined to take a nap since my birthday surprise for Forrest is an evening endeavor, and I woke up before the sun this morning.
But I stare at the ceiling—still covered in streamers—unable to stop thinking about what happened before.
The remainder of our tour, the flight back to the East Valley, eating, and the ride to the hotel were all normal as ever, except for me repeatedly stealing glances at Forrest to see if anything was different.
Lucky for me, he never caught me. Unlucky for me, I still have no explanation for what was going through his head. Is it possible this was all just a little menty b about getting older? Turning twenty-eight and being solidly in our late twenties?
Unsurprisingly, my mind gallivants away, thinking of the way he volunteered to come here, the warmth of him every time we’ve been close, the way his voice dropped when he said no to the cowboy at line dancing.
What look did Melina see?
I pull the extra pillow over my face and squeeze it down, trying to smush the insanity right out of me. Clearly, I need sleep more than I thought I did.
With the way I keep running myself in circles, I don’t expect to actually get any rest, but I must end up falling asleep because a gentle knock on the bedroom door pulls me back to consciousness.
“Cam?” Forrest’s voice follows the sound. “It’s a little after six.”
At that, I’m wide awake, flying out of bed and into a tangle of streamers.
As I unwrap colored paper from my body, I wonder what housekeeping thought when they came in earlier today.
I hope they at least had a good laugh at it since they had to work around my little art project.
I make a mental note to make sure I get every single strip of tape off before we leave and to leave a nice tip for their patience.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call back, whipping off my pajamas and shoving my legs into a pair of pants. Chunky sweater. The littlest stub of a ponytail that’s more of a puff ball at the nape of my neck. And I’m ready to go.
Just before I head out to the living room, I run to the balcony door and peek around the closed curtains and look to the sky.
Steadily darkening. No clouds.
Perfect.
I was skeptical when I read that star gazing is best shortly after sunset. I figured it’d be midnight, but I’m no scientist, so I trusted the blog of somebody who knows a lot more about stars than I do.
“Ready?” I ask as I yank open the bedroom door and find Forrest leaning against the kitchen counter, hands in his pockets, one ankle crossed over the other.
I guess my nap did nothing to clear my head because the second I see him, I feel that kiss against my hair again.
I must be ovulating or something.
I told Forrest to dress for comfort, so he’s back in those damn grey sweatpants from this morning with his trusty resort sweatshirt. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days and the darkened shadow on his jawline suits him very well.
Yup. Definitely ovulating.
“Ready,” Forrest says with a nod as he pushes off the counter.
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask, glancing over at the couch, but finding it still in couch-mode. Forrest has insisted on folding his bed up every single day.
“Nah, I was studying. My next test is right after we get back, before Christmas, so I need to be ready,” Forrest answers. He looks uneasy but wipes the expression from his face as quickly as it appeared. “I also didn’t get up early to decorate the whole hotel room like you did though.”
“You’ve got that test in the bag,” I answer, wanting to reassure him especially if he’s embarrassed about being nervous. “I know you do. You’ve always been top of every class, and you’ll show everybody up.”
Forrest frowns just the tiniest amount. I don’t think most people would notice, but I do. He doesn’t explain it.
“We don’t have to stay late either. This is a flexible schedule surprise,” I say, trying to figure out what I said wrong.
“Any hints?” Forrest asks, his smile coming right back.
“Not a chance.” I shake my head. I hope I’m not hyping this up too much, but I don’t think I am.
Before we go out to the car, I swing by the desk where my girl Hope has a box waiting for me. She heaves it onto the counter and gives me a sneaky wink. She also helped me figure out a good spot for tonight, and with how supportive she is, I think she might be just as excited as I am.
“Have fun you two,” she says as I try to lift the box. It’s heavier than I expected. I’m trying to maneuver it so I can get a good grip on it when Forrest appears at my side and takes it, easily holding it under one arm.
Sir.
“Can I shake it?” he asks once we’re outside, holding the box up and looking at it with curiosity, head tilted.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, aghast, smacking his free arm.
When Forrest looks at me, a smile is teasing his lips. He’s happy again, playful. It’s a secret Forrest that few get to see. It used to be the one reserved only for me.
Forrest gently places the box in the back seat before we both climb into the car, and I turn on the engine.
I quickly double-check the directions Hope gave me and start driving east, once again grateful that Phoenix is laid out in a grid.
I don’t need to hook up GPS that will prematurely give our destination away.
Forrest has always been more patient than I am, so he doesn’t ask questions as I drive for nearly an hour, further and further from the lights of the city.
On this seemingly uninteresting Sunday night in November, the roads are deserted, and our tires on the asphalt is the only sound.
The rhythmic hum is soothing, settling around us.
Finally, I see the turn Hope warned me not to miss, and we head into the Tonto National Forest. Hope got us a day pass, but I don’t see anybody to check in with.
The place is deserted. I guess we’re not near the camping grounds I saw advertised online.
Or maybe this isn’t camping season? I have no clue.
I pull off on the side of the road, dirt and rocks crunching under our tires. When I cut the engine, we’re plunged into utter darkness.
“Cam…” Forrest says hesitantly as he looks around the car. With our tinted windows, it’s really impossible to see. “Where are we?”
“You’ll see,” I say, more excited than ever now that we’re finally here.
I hop from the car and circle to the box in the back, cutting the tape with the car key to pull out and set up a little telescope in the glow of the interior car light.
It’s nothing fancy, smaller than the spindly legs of the tripod it stands on, but when I bend to look through it, I’m happy I had it rush delivered.
I tap on Forrest’s window since he still hasn’t gotten out, and he slowly opens the car door and emerges. Once all the doors are closed again, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight.
I understand Saguaro Lake is beautiful during the day, but for now, it’s only rippling waves of moonlight, softly shushing us as they reach the shoreline. When we look out, it’s mostly darkness, but I find Forrest’s sleeve and pull it slightly to get his attention.
But I don’t need to. He already sees.
Because painted across the sky is a galaxy worth of stars, the Milky Way brilliant and beautiful, blanketing the entire world. And it feels like we’ve truly stepped into a place where magic is real.
Slowly, shapes begin to appear as our vision adjusts. Mountains in the distance. Shadows of cacti climbing toward the sky. The expanse of the lake.
“Cam,” Forrest breathes, but he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.
I brought him here because a young boy liked to see the stars at a terrible summer camp, yes. But there’s one more surprise.
“Out there somewhere, there’s a star that some company has agreed to let me name The Treehouse.
I’m almost certain it’s not official, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to read the charts they emailed me telling me where to find it, but it’s up there.
And no matter where we are, we’ll always have it,” I explain.
“Cam,” Forrest says again, and I turn to look at him. I can make out his outline in the shadows and even a bit of the brilliant color of his sweatshirt. He’s facing me too.
Something shifts in the air, and it feels like there’s a rubber band stretched as far as it’ll go between us.
His hand shifts toward me before he drops it back to his side. I step forward and reach out to brush his fingers with mine.
Like he can feel the draw too, Forrest shifts closer to me, sliding his hand up to my wrist and invading every one of my senses. He’s so close I’m breathing his air.
My heart is jackhammering in my chest, and I know he can feel my pulse going wild beneath his fingertips.
It’s dark, but I feel his nose brush against the side of my head, and I my breath catches. When Forrest tightens his grip on my arm, I swear I can feel his hand tremble with barely-held restraint.
And I want to tell him to let go of whatever’s holding him back.
I want to tip my head back and taste him on my lips. I want to know every inch of him, and I want him to know me.
I want to kiss him. More than maybe I’ve wanted anything in my life. Out here, all alone, in the darkness. I want it so badly. Nobody would know.
But I’d know. And he’d know. And that would be enough to wreck us completely.
And shit, there’s Bridget. I’m a fucking terrible person.
So, I step back. I cover his hands with mine and pull them away from my skin.
“You should see through the telescope,” I say, my voice horse, like I’ve been screaming out loud instead of just in my head.
“Yeah,” Forrest says, and it sounds pained. He drags his fingers through his hair as he says it a second time. “Yeah.”
I look away when he starts shaking his head. I can’t watch his realization turn into regret.
We take turns looking through the telescope and trying to capture the beauty around us with pictures. Slowly, things return back to normal as the tension ebbs away. We spend the entire car ride back to the hotel recounting our favorite parts of the day even though we were both there for all of it.
I breathe a sigh of relief. We’re still ok.
Forrest lets me shower first, and when I emerge from the bathroom in my pajamas, he’s shaking out his blanket over his bed. When he lifts it up, I get a quick glimpse of the mattress with just the sheet on it, and I see what looks like a literal crater in the middle.
“Forrest,” I gasp, pointing to the bed. “What the hell is that?”
“What’s what?” Forrest answers, spinning around and bending to look under the bed for some mysterious item.
I cannot comprehend why he’s completely overlooking the disaster that is the horrible bed he’s been sleeping on.
“The hole in the middle of that rectangle you’ve been letting me believe is a mattress,” I say, approaching it and pressing a palm into the cavern.
It’s so flimsy at the center I can probably count the bolts on the crossbar even through the bed.
“When we saw the Grand Canyon, you didn’t mention you’ve been sleeping in it this whole trip! ”
“It’s not so bad,” Forrest says, shrugging.
At least this explains why he’s insisted on folding the bed up every day. He didn’t want me to see he’s been sleeping in the mouth of a volcano. I can’t believe he’s been suffering on this thing for so long. I can’t believe his spine can still function after sleeping like this.
“It’s not so bad,” I mimic like a child. “You cannot continue to sleep on this thing. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Forrest opens his mouth to keep arguing, but I hold up a hand.
“No. We’re switching,” I insist, dropping onto the edge of the pullout and claiming it as my own.
“We absolutely are not,” Forrest says, crossing his arms. “I’m fine here.”
“I found you sleeping like a cooked shrimp this morning. You will not be sleeping here again.” I cross my arms to match him.
“I can’t let you stay on that bed.” Forrest holds his ground.
“So you admit it’s garbage.” I grin, feeling myself gaining ground.
Forrest opens and closes his mouth a few times while he seemingly tries to formulate an argument.
Even just sitting here for a few minutes, I can feel the frame beneath me trying to grind a permanent groove in my thighs.
Nobody can sleep here. The folded-up couch isn’t so bad but being just as long as a full-size mattress is wide, it’s short, even for me.
There’s an obvious answer, at least for tonight.
“Forrest, let’s just share the bed,” I say before I can think of all the reasons this could be a terrible idea. It’s sleeping, and circumstances are dire. “This bed is not an option for either of us, and the couch is way too short. We have two blankets, and the bed in there is enormous.”
Forrest furrows his brow.
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking around the room. Maybe he forgot that we already searched for a second bed when we checked in two weeks ago. He’s been sleeping on that thing for two weeks.
“Positive.” It’s just sleeping. And I’m so damn tired.
“Ok.” Forrest nods too. I think he might be blushing. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I say, hoping it’s true. “Go shower. I’ll get us set up.”
When Forrest retreats to the bathroom, I fold up the pullout and carry the extra top sheet and blanket to the bedroom, pushing mine to one side.
I turn off all the lights except the little one on the nightstand on Forrest’s side of the bed and lie down as close to the opposite edge of the bed.
There’s enough room for three more fully-grown adults on this bed.
But when Forrest slips under his blankets, keeping a healthy distance between us, and whispers good night, I can still feel him everywhere.
And when I wake up in the morning after the best night’s rest I’ve had in a while, Forrest is fast asleep beside me. Our arms stretched across the middle of the bed, and the tips of our fingers linked together.