Page 20 of Road Trip to Forever
Patrick watches me like he’s holding onto another secret, and I desperately want to know what it is.
FIVE
PATRICK
I wake to a blood-curdling scream.
Moonbeams filter across my comforter through the half-drawn curtains over the windows, the only source of light in the room. My hand shoots out, fumbling for my phone on the nightstand, bleary-eyed and confused.
“Three in the morning? What the hell?” I groan and toss the device onto the mattress, irritated. It bounces twice and falls to the floor, disappearing under a pile of laundry and a stack of memoirs.
It can stay there.
I rub my eyes, painfully aware of the throbbing in my head. It radiates across my temples and works its way down my cheeks and the length of my neck to the top of my spine. I can sense the makings of a migraine brewing, the pulsing sensation that tells me excruciating discomfort is imminent if I don’t get back to sleep or take some medicine.
The scream was probably a drunk idiot on the roof of the apartment complex next door. I’ve heard them out on the terrace before, entranced by an alcohol-induced stupor propelling them to do something stupid, like jump from one building to the other and think they’ll walk away unscathed.
The high-pitched sound could also be coming from my guest room where Lola dragged herself to after we finished two pizzas, a couple more beers, and three candy bars. We put on a sitcom when the night turned late, laughing until our stomachs started to hurt and our eyes started to close.
Her head rested on my shoulder and I sat there motionless, afraid to move, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible before I had to nudge her awake and we went our separate ways for the rest of the evening.
I could’ve stayed like that forever.
I’m on my feet in an instant, kicking the covers away from my legs and nearly ripping the door off the hinges. I skid down the hall and come to a stop outside the spare bedroom. I knock to be courteous, my heart clambering in my chest when I don’t get a response. I take a deep breath and push the door open.
I find Lola sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s gaping at her phone, and her oversized shirt slips off her left shoulder. I recognize it as one of mine, an old baseball tee from high school with my name on the back and a hole in the arm. Her hair is a tangle of blonde and pink, sitting in a knot on the top of her head.
“Lo?” I ask cautiously. “What’s going on?”
She glances up at me with her wide, ocean-blue eyes. Her face is so full of pride and joy, and my breath catches at the sight of her. They’re different emotions from earlier when our gazes met on the couch. When we knocked our drinks together, and I watched the bob of her throat with keen interest as she swallowed a sip of beer, licking away the drops of alcohol left behind with a teasing swipe of her tongue.
I shouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.
God, I wanted to kiss her.
Here, in a state of delirium, I want to kiss her even more.
“I got an email.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It was from earlier. It went to my junk folder.”
“I’m not following.”
“I got invited to the Florida Fashion Show. My application was accepted,” she says. Her phone tumbles from her hands and lands on the floor. “They want to show my designs, Patrick. My clothes are going to be on a runway for people to see.”
It takes a second for it to register. My sleep-fogged brain is slow to sharpen into focus. The tremble in her voice turns to weary excitement. Her shoulders shake and laughter falls out of her, iridescent, full of life, andfucking beautiful.
Then it hits me, a freight train knocking me wide awake.
“Lola.” I move from the door to the mattress and cover the distance in three strides. I lift her off the bed and into my arms, spinning her around. More laughter spills out of her and now I’m laughing too, my cackle splintering the silence in the room. “Holy shit.”
“Maybe I’m dreaming. This can’t be real, can it?”
“Of course it’s real. You’re a damn good designer. You’re talented, and youdeservethis,” I say.
“Will you come with me?” she asks. “I know you don’t like to travel, but I’d love it if you were there.”
