Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (3 page)

My breath catches at how awful he looks. “What’s the
matter?” I perch on the side of the bed and study his features. He looks
exhausted with those dark circles vividly prominent under his eyes, causing the
paleness of his skin to be pronounced again. He actually looks hung over, but
he never drinks. I don’t recollect him drinking anything but bottled water last
night, but I did lose a chunk of the night somehow. “You weren’t even drinking
last night,” I say in confusion.

“No, but I drove all night and I really need some sleep,
please,” he mutters as his eyes ease shut again.

I shake him on the shoulder, but abruptly stop. A gasp
escapes me when I spot a long thick scar on the left side of his upper chest.
My fingers test the texture of the horizontal pucker, feeling Greyson stiffen.

“What happened to you, Stone?” My voice chokes out the
words.

He bats my hand away and pulls the cover up to hide his bare
chest.
“Knife fight.
You should see the other dude.”

“Seriously?”
I spot another scar on his neck, but keep my hands to
myself.

“Yes. Now leave me alone so I can sleep.” Without waiting
for a reply, Greyson rolls back away and places a pillow over his head.

I leave him be for the moment, because quite frankly the
bathroom is screaming my name. There’s only one other door besides the exit in
the RV, and it reveals a bathroom when I push it open. I take care of business
and move over to the sink to wash my hands. This is a pretty swanky getup. It’s
a roomy bathroom with high-end tile work and a granite countertop on top of the
vanity. I’m surprised but so glad to find my toothbrush and toothpaste sitting
by the sink. As I’m scrubbing the vile taste out of my mouth, something hits me
Greyson said a few minutes ago. He said he had been driving all night…

I spit the toothpaste out and throw my toothbrush into the
sink before darting back into his room. Jumping on the bed, I begin shaking him
vigorously and demand, “Greyson Stone! Tell me right now where you’ve taken
me.” I’m crying loudly now. He immediately opens his eyes and looks at me in
alarm. “Please don’t take me to some rehab.” I sniffle the words out, knowing I
cannot do rehab again. They want you to admit or at least try to figure out
what is behind your addiction, and I have no desire to go near that subject
with a ten foot pole. I’m nearly panicking.

“No rehab,
Thorton
. So dry it up,”
he says in a deep, husky voice full of sleep.

“Then where are we and why?” I let go of his shoulder, sit
back on the bed, and wipe away the tears.

“At the moment, we are in a campground in Maine.” He rubs
his hands over his weary face and sighs in aggravation.

“Maine?” I could kill him. “Why in the devil are we in
Maine?”

“It’s where the adventure begins.”

“What adventure?” I massage my temples, hoping to ease some
of the throbbing. Nothing is making any sense.

“I’m going on an east coast road trip.
Top
to bottom.
You begged me last night to bring you along.”

“I was drunk. You knew that.”

“Look, I drove all night. I really need to sleep right now.
We’ll figure out where to go from here after I sleep.”

“You’re taking me back home!”

“Most definitely.
What was I thinking?” he mumbles as he turns over once
again. “Get out,” he says gruffly.

Well. What now? I don’t know what to do and I’m hurting too
bad to sort it out, so I leave him alone as he demands and go explore the
full-sized fridge. Thankfully, it is well stocked. I grab
a
bottled
water and chug all of it in one long gulp to help with the
dehydration. It only takes a little bit of rummaging in his cabinets to find
what looks like a small pharmacy and to grab some aspirin. I feel like death,
so I crawl back in my bed and try to shut the world out for a while.

A few hours pass unnoticed before I reawaken. I sit on the
edge of the bed to get my bearings. This full-sized bed is surprisingly
comfortable. The bedding, and the entire RV for that matter, is in my color
palette of choice—black, white, and silvers. Well, it’s more in gray tones, but
close
enough. It’s stunning, to be honest. I wipe my
eyes and scan the interior. Behind the passenger seat, I see two familiar
luggage pieces and my purse. Relief washes over me with having clothes. I am
still wearing what I wore to the party, minus the pants. Not very good
sleepwear,
just let me tell you.

I ease off the bed and go peek in on Greyson. He is still
out like a light and is cocooned under his plush gray comforter. I guess he is
in need of a good bit more sleep so I leave him alone and go for another
bathroom visit. After I scrub the fuzz from my teeth for the second time today,
I find myself getting fidgety. I plunder through my purse and am relieved to
find my phone. There are more messages and email than I have any desire to
face, so I skip them and pull up my calorie app. I roughly estimate that I
threw back four shots of tequila along with two lite beers. Well, that’s what I
can vaguely remember, anyway. I plug the drinks along with the Lean Cuisine
into the calorie calculator and almost panic when it indicates I have indulged
in a whopping nine hundred calories. There’s no choice in the matter now, so I
rummage through my bags and quickly pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top.
I’m so glad my running shoes have made the trip. I lace them up and grab my
earbuds and iPhone armband that I always keep in my purse.

I have eight miles I need to knock out, like right now. I
ease outside and take in my surroundings. My phone indicates that it’s already
two in the afternoon, but this place is pretty deserted. Maybe late March isn’t
a popular time for Maine camping? The air is a bit cool, but I welcome it as I
pull my hair into a ponytail. Hopefully the clean, crisp air will help clear my
head while I burn off all that booze. What on earth was I thinking last night?
I wasn’t just asking for it—I was begging. I really need to knock that drinking
off. It’s getting out of control.

While stretching, I get a good look at the RV so I will
remember to return to the correct one later. It will be easy, though. It’s by
far the biggest and sleekest one here. It is in a black and silver color scheme
and is one tough looking motorhome. Taking a few moments to look around until I
find the small post that indicates that we are on site fifty-three, I type the
site number in under my notes app on my phone then set up my run app for eight
miles. With the running playlist up and running, I strap my phone to my arm and
position the earbuds in my ears. The entire campground looks to be a big
looping trail. Perfect.

I take off slowly in a jog for the first quarter mile before
picking up the pace. I want the eight miles behind me, so I need to push it,
and push it I do. My focus stays on the trail before me as I impatiently wait
for the voice indicator to count down the miles. Too much partying last night
causes me to be sluggish, so I know my time won’t be anything impressive.
Wanting this over with as fast as possible, I dig deep and push through. I
clock in at an hour and fifteen minutes by the time the voice indicates those
eight miles are complete. I’m a good half mile from the RV so I slow and walk
the rest, trying to get rid of the jitteriness in my legs. They feel like
Jell-O.

By the time I reach site fifty-three, my body is close to
collapsing. My heart is pounding in my ears and the possibility of puking is a
dangerous threat. I’ve robbed myself. I guess the runner’s high has been
cancelled out by my hangover. Spots start whirling in my vision, and I sense
myself falling forward before the dark veil completely swallows me.

“
Suga
’, you okay?” I hear someone
call to me. The voice sounds distant, so I ignore it.

Something wet is lapping at my face and it startles me
enough to wake up. I find a little white fur ball is licking me. Yuck. I yank
my face away from it and roll over to coerce my body into a sitting position. I
place my head between my legs to ward off the dizziness that slams into me.

“
Suga
’?” a sweet voice asks. I
glance over my arm but don’t risk raising my head just yet. She’s a Miss May
lookalike minus the rich brown skin. This lady is pale as paper. She is holding
a leash, but the fur ball isn’t attached and is now licking my sweaty calf.
Gross little thing.

“I think I’m dehydrated,” I mumble and turn my head back on
my knees. I sort of slip back under again and am startled back awake with
icy-cold water splashing onto the back of my neck. I instantly lift my head and
am punished with a wave of vertigo.

“Here, take this and drink it,” the little lady says gently.
I take the water and try not to chug it, but do anyway. She automatically hands
over another, but I restrain myself and only sip. Nausea is ebbing at me and I
know I need to keep this water.

“Thank you,” I mumble. I look around and notice I collapsed
in the tiny yard of our site. I eye the RV and hope Greyson is still
sound
asleep and oblivious to my little episode. He would
explode if he knew. He’s always hated my regimen for keeping my model
appearance and has never had any qualms on voicing his opinions.

“Are you training for a marathon or something?” the lady
asks as she helps me stand and move over to the picnic table. She sits beside
me as if waiting to catch me if I fall down again. That’s funny in itself
because there’s no way this little lady who has to be less than five feet could
catch me at just
under
six feet tall, but I let her
coddle me anyway. It sort of feels
nice,
even though
I’m embarrassed she witnessed my
fall
.

“I guess you could say that,” I answer her eventually. It’s
like my life is some sort of demented marathon that I’m trying to survive. I
know I’m not thriving, that’s for sure.

“
Fifi
and I have been sitting over
there.” She points two sites over to the left where a nice camper is set up.
“We got tired from just watching you.” Her voice is southern but not quite the
same twang as South Carolina.

“I’m Julia,” I offer.

“Betty,” she says with a warm smile. “My husband and I are
exploring this here fine country of ours.
How ‘bout you?”

“My friend and I are pretty much doing the same.” I glimpsed
a map on the back of the door in Greyson’s room of the east coast. I want to
study it, if he ever wakes up. There are all kinds of notes and lines drawn on
it. I sip some more water and start to feel my mind clear the cobwebs away.

“We best be getting back. Be careful with all that running,
sweetheart,” Betty says as she stands and walks away with the little fur ball
following on her heels.

“Thanks for the water,” I say weakly.

“You’re welcome. You might want to eat something,” she calls
over her shoulder.
Now she sounds like
Greyson.

Eventually, I stand and slowly walk into the RV. It is like
a ghost town inside, so I grab another bottle of water and sit back outside at
a picnic table. I finally give in and check my messages, but oh how I wish I
hadn’t. The messages are mainly from friends and my agent, giving me a heads up
that the whole “me finding Sawyer in bed with a nineteen-year-old fiasco” has
been leaked to the tabloids.

I can’t help but do a quick Google search, but I shouldn’t
have. My face is splashed unflatteringly on the cover of magazines I want no
part of. I hate Sawyer Helms in this moment. Reports say Sawyer broke my heart,
so I’m in hiding—that he traded me for a younger version. There are pictures of
the paparazzi setting up shop in front of my apartment building. AWAITING THE
WILTED ROSE is one headline.

Puh
-lease
.
The only
thing wilted about me is these sweaty clothes I’m wearing. I hate how the media
gets ahold of news that is weeks old, dredging it up and twisting it into
something even uglier than it already is. They make things into a circus and I
have no desire to be their star attraction this month, but I am and there’s
absolutely nothing I can do about it. I just have to wait it out and hope some
juicier celebrity scandal pops up sooner rather than later. Greyson’s trip is
starting to sound a bit more appealing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to disappear for
a while. This limelight lifestyle is starting to be too much.

With one hasty swipe, I clear all of the messages and emails
before going inside for a much-needed shower. A quick scan finds all of my
toiletries have already been placed in the bathroom so I go straight for it. I
climb in the roomy shower and turn the water on with apprehension, but am
surprised again when I’m pelted with ample water pressure. This place really
rocks. I try shaking off my frustrations while the shower washes the sweat and
night of partying away. I take my time and hope Greyson will emerge from his
coma state by the time I’m done. It’s already past four in the afternoon and he
is still sleeping.

After drying off, I wrap the towel around me firmly and go
check on my kidnapper. Sure enough, he is still sleeping.