Where One Goes Page 13

  “I think I thought about it once last night when I realized you dumped out everything,” he answers with a half-quirked smile.

  “How are you feeling? Any withdrawals?”

  “Not yet, but it will probably hit me harder tonight or tomorrow. But I have to work so maybe that’ll work as a distraction. Unless you’d like to come in tonight and distract me.” He winks. “I’m sure you could find a few ways to piss me off.”

  “True,” I admit before sticking my tongue out at him. It’s not very hard for me to make George mad. “As tempting as that sounds, I have plans.”

  “You do?” he questions, his brow furrowed.

  “Dinner with the Mercers, actually,” I clarify as I dig through my bag and grab my Chap Stick.

  As we climb out of his truck, I pray he’s right about being able to distract himself from the symptoms of his withdrawals, but I have a feeling it’s going to be worse than he thinks. Pulling a blanket from behind his seat, he lays it on the ground and we sit in the center of an opening in the woods. The leaves have started to change and a beautiful array of yellow, orange, and red kiss the leaves slightly. “Where are we?” I ask as we sit and George pulls out burgers wrapped in wax paper.

  “This is my father’s land. We come camping here sometimes.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I note as I tear open my burger. “Very peaceful. I love the color of the leaves.”

  “Just wait until the next week or two. It’ll put Crayola to shame. Things will get really busy around here starting around the end of next week.”

  Taking a huge bite of his burger, he looks up and chews, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Ike and I used to come here a lot.” I glance around for Ike, but he’s still nowhere to be seen. Where is he? “We used to bring girls here, too,” George says, with a slight smirk. “We were real classy guys.”

  “Oh,” I feign insult. “And here I thought I was special,” I tease. “I’m just one of many.”

  “It was in high school and where else is a teenage boy supposed to bring a girl for some privacy around here? It was either this or a barn. This was where we hid.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” I can’t help questioning. “Hiding me or hiding us together from the town?”

  “Why would I hide our friendship?”

  “Maybe Misty would get pissed if she knew?”

  He takes another bite of his burger and chews slowly, and I wonder if he’s buying some time before he responds. Finally, after he swallows and sucks some ketchup from his thumb, he says, “I know I must look pretty pathetic to you.”

  My head rears slightly. That’s not at all what I think. “No. Not at all,” I tell him.

  “I mean, hanging out with a girl that’s taken and the drugs. They’re not things I’m proud of.” His gaze lingers off somewhere, nit meeting mine. He’s ashamed.

  “We all cope differently,” I admit. I’m the last person in the world that could judge George. Sure, he is doing some things I think poorly on, but I was about to kill myself a few days ago, so who am I to say anything? At least he was trying to survive his pain, I was ready to end it; period. Maybe I’m not the stronger one like I thought.

  “The thing between Misty and I just kind of happened and seems to have snowballed from there. But we’re not together . . . we’re only friends.”

  “But you still wouldn’t want her to see us together, right?” He cocks his head to the side, giving me a look that says he’s baffled by my question.

  “Do you want to be seen with me, Charlotte?” he asks seriously and my brow furrows in confusion with his question.

  “What do you mean?” I ask before biting into my food.

  “I just thought you might not want others to see you with me. Apparently, it’s no secret I’ve been seeing Misty, and with you knowing about the drugs and all . . . Plus, I look like I’ve been beaten with a bat.”

  Licking my lips, I shake my head. “You think I’d be ashamed to be seen with you?”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  Leaning forward, I lay my hand on his leg. He stills as his gaze moves to my hand. “You’re my friend now, George. I’m not ashamed of that.”

  When his coffee eyes meet mine again, his mouth quirks up on one side. “Yeah. You’re pretty lucky to have me as a friend,” he laughs.

  Rolling my eyes, I take another bite of my burger. When I’m done chewing, I ask, “So, what the hell do people do around here for fun?”

  “You mean other than attending epic dances at the dance hall?” he jests.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “Other than that.”

  “Hunt, fish, hike, and drink,” he answers simply.

  “Sounds riveting,” I snort, but on some level, it sounds wonderful. It sounds peaceful and isn’t that what I’ve wanted more than anything the last few years?

  “Well, it’s not for everyone,” George notes. “But it’s home. Why don’t I take you on a tour one day?”

  “Oh my,” I say, in my best Southern drawl, placing a hand to my chest. “I get the grand tour of Bath county with George McDermott. It’s my lucky day.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re growing on me. Kind of like a fungus.”

  “You really know how to make a girl feel special, George,” I reply, tossing my crumpled up wrapper at him. “That burger was awesome, but I probably just gained a thousand pounds eating it.”

  “You could stand to gain a few pounds,” he notes before shoving the rest of his burger in his mouth.

  “Well, I think I just gained a third butt cheek.”

  “God, I hope not, because that ass of yours is perfect,” he notes with a devilish smirk on his face. Heat crawls up my neck and onto my face, causing my cheeks to redden.

  “I’m so suing you for sexual harassment,” I joke as I lie back and stare up at the sky. He laughs a genuine laugh and my chest tightens. Damn. I really like his laugh.

  Looking down at me, he leans forward. “You have something right . . .” His thumb grazes the corner of mouth, wiping away a spot of ketchup. Sucking it off of his thumb, he smiles. “Lucky ketchup.”

  Warmth, once again, inflames my cheeks as I dart my eyes away from him. Why was that so hot? George lies down beside me and when his arm rests against mine, tingles surge through me again. I shouldn’t be reacting this way to him. I’m only meant to help him so Ike can crossover, not to mention the feelings I’ve developed for Ike. I’m seriously messed up in the head. I mean, what kind of person develops a crush on a set of brothers, let alone with a dead one in the mix? But I can’t deny I’m drawn to the McDermott twins. In Ike, I crave his warmth and good heart. In George, I crave his likeness, the understanding we share. Glancing around for Ike once more and not seeing him, I try to relax even though I’m worried sick that he’s disappeared.

  George and I fall into an easy conversation. We share stories about our childhoods, our brothers, and George fills me in on the town gossip, which is sad. His seeing Misty and getting beaten up by Roger is the most dramatic thing to happen in Warm Springs in years.

  When he drops me off back at the motel, we stand awkwardly at my door. “Thanks for joining me today, and I’m sorry I was such a dick last night or . . . well, every day since we’ve met.”

  I laugh. “I’m glad we’re friends now, George.” And it’s true. He’s a good guy once he lets his guard down, but the thought of us being true friends simmers in my mind. I’m lying to him about everything; about who I am, and how I came to be here. When the truth comes out, it won’t be pretty. Another awkward second slips by before he leans toward me, making my breath hitch. Is he going to kiss me? Oh God, no . . . but yes. Do I want him to? I think I do. Licking my lips, I prepare myself for his mouth to meet mine, closing my eyes. But when his warm mouth brushes gently across my cheek, my eyes fly open, embarrassment flooding me. Did it look obvious I wanted to kiss him? I am mortified.

  The corners of his mouth are turned up as he pulls back, and I know he’s laughing at me on the insid
e. I did look obvious. Son of a bitch.

  “Not yet, Charlotte, but soon,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Is he implying he plans to kiss me soon? That has to be what he means. Before I can play dumb and ask him what he meant he turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Charlotte.” Then he climbs in his Bronco and drives away.

  There’s still no sign of Ike when I enter my room and guilt slithers through me. He really is mad at me. Shit. My heart twists at the thought. I just want to help him by helping George. I should’ve told him my plan. He’s right. George could have been really hurt. Shit. He was hurt. With a few hours to kill and no one to talk to, I decide to take a nap before heading over to the Mercers’ house for dinner. But my sleep is unsatisfying. It’s the kind of sleep where you dream so vividly it feels like you’ve never slept a wink.

  I don’t remember the entire dream, but what I do remember is George walking up to me, his dark eyes hungry with desire. My body instantly reacted; my breath coming out in quick pants, my sensitive nipples hardening, wetness pooling between my legs, and heat blanketing me everywhere his gaze lingered on me.

  When he whispered, “Charlotte,” and pulled me close, I whimpered. Yes, whimpered. And when his lips met mine, something in me ignited. His body pressed to mine, his arms holding me close as I threaded my fingers in his hair and ran my hands down his back. But when he pulled away, everything came to a halt. It was Ike staring back at me, smiling in that way he does that makes my insides liquefy.

  And then, I woke up.

  Even though it was only a dream, my mouth feels swollen as if the kiss was real. Touching my fingers to my lips, I brush them softly.

  “Hi,” Ike says, and I gasp, jolting upright on the bed. “Dude, you have got to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared the bejesus out of me.”

  “Sorry,” he replies and smiles slightly. He’s sitting in the pleather chair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced before him.

  “Where have you been?” I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged.

  “Why? You miss me?” He waggles his brows and I snort.

  “I was worried you were still pissed at me. Ya know. Over me leaving that letter for Roger. I’m sorry, Ike. I should’ve told you before I did it.”

  Ike sighs and rubs his hand over his head, his dog tags jingling as he moves, slouching back in his seat. “I’m not mad. It looks like it worked. I’m madder at myself.”

  “For what?” I question.

  “Because I never asked about your story. I never asked what you’ve been through. I’m an asshole for asking you to help George when you’re going through so much yourself.”

  I fidget with the edge of a pillowcase, flicking the material back and forth between my fingers. My story is so . . . depressing, I’m not sure I want to tell him.

  “I’d like to know, Charlotte. Tell me. Please.” When I look up, I meet his gaze and nod.

  “Well . . .” I start and sort of snort. “Where the hell do I begin?”

  “I want to know everything,” he answers, and I take a deep breath.

  “Well . . . I grew up in Jackson County in Oklahoma. My mother’s a school teacher, she works in special education,” I add, “and my father is a pharmaceutical rep for a company called Lincoln. And I had an older brother, Axel,” I nearly choke as I say his name. I’ve rarely said it out loud in years, and I forgot the emotion speaking his name evokes from me. “He was three years older than me,” I finally manage. “We weren’t twins, but we were close. I don’t think anyone cried harder than me when he left for college,” I laugh and meet Ike’s gaze. “I suppose I was more enamored with my big brother than he was with me. I saw him as my confidant, my best friend, and he saw me as his baby sister he had to protect from everything. But he wasn’t overbearing or anything. I think he knew if he tried to tell me what to do, I would stop confiding in him. He was smart that way.” I stand and stretch before moving to the dresser where I have a half-filled bottle of water, taking a large swig before I continue.

  “So of course, when I graduated, there was no other college I wanted to go to other than the one he was at. I’m not sure how he felt about it, but he never said anything to deter me, so off I went. Six years ago I was a freshman at Oklahoma State University. At the beginning of the second semester, I had joined a sorority and made some friends. I hung out with Axel every chance I could, but his fraternity kept him busy. One night, I was at this mixer, a paint mixer,” I laugh sadly. “Drunk off my ass and covered from head to toe in fluorescent paint several college boys had graciously rubbed all over me.”

  “Lucky bastards,” Ike chimes in with a smirk.

  “There was this girl, Melissa, I was friends with that had a huge crush on Axel. Somewhere along the evening she managed to grab my phone and take a picture of me dancing, sandwiched between two guys and texted it to Axel.”

  Ike snorts a little laugh. “Let me guess. Axel showed up?”

  “Yeah. But he didn’t try to drag me out or anything. I found out later any guy he saw talking to me got a very stern threat to remain two feet away from me at all times,” I laugh. “I couldn’t understand why guys started avoiding me.” I sip my water again, my hand trembling as I bring the bottle to my mouth. “So eventually I got bored and asked him to take me home. He rode this badass Harley, spent his life’s savings to get it. He’d only had it a year, and the purchase had definitely caused a rift between him and my parents. But Axel was . . .” My gaze moves to the ceiling as I search for the best way to describe him. “He was loyal to a fault. A good son, always had good grades, played football, yada yada. He rarely went against the grain, and when my parents threatened to stop paying his tuition, I was surprised he wouldn’t budge. He loved that bike.”

  I move back to the bed and sit with my legs crisscrossed again, grabbing my hair tie off the nightstand and twisting my hair into a messy bun. “He gave me his helmet to wear that night. Less than a mile from my dorm, a drunk senior turned left in front of us and we hit him going forty miles per hour. When I woke up, I was in an ambulance, the paramedics messing with me, and Axel was beside me, unscathed, staring down at me. I could tell I was in bad shape by the look on his face.”

  I pause, willing myself not to breakdown. “‘Hold tight, Char. Everything is going to be okay,’ he’d said.” Tears brim my eyes as I remember him, the way his voice trembled as he spoke to me. “I went unconscious. I had broken my back and my right leg. I had some swelling on my brain, even though I had been wearing a helmet, and they put me in an induced coma until the swelling went down. When I finally came to, my parents were so relieved and crying. I was really groggy and tired, but when I saw Axel smiling at me, I thought everything would be okay. He nodded once at me and said, ‘I love you. Always remember that.’” I swallow hard around the lump in my throat.

  “I was in and out of consciousness for a day or two, but when I finally came to fully, the doctors began telling me about the road ahead and my recovery. When they left, I looked at my mother and asked, ‘Where’s Axel?’”

  I let out slow, deep breaths. “She wouldn’t answer me at first, but left to fetch my father. When they both returned, they were sobbing uncontrollably, my father to my left and my mother to my right.”

  I shake my head back and forth as more tears cascade down my face. “‘Axel didn’t make it, Char. He’s gone,’ my father had whispered as his voice shook. I had never seen him so distraught. He has always been so strong. I just stared at him; perplexed. ‘He was here when I woke up,’ I’d replied adamantly to my parents. ‘I saw him.’ But my mother just wept and told me, ‘I’m sorry, sweetie, he’s gone.’”

  I meet Ike’s eyes and try to smile through the tears. “As you know, with grief comes denial. I refused to believe it. I thought maybe I was dreaming, that I would wake up any moment and realize it had only been a horrific nightmare. But as time went on, I realized he really was gone.” I wipe my nose with my forearm.

  “He d
idn’t crossover until he knew I was going to be okay. I was his unfinished business. I missed my chance to say good-bye to him because I didn’t know what was happening.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Ike says, grasping for something more to say.

  “Shortly after, I started seeing people and talking to them, and my mother would always ask me who I was talking to. It took me a while, since I was on a lot of medication then, to understand what I was seeing. When I figured out the dead were talking to me, I tried to tell my parents, and they, of course, thought I was nuts and sent me to a psychiatrist and a neurologist. They put me on antipsychotic meds, which completely fucked me up, and I still saw dead people,” I grunt. “Eventually, I stopped talking about it, for the most part. I became severely depressed; my friends had all abandoned me when they thought I went nuts,” I say, sadly. “My parents were dealing with the grief of losing Axel on top of my issues. A year later, I was back to normal, mostly physically, and my father had some business associates over for dinner. Of course, his boss’s father had died recently, and he came to the party too. I tried to get him alone, to tell him what his father needed him to know, but my father caught me. His boss was sobbing and hugging me, but that didn’t matter,” I recall. “My father was done. The next day he gave me a check for thirty thousand dollars and told me I should travel. It was part of the money the insurance company had paid for the accident. I knew he just meant I should disappear. So I did.”

  Ike’s expression is grim, his mouth in a hard, flat line. He shakes his head, I assume in disbelief, before lowering it. When he raises it again, he smiles sadly. “So you’ve been wandering around for the last five years helping the dead? All alone.” It’s not a question, more of a confirmation. I swallow hard and nod, resuming flicking the material from my pillowcase to occupy my gaze. I can’t look at him or I’ll cry again. Standing, he walks over to me and sits beside me and places his hand on the bed next to mine. “I think this is the worst part, ya know. I can see you, hear you, but I can’t touch you.”