Arizona Heat (5 page)

After I get off the phone with my dad, Reagan watches me as I grab my soaking wet satchel from the desk and pull out a granola bar. I take off the wrapper and break it in half, handing one of the pieces to him.

“Thanks,
”
he says as I sit down on the end of the bed next to him. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Um, my fiancé,
”
I respond looking down at my granola bar.

“Oh,
”
he says, sounding surprised.

“What are you doing away from your band?
”
I ask, changing the subject.

“I’m taking a break for a while, away from LA,
”
he explains. “My first stop was home and tomorrow I was planning on roaming a bit before landing in New York to have a meeting with my label.”

“Roaming? Like a road trip?”

“Yeah, I guess. Mostly just some time alone to do some soul searching.”

“Ah, the brooding artist,
”
I tease. A small smirk forms in the corner of his mouth.

“Do you still live in Sedona?
”
he asks.

“No, New York actually.
”
He raises an eyebrow and looks at me like he wants to hear more. “I moved away from Sedona about six years ago to go to Columbia. I just finished up my second year of med school and needed a change of scenery.”

“Columbia,
”
he nods his head, impressed. “And the fiancé? What does he do?”

“He was a lacrosse player but he got hurt. Now he’s just trying to figure out what to do next.”

“He played professionally?”

“No, he tore his ACL before that was an option,
”
I shrug. Simon sort of just gave up after that. Reagan doesn't press the issue and I’m thankful. He climbs up to the pillows at the head of the bed and lies down on top of the comforter. A sigh escapes his lips as his eyes flutter closed.

“Are you going to sleep?
”
I ask, checking the time on my phone.

“Mhm,
”
he mumbles.

“It’s six o’clock.”

“I’m tired,
”
he responds simply.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?
”
I ask, my cheeks reddening with blush. He pats a hand on the bed next to him and a shiver runs down my spine.

It only takes a few seconds for Reagan to drift out of consciousness. I crawl up to the top of the bed and watch his chest rise and fall with every breath. A few hairs fall over his face and I resist the urge to push them out of the way. No one would ever believe me if I told them where I was and who I was with, especially not Francesca. I consider taking a picture of him sleeping but my creeper radar has a limit.

There is nothing to do in the room besides twiddle my thumbs and milk every last percent of battery life in my phone. Reagan hasn't moved an inch and I envy his ability to sleep through the storm. After an hour with nothing else to do, I lie down on the mattress and close my eyes.

The motel noises jolt me upright every fifteen minutes and I know a decent night’s sleep is hopeless. Between the banging noises in the near distance and the incessant rainfall on the metal roof, I lay awake and gaze up at the ceiling. Reagan is in a deep sleep and I do my best to not stare at him. He wears a black chained necklace with a silver cross resting comfortably on his clavicle. I hadn't noticed it in one of the many shirtless pictures Francesca sent to me after our night out. Pictures I most certainly did
not
look at. After another hour of watching mold grow on the ceiling, I feel my eyes start to flutter before drifting into a restless slumber.
 

“I’m not lying, no, not falling in love,
”
a voice sings in the distance, pulling me back to reality. I quickly realize it’s Reagan singing softly as he strums his guitar strings. I keep my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep so he won’t stop. The lyrics are quiet but I can make out his words clear as day. “If you wanted me to know, why didn't you just say so?
”
Unable to resist I, open my eyes and watch as he furrows his brow, feeling the weight of his words. “Tell me, tell me, tell me baby,
”
he sings.

I giggle as I watch him, not because he’s being funny, but because of the unbelievable situation. The strumming abruptly stops and he lays his guitar carefully on the table. He looks at me, now sitting up in the bed, and I see the beginnings of a smile dance across his lips.

“What’s so funny?
”
he asks, amused.

“Just thinking about the pictures I took of you last night that I plan to sell to TMZ,
”
I say with a devious grin.

“You didn’t,
”
he says, half-amused and half-considering I actually took pictures of him.

“I’m kidding,
”
I say and he visibly relaxes. “Although I thought about it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,
”
he smirks.

“That’s not to say I won’t sell my story about sleeping with a rock star.”

“That would be a lie,
”
he laughs.

“Firstly, do you really think they care if it’s a lie? Secondly, it technically isn't a lie because I did
sleep
with you.”

“Slept
next
to,
”
he corrects.

“Same difference,
”
I shrug.

“Very big difference,
”
he smiles with a slight glimmer in his eye.

I wait outside as Reagan returns the key. He suggested we go take a look at the car in the daylight to assess the damage. I relish the dry heat as it warms me to my bones. The sun is a welcome addition to our walk back to my rental car which is significantly closer than I remember from the night before.

My first thought when I see the car in the ditch is, “how are we alive?
”
My second thought is, “how the hell am I going to pay for this?
”
The Jetta is totaled, there’s no question about it.

“Poor Rebecca,
”
I say sadly.

“Rebecca?
”
Reagan eyes me with confusion.

“That’s her name. The people at the Hertz place named her because she was supposed to be lucky.”

“Lucky?
”
he scoffs.

“We’re alive aren’t we?
”
I look at him and his expression changes. I think the severity of the situation settles in. I call my dad and let him know the car will not be coming home with us. Then I call the Hertz people who are surprisingly understanding. They review my insurance information and let me know that the out of pocket cost should be minimal. Next I call my insurance company, who are also surprisingly understanding, and work out some details with them. They instruct me not to worry and offer to send a tow truck for the wreckage. Once everything is sorted, I sit on the side of the road and resist the urge to cry as I look at the car. We could have died. We should have died. Reagan leans down as I bury my head in my hands. He wraps an arm around my shoulder as I begin to sob.

I’m not sure where this delayed reaction came from but I am filled with fear and thankfulness. Once my tears subside, Reagan leads me down the road to a small diner and I take a few deep breaths before stepping through the door. The bell dings and we are greeted by a sign instructing us to seat ourselves. I excuse myself to the bathroom so I can assess my appearance.

It’s worse than I thought. My blonde curls are at least three inches pouffier than normal, black eye liner is smeared across my left cheek, my blue eyes are blood shot from crying, and forget about the gash on my forehead. I splash water on my face in an attempt to remove the makeup but only smear it worse and taking a paper towel to my cheeks only adds to the redness before I give up on trying to fix it.

“My dad is on his way to pick us up, should be here in an hour or so,
”
Reagan informs me.

“Great.”

“Is everything all right?
”
he asks and I’m careful not to look up from the menu.

“Fine, just hungry.
”
My shaking hands deceive me as the menu taps on the table. I skim my eyes over the text but read nothing. Truthfully, I’m not hungry. I’m replaying the crash over and over in my head, followed by the image of Rebecca with her front end crunched in and her wheels at an unnatural angle.

“It’s going to be fine,
”
Reagan says, taking the menu from my trembling hands.

“I know,
”
I answer, my voice full of doubt.

“You need to eat. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Just some eggs and toast,
”
I say, shoving my hands between my thighs to keep them from shaking.

“Coffee?”

I nod, unable to speak anymore. What if I had died and that was it? What would I have to show for my life? A collection of good grades and not even half a medical degree. I think about my life back in New York and consider all the time wasted. Cooking, cleaning, and studying, with only books to serve as my escape. I hadn't even realized I was trying to escape until now. There are so many things I wanted to do before getting hung up on school and building some semblance of a life with Simon. All the while watching him mourn the loss of his lacrosse career. It’s been
years
since he gave up on doing anything worthwhile. Living with him through his downward spiral took a toll on me that I hadn't even realized was happening. Every time I asked him to go out to dinner or take a weekend trip away, he said no. It chipped away at pieces of me until I was left with the shell of a person sitting in this diner booth. I feel so lost. Something needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. I need to free the person I lost so many years ago.

My dad holds me for a full hour when I get home and I lie when I tell him that it wasn't that bad. Once the tears have subsided, I head for the shower to wash a day and a half’s worth of sweat and dirt off my body. I spend the day curled up by the TV in my pajamas with Chiquita on my lap. Holly and my dad ask me repeatedly if I want to go do something but I just shake my head. I manage a few naps during a
Friends
marathon until a gentle hand shakes me awake.

“Josie honey, you have to wake up. Some people are coming over for dinner.
”
Holly stands over me with her short brown hair hanging in front of her face. I nod and shift to a sitting position before hearing the doorbell ring. I look down at my pink pajama shorts with little sheep on them and groan. Really? They couldn't have given me a little more warning before people started arriving. Little footsteps patter in the entryway and I hear the voice of Holly’s sister, Carol, in the other room.

“She’s in the living room, don’t bring up the accident,
”
Holly whispers but her voice travels clear as day.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,
”
Carol assures.

“I just want her to get off the couch.
”
Holly sounds sad and I feel bad for making her upset.

Tina hauls around the corner and flies onto the couch, pushing Chiquita off my lap.

“Hello to you too,
”
I laugh.

“I heard you had an accident. Are you okay?
”
Her wide innocent eyes warm my heart and I smile down at her.

“I’m fine, tough as nails,
”
I joke. Tina curls up next to me on the sofa and I switch the TV to Disney Channel. Paul walks in hesitantly, gauging my current state. His eyes widen as he notices the bandage on my forehead. I offer him a small smile and pat the seat next to me. Paul walks over slowly and falls onto the cushion.

Holly and my dad work away in the kitchen. I offer to help them multiple times, I even walked in and started sautéing vegetables but they shooed me out. Tina rests her head on my lap and I feel myself dosing off again when I hear the doorbell ring.

I feel his presence before I see or hear him. Mr. Lewis comes into the living room first with a wide smile on his face. How can he be so calm? I nearly killed his only son. I spent the entire ride back to Sedona tearing up as he reassured me that he wasn't mad, just glad we were okay.

Reagan follows behind him and frowns when he looks down at my pajamas. Damn you fluffy sheep shorts. They’re worse than I thought, I know it. Reagan, on the other hand, looks impeccable, freshly washed and wearing a black v-neck t-shirt and dark wash jeans.

“I think it’s about time I got dressed for the day,
”
I say, lifting Tina’s head off my lap and walking toward my bedroom. Brushing past Reagan, I can smell fresh body wash and feel his eyes follow me as I curse the fluffy sheep to hell. I put on a pair of jean capris and a Ramones t-shirt, before throwing my hair in a messy bun. When I walk out I find everyone scattered about the kitchen. Reagan is the first to notice as I enter the room, smiling as his eyes move down to my shirt.

“Josie!
”
my dad beams. “Settle an argument for us. Tina thinks she needs a cell phone.”

“You let me have a pay-as-you-go phone when I was her age.”

“I want an iPhone,
”
Tina chimes in.

“Why do you need an iPhone?
”
I ask.

“I want to play Angry Birds,
”
she shrugs.

“But on a pay-as-you-go phone you get to play pong.”

“What’s pong?
”
she asks and everyone laughs. Tina’s cheeks redden and she frowns.

“Only the greatest game ever,
”
Reagan says, leaning down to her level.

“Hold on a second,
”
I say as I exit the room. Rummaging through an old chest full of books and papers, I find an old Atari console. When I emerge from the bedroom, everyone gawks at my retro game and Reagan has a look of boyish excitement plastered on his face. I lead Tina into the living room and plug the console into the TV. She watches with curiosity as the crappy graphics light up the screen. I put pong in and hand her a controller.

“How do I play?
”
she asks.

“You are the paddle on right and when the little ball comes toward you, move the stick up and down to bounce the ball back to me. Like ping pong.”

“That’s it?
”
She looks at me like there is no way this game is fun.

“That’s it,
”
I laugh.

We start playing and Tina looks bored, but after a few minutes the ball starts picking up speed and her tongue hangs out the side of her mouth in concentration. Before long Paul and Reagan are sitting on the couch behind us, gazing longingly at the TV. Reagan’s eyes meet mine every time I turn around and he smiles.

We finish our game and Tina beams with glee from her victory. “Beginners luck,
”
I mutter, sliding onto the couch and handing Reagan a controller.

“That was nice of you to let Tina win,
”
he whispers with a smirk.

“Yep,
”
I lie. It’s kind of embarrassing but I totally got bested by a second grader, at my own game no less.

“C’mon Paul, let’s see what you got,
”
Reagan says excitedly.

Paul sits on the floor next to him, gripping the controller. They gaze intently at the TV, hands moving up and down rapidly. The ball bounces and misses Paul’s paddle by less than centimeter and he groans with defeat. “Next time bud,
”
Reagan says with a smug grin, ruffling Paul’s hair. Paul shoves his hand away and pouts.

“You can’t always get what you want,
”
Reagan starts singing and my heart skips.

“You can’t always get what you want,
”
Carol chimes in from the kitchen.

“You can’t always get what you want,
”
Reagan sings again in his raspy voice and I’m mesmerized.

“But if you try sometimes,
”
I sing along without meaning to.

His eyes shoot up and he looks at my face with awe. “You just might find.”

“You get what you need,
”
we sing together, attempting a sad excuse for harmony. Our eyes never break contact as the words tumble off our lips. I
never
sing. Some sort of foreign spirit invaded my body, causing a momentary brain spasm in which I had no control over my vocal cords. We stare at each other and there is something in his eyes that wasn't there before.

“You guys working on a duet or something?
”
Paul asks. Reagan’s eyes finally leave mine to engage in a fit of laughter. I do my best to cover my smile and suppress the giggling but fail. It might be considered mean to laugh at a kid for not knowing about things like Mick Jagger, but come on?

“That was the Rolling Stones,
”
I explain.

“Oh,
”
Paul shrugs, embarrassed.

“I’ll show you on YouTube later, okay?
”
I suggest. He offers a small smile as Holly calls for dinner. We convene at the table and I take a seat at my “designated
”
spot. Reagan takes me by surprise, sitting down in the chair next to me. My dad extends his arms, instructing us to hold hands while we say grace. I reach out hesitantly as I place my hand in Reagan’s. He intertwines our fingers in a very un-prayer-like way and my heart starts to race.
Pray, concentrate on praying.
I try to focus and give thanks for the meal
…
and my health
…
and Reagan holding my hand
…
and spending the night with a rock star in a motel (even if it was a gross motel and it wasn’t how you’d think that experience would play out). My dad finishes grace and I reluctantly let Reagan’s hand go, relishing the feeling of his lingering warmth.

“You’re supposed to have left for New York, what are you still doing here?
”
I ask Reagan in a whisper.

“I figured postponing another day wouldn't hurt me any, in light of recent events,
”
he whispers back.

“I’m so sorry,
”
I say for the trillionth time.

He offers an elaborate eye roll and shakes his head.

“You're going to New York?
”
my dad asks with a raised brow.

“He’s road trippin
’
by himself,
”
Mr. Lewis offers before Reagan can answer.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,
”
my dad says.

“I told him that but he doesn't ever listen to me.”

“Have you bought a plane ticket back to New York yet, Josie?
”
my dad asks.

“Um, not yet,
”
I say hesitantly.

“You live in New York?
”
Mr. Lewis asks.

“Yes, that is where Columbia is…”

“Splendid! It’s settled,
”
my dad beams.

“What is settled?
”
I ask.

“You can go with Reagan on his trip,
”
Mr. Lewis explains.

What?

“They can take my RV,
”
my dad suggests.

“That works out great ‘cause Reagan didn't bring his car,
”
Mr. Lewis says.

Why are they doing this again?

“I think this is a great idea,
”
my dad says.

“You guys,
”
Reagan says but they ignore him. Mr. Lewis and my dad begin working out the details to the trip that neither of us has agreed to. I look up at Reagan and his jaw is set tight. I understand how he is feeling. He doesn't like having his life planned for him and neither do I.

“I’m not doing that,
”
I say, loudly enough that they stop talking.

“Why not?
”
Mr. Lewis asks, confused.

“You two planning a little trip for us didn't go over so well last time now did it?”

“Oh Josie, if you’re scared about driving the long distance after yesterday…
”
my dad’s eyes soften as he speaks.

“Nope, no, not scared. He wants to be alone.
”
I gesture toward Reagan, urging him to help me out but he stays silent.
Now is not the time to be quiet and brooding.

“Oh, he doesn't want to be alone,
”
Mr. Lewis scoffs.

“Dad,
”
Reagan warns.

“Reagan, you don’t actually want to be alone. No one wants to be alone. What are you going to do once you get where you’re going? Go to dinner by yourself? Sightsee by yourself? It isn't safe for you to drive that far on your own anyway.
”
Reagan doesn't say a word as he stands and exits the room. The front door shuts and I scramble for a minute before deciding to follow him. Honestly, I didn't want to answer any more questions on the matter.

I find Reagan sitting with his head in his hands on the front step by the door.

“Everything okay?
”
I ask, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah,
”
he answers shorty. It’s amazing how after one day of spending time with him, he seems more like a person and less like a celebrity. I realize that celebrities are just people, organic matter like anyone else, but his mysterious exterior is becoming less and less apparent. Seeing Reagan here, on the front step of my house, he really is just a person. No glamor, no flashy lights, just a guy who is clearly working through some shit.

“You know you can talk to me,
”
I say, looking into his sad eyes.

“You don't even know me,
”
he says and it’s like a punch to the gut.

“I get the feeling nobody does,
”
I mutter.

“Come with me.”

Say what now?

“Come with me,
”
he says again, dark brown eyes begging.

“Why?
”
I gasp.

“
That
is exactly why.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t look at me like
Lewis Law
. You look at me like Reagan. I run into old friends on the street and I’m not Reagan anymore. My own family can’t look at me the same, all they want is money, and my soul belongs to the record label. I can’t write, I can’t sing without hating myself. But you, you look at me like I’m the same person I was years ago. You see me and for some reason, I feel like I can write again. I want you to come with me because I like spending time with you.
”
He smirks to himself before adding, “And if this road trip is half as exciting as yesterday, I think I’ll have plenty to write about.”