Page 42 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)
“I’m so glad you did. I drove the van.”
“You’re joking?”
“I wish. Actually, no, I don’t. I did it, and I’m proud of myself.” I tuck a box of Saltines under my arm and make my way to the refrigerators.
“Good for you. Did you just get the urge?”
“Are we still talking about my driving?”
“Josie!”
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist when you worded it that way.”
His groan gives off grossed out little brother vibes. Like we’re in middle school again.
“I definitely didn’t get that kind of urge . Hayes got sick, and we needed supplies, so I drove us to a store.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s at least not puking anymore. I think the weird mystery taco meat was spoiled or something.”
“That’ll do it.
I pause, staring down a refrigerator stocked with neon-colored options. “Do you know Hayes’ favorite sports drink flavor?”
“I doubt he’s picky, but I’ve seen him drink orange before.”
“Perfect. It matches the van.”
“Meant to be. ”
“Right? You know me so well.” I shoulder the phone against my ear while grabbing two giant bottles and a couple of waters.
“Where are you now?”
“In a convenience store.”
“You’re infuriating. I meant what town.”
“Ohhh.”
“Shut up.”
Giggling, I drop my haul on the counter and wait for the cashier to total it up. “We were in Sedona last night and we’re on our way to the Grand Canyon.”
“That’s fun. You’re almost there.”
My heart knots instantly. “Yeah.”
“Shouldn’t you be excited? Your show is days away.”
“I am. I just don’t want Hayes to leave. I’ve gotten used to having him around.”
“Have you two . . .?”
I hand my debit card to the cashier. “Have we what? I thought you didn’t want to talk about me sleeping with your best friend.”
The woman behind the counter snorts and gives me a thumbs-up as she passes over my card.
“Shit, Josie. That’s not what I was I gonna say.”
I smile at the cashier and Jordan’s predictable reaction. “Then, maybe next time don’t be so cryptic.”
“I’m regretting everything right now. Even this call.”
“That’s what you get for leaving it up to my imagination.” Scooping up the plastic bag, I head toward the door. “Shoot.”
“What?”
“I need to pee.”
“And?”
“ And . . . I’m by myself.”
“So?”
“Don’t give me that. You know .”
“You’ve driven the van. You’ve conquered your fear of heights. Isn’t it time you tackled your public restroom phobia?”
I groan and check on Hayes through the windows. The reflection on the windshield is too bright to see him. I wish he were here, but I don’t want to bother him if he’s still recovering.
Holding out the phone, I switch it to video and wait for Jordan’s face to appear on the screen.
“What are you doing?” he asks, scowling.
“Remember when I took care of you after your accident?”
“Don’t like where this is going.”
Checking over aisles through the store, I locate the restroom sign. “Payback time, brother dear.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
I march to the dark, dingy hallway with my chin up, determined not to acknowledge the ominous flicker of the overhead light.
“Josie,” Jordan warns. “I’ll hang up.”
“Don’t leave me, please.”
He lets out a long exhale but stays onscreen .
I find a non-scarred place on the dark blue door to nudge it open with my elbow.
“This has to be crossing some line of insanity,” he complains, but I’m not listening.
The door creaks open, and I immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. The air smells of mildew, dirty mop water, and generational trauma. I clutch the phone tighter—like Jordan could shield me from whatever danger lurks in the shadows.
This overhead light flickers erratically in here too, casting strobe-like shadows across cracked tiles that maybe, decades ago, were once white. Now, they’re gray and streaked with stains I don't want to think about. The black grout spans out like moldy veins across the floor.
I edge past a dingy sink, locking the door behind me, and hang my bags on a crooked metal hook that swivels on the nail.
I hold the phone up to see Jordan fully. “Crossing the line? Really? Like when I had to get your naked backside dressed after your accident? Bathroom duty and all?”
“I know and I appreciated it, but I didn’t have a choice.” His eyes take a dramatic roll, knowing he doesn’t have one now either. “Why couldn’t Nora be home?”
“Where is she?” I ask, taking in more of my surroundings, delaying the inevitable. The sink must be auditioning for a horror movie—chipped basin, crusted faucet, and soap dispenser missing in action.
“She’s closing at work tonight. ”
The paper towel dispenser has sticky, brownish fingerprints on the metal lever. Nope. Not using that later.
Not thinking of the consequences, I force myself to take a deep, calming breath, and get the full sting of the room’s scent instead.
Big mistake. Stale urine, overcompensating bleach, and something sour.
My heart leaps out of control, a jittery kind of panic that spreads outward from the source, prickling under my skin.
“Josie?” Jordan’s voice cuts through the mental spiral. “Can we get this over with? I’m already traumatized and I’m not even there.”
“You’re one to talk. At least you don’t have to smell it.” My face revolts, nose wrinkling when I find the cause of the stench—dark, used water sitting in a makeshift mop bucket in the corner.
My throat tightens. I want to run, but my bladder’s done negotiating. And I’m over avoiding things that scare me.
With shaky resolve, I set my phone on the surprisingly clean plastic toilet paper dispenser and angle the camera up to the dotted ceiling.
“Can you at least do me the courtesy of muting the sound?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Swiping it off, I hover, flush with my foot, grab my phone, and bolt. Along the way, I scrub my hands with an antibacterial wipe from my purse.
Glorious freedom.
I did it .
Rounding the corner a little too fast in my escape, I almost slam into Hayes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, startled but happy he’s here and upright. His scent—woodsy and clean, like he just stepped out of a forest after a rainstorm—immediately wraps me in comfort.
“You didn’t answer my text, and the woman up front said you went to the restroom.” He runs his hands lightly down my arms. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
My insides do that inconvenient swirling again. “You’re the best.”
He brushes it off, but I’ll make sure he hears how amazing he is until he believes it.
“You went by yourself?” His gaze glows with pride and stabs me with guilt. I hate to ruin it, but I can’t lie either.
I lift my phone and unmute it. “Not totally alone.”
“Hi, Hayes,” Jordan greets, deadpan on the screen.
Hayes laughs, full and low and completely unfair to my equilibrium. “You took Jordan with you?”
“He’d do anything for his sister. Right, little brother?”
“Probably anything but that.”
“You’d be right,” Jordan chimes in. “But she didn’t give me much choice. Can we be done now? I need a stiff drink to forget this ever happened.”
“Have one for me,” Hayes says. “It’s been a day.”
Jordan snorts. “I heard. You look like shit.”
“Thanks, buddy. ”
I turn the phone toward me. “Don’t talk to my man like that. He dragged himself in here to check on me when he should be resting.”
And now that I’m paying attention . . . he’s holding the heavy bag of drinks and crackers. He must have taken it while I swooned.
I lean in and kiss his cheek—a silent thank you .
Jordan groans. “Hanging up now. Therapy isn’t cheap.”
“Byeee.”
Hayes gives me a lopsided grin, then circles an arm around my waist, steering me toward the doors. “That was worth getting out of the van for.”
“Did you really come to check on me or did you need something?”
“Just you. That’s all I need.”
Right there in the middle of the store, I stop and tug him down for a steamy kiss. He’s warm and accepting and . . . tastes of mint?
“And to also brush your teeth, huh?”
“And that.”
I laugh. “Was your bathroom just as nightmarish?”
“Oh yeah. So disgusting. No wonder you hate them.”
“Finally. Someone who understands.”
Back at the van, Hayes pulls the keys from his pocket and dangles them.
“Want to keep driving?”
“No, way. I’ve hit my daily quota for excitement already . . . unless you’re not feeling up to it. ”
“I’m good. Just need some of these snacks.” He opens the passenger side door for me. “By the way, does your ‘no more excitement’ rule mean you’re skipping the horseback ride later?”
“That’s on Ava’s list, too?”
“It is. Along with a sunset over the Grand Canyon.”
Thinking of the memories we could make, waves of warm anticipation ripple through me. A sunset. Hayes. The two of us on horseback in one of the most majestic places in the country.
My adrenaline surges, though I keep it corked for later. “I think I can find some energy for that.”