Page 19 of On the Way to You
The lines lit up and the screen cleared, all of a sudden filled with rows of tiny presents like I’d seen before we sat down.
“Holy shit,” Emery laughed the curse. “You got the bonus.”
“I did?!”
“Pick a box.”
I bounced in my seat, picking box after box, some of them doubling our prize or sending us into a new level of the bonus. Each time I picked a box that wasn’t a dud we screamed, drawing a small crowd, all of them laughing and rooting us on. By the time it ended, the last three dollars we’d bet climbed up to five-hundred and twenty-two, and a few whistles rang out over the applause as the machine counted up our winnings.
“I can’t believe that just happened!” I squealed, fingers twirling the ends of my hair over my shoulder.
Emery hit theprint ticketbutton and stood, laughing.
“You really were lucky, like a penny heads up on the highway,” he said. I cranked my neck to look up at him, the sharp edges of his jaw and cheek bones highlighted with shadows in the casino light. He looked a little intimidating.
He looked a little beautiful.
“Maybe I should call you Copper.”
I grimaced. “Please, don’t.”
“Too late.”
And then he laughed, and I did, too, and the stranger with the car didn’t seem quite so scary anymore.
I woke to the gentle sound of my alarm the next morning, and my eyes shot open, hands scrambling for the device to shut it off before it woke Emery. When the room was silent again, I snuck a glance in his direction.
He was still just a rumple of body under the big comforter, the sides of it pulled free from where it had been tucked under the bed. One foot stuck out and hung over the side of the bed, and his hair peeked out from the opposite end, the only proof there was a human there at all.
Inhaling a deep breath and letting it go softly, I scrubbed a hand over my face, eyes focusing on the intricate designs that covered the all-white ceiling above. Kalo huffed next to me, laying her head on my hip, and I rubbed behind her ears until she was asleep again, my mind waking up slowly.
Last night had been fun, and the entire concept of road tripping across the country with someone I didn’t know felt a little less insane now that the sun had risen on a new day, but I still wondered where the day would lead, where the trip would take us. I glanced over at Emery again, my gaze falling on where his journal lay face down on the bedside table, the pages flattened against the wood to mark where he’d been writing the night before. I’d pretended to fall asleep quickly, all the while listening to his scribbles over the page, wondering what it was he could be writing.
You’re not reading his journal,I chastised myself, taking another deep inhale before reaching under the covers for my prosthesis. I never slept with it on, but I also didn’t want to take it off in front of Emery… not yet. So, I’d waited until he clicked his light off, until his breathing intensified to a soft snore, and then I’d carefully removed it, tucking it under the sheets with me.
Once it was back in place, I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I adjusted the prosthesis again before rolling the pant leg of my yoga pants down over it and standing, wiggling my knees until it locked into place.
As quietly as I could, I slipped on my shoes and tucked my yoga mat under my arm, making my way toward the door. The room was still mostly dark, the curtains pulled closed except for a tiny sliver in the middle which provided just enough light for me not to fall on my face.
“You can do that in here,” Emery murmured, but his voice was so deep and loud in the otherwise silent room that I jumped.
Flattening a palm over my racing heart, I turned to face him, but he was still buried under the covers.
“It’s okay,” I finally said, voice a whisper, like I was still afraid to wake him. “I prefer to do it alone. I’ll be back soon.”
There was movement under the comforter and then an arm stuck out, one thumb raised in understanding before he pulled it back under the covers.
I smiled, letting myself out into the hallway.
The hotel gym was expansive, with top-of-the-line equipment lining all three walls, but luckily for me it was empty that morning. I laid my mat down in the free space lining the large windows overlooking the French Quarter, stretching my arms over my head as I looked out at the city slowly coming to life.
When I was ready, I lowered myself down into a seated position, once again taking my prosthetic leg off and setting it to the side. I unwrapped my socks and peeled off the liner, eyes scanning the familiar scar at the end of my stump. Sometimes when I looked at it, I was removed from the memory, only seeing it for what it was and what it wasn’t. Other times, like that morning in New Orleans, I blinked and flashed back to the accident, to the blood, to the screaming, to the numb awareness that my entire life was about to change.
After my physical therapy had ended, I’d taken up yoga, deciding I would do it without my prosthetic leg. I wanted to build strength, both externally and internally, and I also wanted to find inner peace and understanding.
Closing my eyes, I started my practice with long inhales and exhales, slipping away from reality for a while.
Yoga brought me comfort, and I slipped into my practice easily, slowly moving to standing position and through various poses with my eyes adjusting to the rising sun over the city. Before I knew it, I was on my back in Savasana, eyes closed as I braced myself for the new day.