Page 36 of The Love Bus

HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE

A little more than an hour later, after we’d filed off the bus and into our hotel in Grand Junction, Tay handed out our keys with strict instructions.

“Hydrate, people. We’re still in the desert. Rest up. Dinner vouchers are good for room service or the bistro downstairs. Feel free to check out the pool. Otherwise, take it easy.”

I nodded, took my key, and, after a slow elevator ride, dragged my suitcase down the long hallway. I limped awkwardly as the leather strap on my broken sandal flapped uselessly on the carpet.

The door had already clicked shut behind me by the time I realized I’d forgotten to buy a few bottles of water.

Sighing, I grabbed a glass from the bathroom counter, rinsed and wiped it out with the hand towel—because I wasn’t stupid, and yes, I’d seen that Dateline episode—then filled it from the sink.

I took a few sips of the lukewarm water, but it didn’t settle the way I’d hoped.

For how thirsty I’d been earlier, it was strangely unsatisfying—too sloshy, sitting wrong in my stomach.

I paused, the glass still in my hand, and stared across the room.

I should open my suitcase.

It would be nice to change into something soft and clean, maybe after a quick shower. But I was also kind of hungry, and although I would really prefer to get the dust and sweat and sunscreen off of me, I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to wash myself just yet.

I had a granola bar packed away somewhere in my bag, if it hadn’t crumbled into granola dust by now.

Or I could order room service.

The idea floated in—fries, maybe? Something starchy? A club sandwich with extra mayo?

But I couldn’t focus long enough to decide.

Everything sounded wrong. Or too much. Or not enough.

I bent to undo the strap on the sandal that still worked, easily slipped out of the broken one, and then ignored my blister in order to just plop down on top of the white comforter.

I exhaled, letting the weight of my body sink into the mattress.

Perfect.

Noah had been right about the water, the sunscreen and the hat and my shoes—all of it. Why couldn’t I have just acted like a normal person? I was too tired to come up with an answer.

Whatever…

It was going to have to wait.

Everything could wait.

I drifted through a haze of exhaustion, my mind slipping in and out of half-formed thoughts.

Then—

Flashes of red rock. The sound of sirens.

A postal counter, stacks of letters. My father laughing—just for a second—before clutching his chest, his face contorting, his body collapsing.

Strangers shuffling around him in a panic, calling for help, the glaring overhead lights humming too loudly.

A heavy stillness.

And I’m not there…

I startled awake.

Darkness stretched across the room, the only light seeping in from the crack beneath the hotel door. My stomach rolled, a sickening, sluggish wave, and before I could think, I was pushing myself up, stumbling toward the bathroom.

I barely made it before the nausea hit full force.

After I’d finished losing the little I’d eaten today, I slumped over against the side of the tub, my forehead pressed to the cool porcelain as I tried to catch my breath.

I felt clammy. My limbs weak.

I knew I needed to drink something, but the thought of putting anything into my mouth had my stomach rolling again.

I’d rest for a few minutes, then order…something.

Knock, knock, knock.

Wait, I hadn’t already ordered room service, had I?

But then?—

“Luna!” That was…Noah? “Are you in there?” His voice was firm. Not quite a demand, but close enough.

For a second, I considered ignoring him. Just stay right here on the floor…

But then he knocked again, and…yeah. That wasn’t happening.

Although the floor wobbled beneath me, I shuffled out of the bathroom.

My fingers fumbled with the lock—slow, clumsy—but after a few tries, I finally managed to crack the door open.

He took a step back as soon as he saw me. “Oh, shit, sorry. I should have realized you were sleeping.” His expression was a little sheepish, like maybe he’d come here on a whim.

“What time is it?” I managed to ask, squinting.

He stood there, one arm braced on the side of the doorframe, and I had to tilt my head back to see his expression.

He glanced at his watch. “A little past eight.”

Even in my diminished state, I thought he looked ridiculously attractive. His hair was slightly rumpled, like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.

“What—” I swallowed, my throat raw. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced down the hall, away from me. But then shrugged. “I thought you might want to join me for a drink. Babs said you didn’t come down for dinner.”

When he looked at me again, his eyes narrowed—just slightly—flicking over my face, noticing my wrinkled shirt, and maybe the way I was white-knuckling the door to hold myself up.

And just like that, the casual, easy look in his eyes disappeared. His brows pulled together, his mouth tightening. “What’s wrong?”

I opened my mouth to say nothing, but then immediately closed it. Because he already knew.

And honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

My silence must have been answer enough.

“I know you hate taking help from me.” His voice was edged with frustration, and maybe concern. Because he was a doctor, of course. “But damn it, Luna?—”

He exhaled sharply, then stepped forward—into my space, into the room—and with a light touch on my arm, guided me back toward the bed. I barely protested as I sat on the edge, the door clicking shut behind us under its own weight.

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I could protest if I wanted to.

Every step made my head pound harder, and when I finally sat down, I had to close my eyes against the sudden wave of dizziness.

Noah switched the lamp on and then crouched in front of me, putting his hands on my knees, steadying me.

“Does your head hurt?”

I peered up at him, and then held up one hand, my thumb and index finger pinched together, almost touching… Just a little bit.

His jaw ticced. “Luna.”

Okay, not amused.

Noah touched my forehead. “When’s the last time you drank anything?”

I swallowed, my throat so dry it scratched. “Earlier. On the bus. No. Wait.” I blinked at him, my brain sluggishly processing the question. “Not sure.”

His expression darkened. “And before that?”

“Lunch?”

Noah let out a breath, dragging his hand down his face. “So a margarita and what, half a bottle of water?”

Wait, technically, I’d had a couple sips before my nap. That probably counted for something.

Before I could say as much, Noah’s fingers pressed against my wrist, checking my pulse.

“You don’t have to…”

“Hush,” he said. Again. I didn’t argue.

But even though I was willing to comply and let him check me over, it almost didn’t feel fair. He’d already saved one person’s life today. And yeah, he was a doctor. But he was also on vacation.

Noah shook his head, still crouched beside the bed. “Your pulse is racing.”

“Oh, uh, that’s probably not good. Sorry,” I murmured, frowning like that might help slow it down.

“You’re dehydrated, and you’ve got a fever. You need fluids, Luna.”

His voice was firm—too firm. Even through my haze, I could hear frustration curling beneath it.

“Don’t be mad,” I whispered, ducking my head.

“Please?” And then I started rambling. “I’m so sorry I snapped at you today, oh my God.

And on the plane.” And then, because my brain-to-mouth filter had completely disappeared, I added, “I don’t know why I keep doing that.

I mean, I know you’re just being…nice. And it doesn’t make sense.

I’m not like that. I’m usually the nice one. I’ve always been the nice one.”

He blew out a hard breath and then sat back on his heels.

I had the strangest flash of him doing the same thing earlier—kneeling beside Roger in the hot sun, calm and focused while the rest of us stood around uselessly.

“Oh!” I blinked. “Is Roger okay? He isn’t…?”

Noah’s eyes lightened a little. “Roger’s gonna be fine. No more traipsing through the desert, though.”

I smiled, though it felt a little lopsided. “You were great today.” And then, quieter, “You were a hero.”

“I’m not a hero.”

“Today you were.”

I didn’t know what I expected, maybe a joke, a deflection, the dry sarcasm he always seemed to have when his profession came up. But instead, his expression shifted.

Not dramatically.

Just…softened. For a second, he almost looked like it was something he wanted but couldn’t accept.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. And then just stared at me like he was trying to make sense of me. Or maybe of himself.

“Are they here?” I asked, my thoughts skipping back to Roger and Helen.

“Still in Moab,” Noah said, still watching me like I might float off the bed. “They’re keeping him for observation, and once he’s released, he and Helen will fly back to Kansas.”

“Oh.” It was good that Roger would recover, but sad that they’d miss the rest of their trip.

“Luna.” Noah’s voice was measured, but there was a tenderness in it now. “Let’s take care of you now, okay?”

And well, I did feel like I’d slammed into a brick wall. “Do you have any Tylenol?” I asked hopefully.

Of course, he had Tylenol. Hadn’t he had a stethoscope in that pack he’d carried around all day?

“I’d really like to get you hooked up to an IV.”

An IV. As in a hospital.

I bit down on my bottom lip. “I can drink on my own.”

Noah did not look convinced.

“Hydrate or die-drate.” I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way my vision blurred at the edges. “I don’t need an IV. I just—” I swallowed. “I just need water.”

Noah sighed. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink in here.”

I blinked up at him. “Just the sink.”

His deadpan expression showed just how unimpressed he was with that answer. “I’ll be right back.”

Before I could argue, he had already gotten to his feet. Grabbing the ice bucket from the counter, he propped the door open with the extra lock on the frame, then disappeared.

I curled up on my side. I knew better. I’d broken Tay’s golden rule. She’d literally reminded us to hydrate at every opportunity. She would kill me if she found out.

After going MIA back in Glenwood Springs, I really didn’t want to land on her bad side again.

And the others—all those sweet people on the bus, the ones who actually listened when Tay reminded them to hydrate—they’d probably be just as disappointed in me.

If Mom and Ashley ever found out, they wouldn’t be surprised. Because that was who I was. The irresponsible, scattered one.

I clenched my eyes shut, willing the queasy feeling away.

I absolutely would not go to a hospital.

A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps again.

He was balancing a can of soda, a bottle of Gatorade, and a package of crackers on top of the ice-filled bucket. And he must have stopped off at his own room, because the pack he’d carried around today was slung over one shoulder.

Without a word, he let the door close behind him, then crossed the room, dropping his bag and arranging everything else on the bedside table.

Me? I just lay there watching him, embarrassed that I felt so freaking weak.

All business now, he turned his eyes on me again.

“Youhavethemost incredible eyes.” My words just ran together. “Like the ocean before a storm.”

His mouth twitched. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I always look pale.”

“No, you don’t.” And then he chuckled a little. “You blush,” he said. “A lot.”

“I do?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, cracking the seal on the Gatorade before pressing it into my hands. “Sip. Slowly.”

I scooched so I was at least partly sitting up and took the bottle.

I liked the way his fingers lingered when he handed it to me.

I forced myself to take the tiniest sip in the world. Waited a few seconds. Went to take another, but then more words just bubbled out of me.

“What’s the meeting about?” I asked.

“The meeting?”

“When you get home?”

Noah, who’d been watching me like I was a particularly difficult patient, shook his head. “Renewing my contract.”

“They want you, right?”

Silence. And then he looked away and scrubbed his hand down his face.

“Not sure I want them.” But then he pushed a cracker toward my mouth. “Eat. Slowly.” I took one tiny bite. When the saltiness didn’t make me gag, I took another one.

“Why not?” I closed my eyes, feeling my stomach churn. I refused to throw up in front of him.

He didn’t answer right away, but I was okay with that. Sitting with him, taking small sips of the sweet drink and eating the cracker…just being quiet… It was good.

I thought he’d forgotten my question when he eventually sighed. “That’s a good question.”

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t explain.

But he didn’t have to.

I kept my head up, even though it seemed to be heavier than it had been a few minutes ago. “I know you came on this trip for your mom, but maybe you can find some answers too… You know? What is it Morty says?”

His gaze flicked to mine, a little confused. “Who’s Morty?”

“In the pendant—not on the mantle. He says when you climb the mountain, it’s not about seeing the mountain. It’s about seeing yourself. I think that’s it? I’ll have to ask Babs.”

“Here.” He handed me two pills. “Tylenol.”

I slid them into my mouth, forced another sip, and dropped back onto the pillow.

I was half asleep when Noah smoothed a cool, damp cloth on my forehead.

Tender. Caring.

A few minutes later I felt warm hands on my feet. Ointment on my blisters.

“You’re really good at this,” I mumbled. “And I keep snapping at you. I don’t know why, but… I’m really sorry, Noah. You were just being nice.”

He was silent for second. And I wasn’t quite sure I heard his next words, or if they were a part of my imagination.

“I’m not just being nice, Luna.”

But he was!

He was the kind of person who took care of things without being asked. Who carried his mom’s shopping bags, who kept watch over an entire bus of retirees without even realizing it.

So why did he seem to be running from it? From this part of himself?