Inevitable Detour (8 page)

“This, I can’t wait to hear,” Farren mumbles sarcastically.

Sighing, I try to explain, “It’s because she was hurting. Her acting professor broke her heart recently. That night at the bar, she was hoping someone could fix it, help her forget about him.”

Farren is silent, and I venture a peek over at him.

Shit
. His posture is tense, and a muscle is twitching in his jaw.

“How old is this professor?” he asks, his tone inscrutable. “And what’s his name?”

“Um…” I hesitate. I mean, I despise Professor Walsh, yes. But I don’t wish to see him dead or anything. And the expression on Farren’s handsome face—brutally handsome at this point—gives me pause about sharing what I know.

I assume, though, that Farren has other ways to find out what he wants to know, so I go ahead and spill. “His name is Professor Walsh. And he’s about thirty-five.”

Farren’s only response is a quick nod, like he’s storing the info for another day.

The next few miles are spent in silence, until Farren flips on the car stereo. He tunes in an indie rock station, and eventually—thank God—things begin to lighten up.

As time passes, we discover we like many of the same songs. When a Heather Nova song comes on, one that I love, I can’t help but sing along. A few of the lines are provocative, and Farren chuckles and shakes his head as I belt them out.

When the song ends, he turns down the volume and asks, “What was the name of that song?”

“‘Walk This World,’” I tell him.

I then realize how many of the lines could apply to me…and him…and him and me together. Next thing you know, I am blushing profusely. And I swear that man must have listened to every line and lyric—or else he knew the song already—since the smug look on his face tells me he knows exactly why I’m blushing.

Thankfully, though, Farren seems to sense I’m genuinely embarrassed and changes the subject.

“So, Essa,” he begins, “why Oakwood College for you? Haven told me she was lured by their stellar theater program, but you’re a business major, right?”

“The business program at Oakwood is very well respected,” I spout in a monotone voice. It’s the same rote spiel I’ve uttered a hundred times before. I’ve learned it well from my parents.

Farren glances over. “Hmm, that didn’t sound rehearsed at all.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I know, right? Let’s just say a business career is my parents’ dream, not mine.”

Softly, Farren inquires, “What is your dream, Essa? What do
you
want to do?”

I stare out at rain that is lessening to a gentle shower. “Nobody ever asks me that,” I say as gently as the falling rain, “so I don’t really know for sure.”

“You must have an idea,” he says.

I take a breath. Should I dare to share my dream with Farren? Since I have nothing to lose, I go for it.

“If it were up to me,” I say. “I’d choose a major geared to writing. I write for the school paper, and I contribute articles to a monthly business review.” After a beat, I softly add, “And I really enjoy those things.”

“I’m sure Oakwood has a journalism program,” Farren replies matter-of-factly. “You can always switch majors.”

Slumping down in my seat, I say, “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter.

“Try me.”

Farren sounds sincere, so I tell him the truth. “I only have one year left for the business degree. It’s too late to change.”

“Hey,” he says, his tone serious. “It’s never too late to do anything, Essa. You can change majors, start over, do anything you want. You just have to be brave enough to take that first step.”

Farren’s words are passionate, and he makes me reconsider. I’m always doing what my parents want me to do. Always following their instructions on how things are going to go, never speaking up. If that continues, how will I ever find my true calling?

I’m silent, and Farren says, “Do you want to know what I learned after I survived my first day of active combat?”

I nod. “Yes.”

With his eyes on the road ahead of us, he says, “If you’re still breathing, you can change your life. You can always alter your direction, embark on a different route. You just have to be brave enough to do it.” He glances over at me. “You decided to join me on this trip, right? That was pretty brave.”

“I had to, Farren,” I reply. “I had to for Haven.”

But it’s more than that. This is my first inevitable detour. Fate led me here. Maybe I need to let destiny have her chance, let her put me where I need to be. When I head back to school in the fall, I think I’ll change my major. Then again, maybe I’ll really shake things up and apply to a different school, maybe one that’s out of state.

With these thoughts in mind, I say, “I think I may change things up, do some things differently.”

“You should,” Farren replies. “People set limitations on themselves all the time. Everyone makes excuses. Change is scary, I know. It’s hard. But don’t let anything—or anyone—keep you from your dreams.”

Farren is so impassioned, and as we’re leaving Ohio and entering Indiana, I can’t think of anything but where my life is heading. I like this burgeoning change in my thinking. I already took a stand by coming on this trip. I didn’t stay at Oakwood. I’m not enrolled in summer courses, and I’m not planning to be. In fact, I’m not going back to the way things were at all. I don’t think I can.

I share my thoughts with Farren, telling him all of these facts.

He says softly, “Haven told me she invited you to New York this summer. Are you going to come up to the city with her once she’s rescued and things are back to normal?”

I like Farren’s confidence that Haven will definitely be rescued. And I like his softened tone when mentioning me and New York City. “I think so,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says, nodding once.

I stare straight ahead, smiling and feeling empowered. Way off in the distance, across acres of farmland, the sun is melting into the horizon. The sky looks as if someone took a brush and painted it with fiery reds, sharp oranges, and muted purples. The beauty before me has me wishing I could somehow capture this moment—this moment with Farren, this moment in my life. If I had my phone, I could take a picture of the beautiful sunset and have it to look back on and remind me of this talk, this day, these decisions—my decisions.

“I wish I had a camera,” I mumble.

Farren throws me a contemplative glance and then returns to focusing on the road. A few seconds later, we’re slowing down and merging into an exit lane. “Why are we stopping?” I ask.

“We need gas,” Farren says. “And we haven’t eaten for a while. We’ll grab something while we’re here.”

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. I’m reminded that the energy bar I picked up earlier when we stopped for a bathroom break has long been digested.

“Good plan,” I say.

Minutes later we pull into a parking spot in a rest-stop lot. Farren and I go our separate ways when we reach the restrooms inside, but I rejoin him where he’s in line for fast food a few minutes later.

“There aren’t a lot of options here,” he says as I nudge in next to him.

“That’s fine,” I reply. I peruse the menu board. “I’ll think I’ll go with the number-three combo.”

“Burgers and fries it is,” Farren says. “I was thinking the same thing.”

I glance around and spot a small drugstore a few doors down from the burger joint. It gives me an idea.

“Maybe I should grab us two bottled pops instead of us buying drinks with our meals.” I point toward the drugstore. “I’m sure they sell refrigerated pop in there. And this way we can save the bottles and refill them with water at our next stop.”

“Great idea,” Farren replies. “Plastic bottles will hold up better than paper cups.” He reaches for his wallet to give me money, but I stop him.

“I think I can handle it,” I say playfully, echoing the words he said to me when I told him I’d pay him back if expenses got out of hand.

He laughs and says, “Touché, Essa, touché.”

We meet back up at the car ten minutes later. Well, actually I have to wait a few minutes for Farren. My stop at the drugstore was quick, so I made it out faster. It’s a nice evening—we left the rain behind long ago—so when Farren walks up with the food, I suggest we eat at a picnic table in a nearby grassy spot.

Minutes later, in the middle of eating and enjoying our fast-food meals, I notice a small brown bag on the bench next to Farren. “What’d you buy?” I ask.

“A couple of things,” he says. He pops a french fry in his mouth and pulls two prepackaged cell phones from the bag. Handing one to me, he says, “Burner phones. I bought one for each of us.”

“Thanks,” I murmur. I turn the very basic, bare-bones phone over in my hands. “I think.”

“Only use it if there’s an emergency,” Farren continues. “Like”—his eyes hold mine when I look up—“if we were to get separated for some reason.”

I shudder. We are only two states away from Pennsylvania, but already I am fully aware of how huge this country really is. I hate to admit it, but I’d be lost without Farren. Like, literally. He doesn’t need GPS, and he barely looks at the maps I noticed on the backseat. In fact, when I asked about the GPS in the car, he told me he disabled it. Like with my cell phone, he doesn’t want us being tracked.

So, yeah, if I were to get separated from Farren, even without the threat of danger, things would get pretty damn scary real fast. But to find myself on my own, with the possibility of encountering Eric—or Vincent, who drugged me—I’m certain I’d die on the spot from fear alone.

As I take the burner phone out of its packaging, I assure Farren, “I think I’ll pretty much be staying by your side throughout this entire trip.”

There’s not an ounce of humor in his voice when he responds with, “That would be wise.”

We resume eating our burgers and fries, and I find myself assessing my travel partner. His tall height and muscular body make me feel secure. Plus, I’m well-aware he knows how to take care of not only himself, but me, as well. As long as I remain close to him, nothing bad will happen. Farren will protect me. Hell, he could probably protect ten of me if he had to.

I exhale a relieved sigh, content that—for now—I am in no danger.

“What else is in the bag?” I ask. I nod to the bag the phones were in. It’s clear it’s not empty.

“Oh,” Farren replies, all nonchalant. “I bought you something else.”

Whatever it is, it’s making him smile. And a Farren Shaw smile is priceless. His green eyes soften. Wow, it warms me to see that whatever he has bought me, giving it to me is making him happy.

Invisible strings tug at my heart. I like Farren Shaw as a person and as a man. I like him beyond his great looks and his kick-ass bod. He really is becoming my friend.

But, boy, if my heartstrings were being tugged before, they pull with abandon when he hands me the gift he’s bought for me.

“It’s a disposable camera,” I say, staring down at the plastic camera in awe. It’s not the camera itself I’m all worked up about. It’s the fact Farren was thoughtful enough to pick one up for me.

“It’s not much, I know.” He shrugs one shoulder, like he’s not sure I like his thoughtful gift.

But he needn’t worry. “I love it,” I say, backing my words up with a huge grin.

The smile he gives me in return, frankly, blows me away, even more so than the other times. God, he is stunning.

“I figured you might want to take some pictures of all the scenery you’ve been enjoying so much. You said when we saw the sunset earlier this evening that you wished you had a camera. And since you don’t have your phone…” He trails off.

I sense that for all Farren’s confidence and swagger, he’s unsure in areas of the heart. So, after thanking him again, I say, “This is a great gift, Farren. Really, it is. I can’t wait to start taking pictures with it.”

Unfortunately, since it’s almost dark, I have to tuck the camera in my purse for now.

“Picture taking shall commence tomorrow,” I say playfully, patting the side of my bag.

Farren laughs, and then we clean up our bags and fast-food wrappers. We gas up before we leave the rest stop. And then we are once again on our way.

A
few hours after leaving the rest stop, Farren is shaking me awake.

“What?” I jump, jerking forward. The seat belt snaps me back, and I utter a pained, “Ow.”

Farren leans over and digs for the seat belt release so I won’t be snapped back a second time.

“Where are we?” I ask. My voice is thick with sleep. “Indianapolis?”

“Just outside of,” Farren replies. “We’re in a town called Avon. We’ll be stopping here for the night.”

It’s then that I notice we’re in a budget-motel parking lot. I’d probably notice more, but with Farren leaning so close to me, it’s hard to concentrate on much else. He has no idea his proximity, as he undoes my seat belt, has me basking in the warmth emanating from his hard body.

He doesn’t catch on, either, when I say in a rush, “Oh, okay. Avon, Indiana. Huh, that’s great.”

I take a breath. God, must this man smell so good, so…male? Thankfully, for my now-racing pulse and this little ache I begin to feel at my core, Farren releases the seat belt and settles back in his seat.