Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  Her eyes widen, their green irises as bright as the lush grass in the park behind us, and her mouth falls open just a little.

  Yeah, that’s right.

  “You got a little on your face, Shorty.”

  Her mouth snaps shut and she wipes the back of her hand across her lips until they’re clean.

  “I could’ve helped you with that.” I waggle my tongue and wink.

  Her chin lifts and she pins me with a glare. “Don’t need your help. And don’t call me shorty.”

  “Not a fan of nicknames?”

  “None that involve my vertical challenge, no.” She finishes off the rest of her cone and I toss the rest of mine in the trash. “Ready to head back?” she challenges with a smirk.

  Fuck. The thought of falling on and off that stupid contraption for the two-mile return trek doesn’t sound pleasant at all. “Can’t I just carry it? Or how about I call us a ride?”

  She laughs as she hops onto hers, perfectly balanced as she zooms back and forth like a taunt. “That’s cheating! Besides, I like watching you fall down. It’s half the fun!”

  “You are a sick motherfucker, Lexi Marx,” I grumble even though I’m the sicko. I love that I’m providing her with entertainment, even if it is at my expense. I check my phone for the time, happy we have another hour until we meet the guys for dinner. Today has been the perfect break before we hit the road again and resume life in the fast lane. This town is almost like a hideaway and today I haven’t felt like much of a rock star. It’s been refreshing and nice, an unexpected opportunity to just be me. Unimpressive as that is, I’ve still made her laugh, smile, and talk. That’s a win.

  “Let’s ride back on the opposite side of the street this time. There’s a shop I want to stop in,” she says.

  “More underwear. Please tell me we’re going panty shopping.”

  “No, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes. “I want to pick up a vape for Iz.”

  “Iz? Why?” As much as I’ve seen between his lips, I’ve never seen him with a vape. Finally catching my balance, I slowly roll my way over to her and we head down the sidewalk.

  “That stuff he smokes is gonna kill him. And before you say it, I know he doesn’t care, but I have to try to help.”

  A bump in the road sends me flying off, but her thoughtfulness is what really rattles inside. That she’s not only beautiful, talented, and funny as a badass. She’s also kind and generous in a most authentic way. I resume my balance and catch back up to where she spins in circles. “That’s sweet.”

  “Ugh.” She shakes her head and rolls forward. “Forget I mentioned it. I don’t need any more shit from you.”

  “No, I’m not fucking with you. It’s really nice. I hope he uses it. He’s a talented guy, and we like having him around.”

  “Oh.” She chews her lip before darting her tongue out to trace the skin. Fuck. That’s so hot.

  “Fuck!” I biff it at a rut in the curb and jump off the death trap before I tumble into the road. “Shit!” I say again. Lexi’s laughter fills the space between the passing cars, and the sound, it goes right to my gut. If I were still on the hoverboard I’d have been knocked on my ass. Again.

  She scoots in front of my board, her eyes pinched with so much delight that the edges crinkle and the green of her irises almost disappears. With the added height from the board she’s so much taller than I’m used to. Her lips kick up so her teeth show through her smile. Radiant. “You win. Best afternoon off. Ever. Thank you, Trent.”

  The admission and praise fill me with joy. It’s worth getting back on that stupid board. “You’re most welcome,” I say and start forward again. I catch her glance and can’t help but ask once more, “So, how about that lingerie store?”

  She peels off so fast, and her laughter combines with mine as she leaves me in the dust. Fucking hell, I’m really starting to like that woman.

  18

  Lexi

  “Daddy!” The scream leaves my mouth but a hand covers it before I can yell again.

  “Don’t. No one’s gonna come save you. They’re all fucked up.”

  Bile rises in my throat and I squirm to escape his hold. But he pins me to the wall regardless. He’s too big. Too strong. Older. Oh, God. I clench my eyes shut and tears squeeze out of the edges when I imagine what happens next.

  I vault upright and bump my forehead against the roof of my sleeping bunk. A throbbing reverberates through my bones, sweat coats every inch of my body, and I shiver with the memories racing alongside my pulse. Tonight, ghosts haunted my sleep. A glance at my phone confirms I barely managed ten minutes of rest before being startled awake.

  A dream.

  It was only a dream. If I repeat this enough maybe my head will stop hurting and my body will stop aching. I’ll stop dreaming about my father and find a night of good sleep.

  A rough cough leaves my chest and I attempt to stifle the sound. I cough again. Damn it, not this. My head expands with every stretching mile, and the rumble that once soothed me to sleep now causes my head to pound. The ache in my temple extends to my limbs. Everyone is sound asleep on the bus, clueless to the fact my body is, after twenty-three insanely healthy years, betraying my perfect streak.

  I turn my chin inside my bunk, under my blanket to mask the next round of hacking coughs that escape.

  “Lexi! Go take some drugs so we can all get some sleep!” Austin shouts from his bunk.

  Scratch that. I’m not as stealthy as I hoped. My stupid cough is keeping everyone awake.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I pull the dark curtain open and climb from my bunk. The moment my feet hit the carpet and my spine straightens, all the blood rushes to my head. With a soft bump in the road I fall backward, my butt hitting the floor and my head still spinning. Fuck.

  Nausea rolls through me in a wave and I blow out from my diaphragm to settle the feeling. I need to get to the bathroom, but the hallway that always seems so short suddenly feels a mile long. If only I could magically transport myself the distance. I catch the flash of light that cascades from the bathroom as Trent’s half naked form fills its doorway. My mouth salivates with my impending need to upchuck. Not desire and attraction. No. No way I’m getting turned on at a time like this. He is a fine specimen of man, though, and my stare lingers a little too long on his exposed abs.

  Fuck me—

  His low chuckle scrapes me out of my little daydream. “Whatcha doing here, Lex?”

  “It’s Lexi.”

  “Right. Did you just fall out of your bunk?” This time he laughs louder.

  “Shut the fuck up. Trying to sleep,” Austin grumbles from behind his curtain.

  A thread of coughing, one I can’t seem to control, spills from my mouth and shakes my body. It’s both tight and loose in my chest, and my muscles ache. I give in to the fit and collapse into a ball to protect the throbbing against my ribs.

  “Hey, hey.” Trent’s over me. His hair, the long and rebellious curls, tickle my forehead. “Shit, you’re sick.”

  “No. I’m not,” I growl between another flip of my stomach. I will not vomit. I will not vomit. “I don’t get sick.”

  Trent leans back on his heels, crouching at my side as I finally pull up to sitting. I meet his calculating stare . . . or at least I try to. My eyes burn. Or maybe that’s my skin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “You’re sick,” he states plainly.

  “I can’t be. I have to sing tomorrow night. I can’t be sick. I don’t get sick. I don’t miss shows. I don’t—”

  “So, what you’re saying is you’re sick.”

  “Fine! I’m sick. Happy?”

  “Not really, but now that we’ve established your level of health, let’s get you better.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Queen Bee. Let’s get you comfortable.” He stands, holds out his hand, and pulls me off the floor. Blaming my state of unrest for letting him get away with such an awful nickname, I try not to lean on him more than necessary and follow his lead towar
d the bathroom. Except he doesn’t stop there. He takes me to his room.

  “No! Not the sex sheets!” I dig my heels into the flooring, but he tugs me forward and through his doorway.

  “They’re unscathed. I swear it,” he whispers and then shuts the door behind us.

  “When was the last time they were washed?” I grip the wall until I overcome my dizziness, unwilling to settle on the gross sheets. I’ve heard enough stories—they brag about fucking groupies like they’re gallant war time conquests—and even though I’ve never seen Trent bring anyone back here, I don’t trust him.

  He pins me with a glare a moment before his smile kicks up the edges of his lips. “For someone who eats ramen, you sure are a diva with the linens.” He arranges the pillows, sheets, and blankets on his bed, and damn if it doesn’t look like heaven right now. My limbs beg me to give in and cuddle into the middle of it all.

  “I like ramen. But I don’t want your sperm all over me.”

  “Pity,” he says and straightens before he walks my way. He’s still only in his boxers, and I have to work extra hard to not let my eyes drop to examine that bulge below his waistband.

  With a deep sigh and one rough cough, I lift my chin. Trent steps forward until he looms over me. He’s so much bigger. Larger than life in everything he does. I feel like a child standing in front of him.

  His hand skims along the side of my sweatshirt and I can’t help but close my eyes. The back of his hand presses to my forehead and I sigh again, because damn that feels good.

  “Shit, Lex. You’re burning up.” His voice is soft, like a familiar melody and it fills me with comfort.

  “I am?” That sort of makes sense, what with how odd I feel and the dreams that seemed so real.

  “Yeah,” he says and his hand leaves. My eyes open as he cradles me to his chest and lifts me in the air. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now.” He walks us to the edge of his bed and sets me in the middle.

  As I expected, it feels amazing. I glance from side to side, my gaze roaming the surface. “Your sheets are clean.” My voice is full of surprise.

  He chuckles. “Told you they were. Here, let’s get you out of that.” He grabs my sweatshirt and pulls. “Arms up.”

  I obey and I’m left in my lacey cami and pink short shorts. I’d be embarrassed if this were awkward, but it’s not, and once the comforter covers my body, I’m glad he thought to take it off. “This down?” I say.

  “I don’t know what the fuck it’s made of, but it’s comfortable.” He chuckles, then opens the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  I settle against the pillows, my body seeking warmth and feeling flush all at the same time. Trent’s only gone a few minutes, then returns with his hands full. My pillows, water bottles, medicine. He’s like a sexy nurse. The thought hits me with a giggle.

  “What’s so damn funny, Miss Sicky?” He smiles, stuffing one of my pillows under my head and handing me the water. My eyelids are heavy but I force my gaze to follow his long fingers. How come I never noticed before how long they were? I don’t know, but he moves them with fluid grace and it’s mesmerizing. He unscrews the cap of the medicine and hands me a few pills.

  “Swallow,” he orders.

  “Only if you’re lucky”

  “Lexi, you’re so naughty when you’re sick.”

  “I know, right? Too bad I’ll be back to my bitchy self tomorrow,” I joke, but when Trent answers he’s serious.

  “I don’t think you’re a bitch.”

  “No?”

  “No. I like your quick sarcastic humor. Now, swallow.”

  “Fine. Only ’cause you’re pretty.”

  “You think I’m pretty?” His eyebrow, the one I jacked up, rises with his lips.

  “It’s the hair. I wish I had your hair.”

  “Just what every man wants to hear.” He stands from the bed, taking my water and setting it on the bedside table. “Need anything else?”

  “You’re leaving?” I don’t know why that bothers me. I’ve never needed anyone to hold my hand or take care of me, but the thought of him going back to the main area of the bus doesn’t set well. Almost as if I’m scared to be alone. Must be the fever talking.

  He stops, hand on the doorknob, and turns to consider me. Of course he’s leaving. It’d be stupid for him to stay. He owes me nothing, and what he’s done has been nothing short of sweet. “Only if you want me to.”

  “Sorry. You can leave. It’s . . . This . . . It’s messing with more than my head. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve never been sick.”

  “I know just the thing to make you feel better.” His grin stretches wide on his face and he opens a cupboard, searching inside until he produces one of those old CD cases that holds disks.

  “Not listening to Three Ugly Guys right now,” I mumble into the sheets.

  He laughs and shakes his head, flipping through the pages. “No. We’re watching a movie.”

  “Better not be porn.”

  “Darn it.” He snaps his fingers. “Second choice, then.” He slides a silver disk from the sleeve and feeds it into the flat screen affixed to the wall. I scoot further back against the headboard, my head cradled by pillows and my body wrapped in cotton warmth while I anxiously wait to see what he selected. My bet is some raunchy comedy, or even a classic 80s flick—those would suit him—but what I don’t expect is the signature castle that appears on the screen.

  “Never pegged you as a Disney fan,” I observe.

  The bed is king size, and there’s plenty of room when he climbs onto the pillow top. With his back against the wall, his legs and torso are so long they stretch the length of my entire body. He stretches one arm across the back of the bed frame and I lift my head so we don’t touch.

  “Lion King?” I say and he turns to smile down at me. A shiver works its way through my body and my teeth chatter in its wake.

  “Still cold? Come here.” He scoots down the bed and wraps his arm around the blankets covering my body. His bicep makes a heater for my neck and he curves his elbow so his fingers find their way into my hair. It’s all surprisingly comfortable. His fingertips continue to move along my scalp. Brushing. Massaging. It feels really good.

  “Hakuna matata.” He grins and his eyes find the screen again. I can’t help but notice the way his lips move with every single line. We watch in companionable silence. But once the poor lion cub’s father is killed I have to interject.

  “You really like this movie?”

  “Yeah. It’s what I watch when I’m sick. Always made me feel better when I was a kid.”

  “Trent?”

  “Yeah, Lex?”

  “How did this make you feel better? This is a horrible story! The evil uncle plots and murders Simba’s dad. This entire thing is depressing.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  The film continues and I assume he’s distracted with what’s on screen. I’m caught up watching it again when Trent’s voice, low and masculine, fills my ears.

  “When I was a kid we didn’t have a lot. You know? But my mom picked up this movie from the dollar bin and my aunt gave us her old VHS player. Every time I was sick I had to stay home alone because my mom couldn’t afford to take the time off work.”

  In my mind’s eye I can picture a younger Trent, a child, all alone and sick. It breaks my heart. “That’s horrible.”

  “Nah. It was fine and I understood. She had to take care of us. She didn’t get paid if she missed work. Anyway, she set me up on the couch and I watched this movie over and over.”

  “Why this movie?”

  “Well, it was this or Winnie the Pooh, and come on, that shit’s for babies.” His teasing tone is back and I tilt my head to meet his eyes.

  “Obviously.” I grin.

  His fingers brush through my hair again and I have to close my eyes. I’m unable to hold his stare when his touch feels that good.

  “My dad wasn’t ever around, so I liked that the father was always in the stars, alw
ays looking down on his son. Watching out for him, you know? It’s silly, but I always felt someone was watching out for me when it was on.”

  I open my eyes to find his gaze trained on the television. “Your dad is dead?” I don’t know why I’m pushing, prying into Trent’s past when I hate when anyone does that to me, but here, in this bubble of fever induced boldness I can’t help but wonder about his story. About what makes Trent Donavan tick. When he answers, I wonder if Trent is feeling extra bold himself in the safety of this space.

  “Yeah, he is now but not when I was a kid. He wasn’t around because he was a bastard of a father. My parents split before I remember. I actually used to lie and tell everyone at school he was dead instead of a deadbeat. I guess I sometimes believed my own lie.”

  “I get that. It was always easier to tell my friends my dad was gone. Whatever they assumed I meant was fine by me. They asked fewer questions that way.”

  “Plus, when I was a little older it helped me score pussy.”

  “Trent!”

  “Can you blame me? Teenage boy. Poor. Stupid. Horny. But hey, I played guitar and could kinda sing, so you bet your pretty little ass I played up the dead dad card. I worked with what I had.”

  “Sounds like you were smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

  His soft chuckle washes over me and we drop back into the comfort of watching the cartoon. I try to keep my lids open, to watch the entire thing, but his warmth, the comfort, and probably the drugs all help me float into the safety of restful sleep. Trent surprisingly makes a good body pillow and I don’t feel one ounce of shame for snuggling closer into his chest. His heart beats at my ear, and it’s rock steady. I’m sure I’ll regret all of this tomorrow when he won’t let me live it down, but for now . . . For now, he’s just what I need.

  19

  Trent

  Morning comes, and with it disappointment because I know this is over soon. Having Lexi in my arms, her holding me as if she can’t get close enough, is what I can only describe as a spiritually awakening experience. Sure, logically I know she was only attempting to stay warm. But until last night I’d never had a woman sleep in my bed, completely sober, with no sex involved. Before Lexi, I would have thought that was pure torture.