Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  “Roam.” He was making an effort to be patient.

  “My Kindle then?”

  “Deal. Where do I find your documents?”

  “My passport and birth certificate are in my top dresser drawer. My driver’s license is in my purse-wait!”

  He’d already opened my dresser drawer, rummaging through my panties and bras. He acted as though the drawer was filled with packing peanuts. “I got it. So organized.”

  “Niagara Falls, last year.” I fought away my embarrassment, deciding that if he had his tongue in my mouth less than a half an hour ago, he could certainly sort through my underwear drawer.

  I packed a pair of jeans, a long, white skirt, and two shirts (long-sleeved and short), a thin dress, three camis, yoga pants and a V-neck sleep tee to match. I had to roll my socks, panties, and bras. My brush and cosmetic case barely allowed me to close the bag, and I looked at my hair dryer, deciding where I would put it.

  “I’ll buy you what you need, let’s go,” he ordered. Tucking my Kindle in the front compartment of the bag, I took one last glance around the room. My iPod would fit; I slid it in next to my Kindle. The photo of my parents on my desk caught my eye; I grabbed it, quickly shaking the photo out of the frame from behind.

  “The deadline for my college applications,” I saw the neat stack of applications on my desk, in color-coded folders.

  “Don’t worry about that for now.” He took my bag from me, his hand squeezing mine in the exchange. “When this is all done, I’ll make sure you go where you want to go.”

  I ignored his pompous comment. “Can I write my dad a note?”

  He glanced out the window. “No. Come on, our flight is in an hour.”

  The drive to Cleveland-Hopkins Airport lasted about forty minutes, with West driving well above the legal speed limit. Staring out the window, I unabashedly let the tears roll down my cheeks. I had cried more in the last week than the entire year my mother died.

  My heart broke for my dad, making him think I’d just take off suddenly, without a word. Morgan would be devastated that I didn’t come to her for help- or at all. Would they suspect that something was truly wrong, since this was so out of character for me? Would Logan’s involvement be convincing enough? I glanced at West. He politely left me alone, allowing me to regroup. When we were almost to the airport, he reached over to tuck my hair behind my ear. When I looked up at him, he held out a napkin.

  I thanked him, wiping my eyes.

  “Is everything going to be… okay?” I asked, needing the reassurance that only he could give me. He reached for my hand, holding it gently.

  “It will be.”

  I remember texting him those same words, the night after he explained everything to me.

  The first- and only- time I’d ever been to an airport was to pick Morgan up after her senior trip to France. I followed West closely. “Do we have tickets?” I looked around, confused by the ebb and flow of the crowd; up and down escalators, in and out of corridors. Everyone moved with such purpose. Was I the only one who had no idea what I was doing?

  “I already printed our boarding passes online. We’re not checking a bag- carry-on only. We have to pass through security, so you’ll need your driver’s license.”

  Security was easier than I imagined. I’d heard stories of people being detained for hours, while their bags- and their bodies- were searched. We each passed through a body scanner, and wearing flip flops I was easily able to kick them off and slip them back on. West wore sandals, also easy to slip off and on, but security had him remove his laptop. The line went on for what seemed like an hour, but our gate was less than ten feet away. I had to run to keep up with him.

  “Oh- I forgot a coat… or… wait, almost everyone is wearing shorts. For September in Russia?”

  “We’re not going to Russia,” he said, under his breath. I narrowed my eyes, confused.

  “Then…?”

  “We’re going to North Carolina.”

  “Why?”

  The attendant ushered us in to board, and I followed West to our seats. After he’d secured our carry-on luggage, he turned to me.

  “We need to put some distance between Troy and your families. And the first place he’ll go to find us is Russia.”

  “We’re sending him on a wild goose chase?”

  He smirked. “Wild goose chase? I guess you could say that.” Gesturing to the window seat, he quirked a dark blonde eyebrow. “Do you know where that phrase comes from, history major?”

  I accepted the seat, grateful to be pinned safely between West and the window. “I… don’t know, actually.”

  “In the sixteenth century, in English horse races, the horses would form a V. Like geese flying in formation, they would follow a lead horse.”

  A woman sat in front of us with a baby girl. The infant’s head wobbled as she stared at us, against her mother’s shoulder. Turning away to gaze out the window, I watched the world below get smaller with perfect clarity.

  Listening to him talk, his even voice relaxed and certain, reassured me. “I’ll bet you’ve built up lots of useless knowledge over all of these centuries.” Resting my head against his shoulder was tempting. As I did, he flinched, and I looked up at him.

  “I have never lost at Trivial Pursuit,” he said through clenched teeth. Unbuckling, he jumped to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him head for the bathroom. He was gone for almost five minutes. When he returned, his hair was wet, his face red, and he looked as though he had a fever. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  He slipped in next to me, turning his forearm upright. The numbers no longer matched mine; the coordinates had changed.

  “Oh my God… you just went through that… here?” I asked under my breath, looking around. No one seemed to notice us at all.

  “I knew it would happen after we took off. Logan’s would have changed, too. As well as Troy’s.”

  Absolute terror filled my chest. I gripped the arm rest, and West covered my hand.

  “Breathe.” He ordered. I nodded, pulling slow, deep breaths in and out of my lungs until I could focus again.

  “Where in North Carolina are we going?” I murmured, reading the coordinates.

  “Remember 1955? The little cottage by the shore? It’s still mine- ours.”

  I looked at him, stunned. “We’re going- to the place I dreamt about?”

  “Water calms you,” he said softly. I smiled, my cheeks resisting the unfamiliar expression. “I’ve had the cottage maintained by a professional rental company for years. It was one of the first beach houses built in the area. I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in, but it was remodeled after a hurricane a few years ago. I guess we’ll see.”

  “Does Troy know about the cottage? Will he look there now that the numbers changed?”

  “No, he never knew about it- as far as I know.”

  I thought about that morning in my dream. My heart pounded in my ears, a deep need stirring in the middle of my stomach. I shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. “Where will Logan go?”

  “He’s going to Russia.” Now fully in the air, he seemed to relax, his muscles less tense against my shoulder. He must have dug my iPod out of my bag sometime before we took off; he passed it to me.

  “I want you to tell me about our lives. So that I know what to expect.”

  “Telling you will only make you worry more.”

  The baby in front of us began crying. The mother soothed her, but her pitiful wailing only grew louder. After a second the child held her breath, her little fists balling at the air before she really let go. Several annoyed passengers turned around and glared at her; the mother, no more than twenty-five years old, rocked her daughter, trying desperately to get the baby to calm down.

  Compassion was left behind at the airport. When several adult passengers began sighing disgustedly, I shot them dirty looks. Adults really act like this? I thought it was just high-schoolers.

  “The
pressure change is probably hurting her ears,” West said, leaning forward in his seat. The woman turned to him, blushing. He smiled, and the woman was entranced, her eye lashes actually fluttering. “Do you have a pacifier? Or a bottle? The sucking will help,” he added, that voice of his lulling this woman into semi-consciousness. He could have said anything and she would have nodded eagerly. Do all women fall over him? He’s attractive, yes, but come on.

  “I… yes, I have one somewhere…,” she fished through a diaper bag. “She never liked it, but I brought it just in case…,” she removed a pacifier quickly from a Ziploc bag, and then pushed it into the baby’s mouth. As soon as the infant began to suckle, she calmed and the crying ceased.

  One ignorant man applauded sarcastically. West ignored him, still grinning at the woman ahead of us. “There now. You’ll be fine, little one. How old- three, four months?”

  “She’s four months,” the woman agreed, smiling gratefully. “My husband just returned from Afghanistan. He hasn’t met her yet.”

  “He’s a lucky man,” West’s warm grin, combined with a wink as he eased himself back into the seat next to me, charmed the woman beyond words. She could only blush, thanking him softly once more.

  “That was impressive. How did you know how to help?” I asked, nodding toward the almost-sleeping baby.

  He didn’t answer, and instead locked his gaze with mine. “How do you feel? With the pressure change?”

  “I didn’t even notice,” I admitted, taking a deep breath. My lungs still felt weak, but not like yesterday.

  “Good.”

  “How do you feel?” I asked, reaching for his hand. He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

  “About the pressure?”

  “About everything.” I corrected, waiting patiently.

  He considered my question, his voice so low that only I could hear him. “How do I feel…? Well, I’m glad I found you when I did. Troy must have been close for a long time, waiting until you met me before attacking. He wanted to know if I’d tried to travel through the fountains, which means he knows about them… and it makes me wonder if he can travel through them, too.”

  I processed his words, terror tumbling through my veins. “He could follow us?”

  He nodded.

  The maniac in the pool had centuries of experience in murdering me. Now, he would follow us into the past?

  I tried to move away, but West gripped my hand firmly. “I also feel that we can win this time, Roam. You’re different, from every life I’ve ever known you in. You have something inside you that you never had before, not in any of the other lives.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, feeling completely inadequate. “I can’t fight, I cry like a baby when I’m scared and hold my breath until I pass out. So what exactly is my winning quality?”

  “Your mind.” He lifted my hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the palm of my hand.

  His mouth sent jolts of electricity through my body, lighting every surface.

  “I have to outsmart him? I have a smarter soul than before?”

  “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”

  I could have drowned in his eyes. The blue depths were bottomless.

  “That is a quote from C.S. Lewis.” I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Do you have anything original?”

  He smirked. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  I sighed, squeezing his fingers. “I have one for you. ‘The past is obdurate.’ Stephen King.” The words hung in the air between us. He narrowed his eyes, looking away. “The past refuses to be changed, West. I am afraid that once we get to whatever time we’re going to, the inevitable outcome will chase us around. You know, like kitchen knives in the Final Destination movies.”

  He laughed, the first genuine laugh I’d heard from him in a long time. “You’ve got a way with words, baby.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Neither one of us know what will happen. Maybe nothing will happen. At first, I just wanted you to have a normal life- grow up and be with Logan, if that’s what you want, go to college, do what you will. But now that we know Logan is an Alter, I refuse to step back and let him have you. You’re mine, and you’ve always been mine.”

  “Yours?” I repeated, aggravated. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself- eternal soul or no eternal soul.”

  He stared me down. “Your fate is mine. And mine is yours. It’s all prophetic, and only we can change it. I wanted to change it- but not any longer. The possibility of losing you again scares me, but not as much as never having you… or being with you again. Everything changed when I kissed you on the basement floor.”

  Trembling, I steadied my breath. “You’re saying that you do want me- to be with me? Even though… no good can come of us?”

  He leaned closer, his lips touching mine as he spoke. “You have no idea how much good can come of us,” he murmured.

  Chapter Nineteen

  For the remainder of the flight into the Jacksonville airport, my mind worked non-stop. I thought about West and my feelings for him, and then immediately felt guilty- Logan. I thought of my sister and my dad, wondering if Logan had called them yet. Everything that I had worked so hard for during my entire school career would be pointless if I didn’t continue on to college. Or if the world ended, I rationalized, following West through the airport.

  The cottage was in the small coastal town of Emerald Isle. As we drove past Camp Lejuene, I thought of Logan and our argument days ago. What will he dream of tonight? I need to know more about our lives.

  The one story cottage was white. It nestled in the dunes just footsteps from the shore. North Carolina’s air lay thick and warm, and I could taste sea salt when I breathed. Everything about the atmosphere radiated serenity and peace, but I couldn’t be further from either.

  “I’ll get your suitcase.” His voice broke the balmy trance I’d entered as he lifted the back hatch of the rented Jeep Grand Cherokee.

  “Thanks,” I managed, absently wrapping my ear buds around my iPod. The wind slapped my long hair against my neck and face, and I struggled to untangle the strands.

  At the front of the house, he turned the key, pushing the door open with his own suitcase. “After you,” he murmured, his breath warm on my hair.

  “You said there are two bedrooms?” I called glancing around. We walked directly into the galley kitchen, the butcher block countertops holding an assortment of plastic cooking utensils in brown and white crockery. A vintage gas stove and 1950’s style refrigerator marked the only appliances in view. A small window above the sink, framed by a simple set of white, eyelet curtains, allowed a clear view of what appeared to be a planked walkway and a dune.

  “Here’s one,” he said, from behind me. I stopped, turning around, puzzled.

  “What? Oh- I thought that was a closet.”

  “It used to be,” he said under his breath, tossing his suitcase to a thin bed about half the size of a twin bed. “I’ll take this room. It’s the smallest.”

  “Oh,” I looked around. The entire cottage appeared to have uneven, hard wood floors whitewashed more than a decade ago. A pedestal planter served as a bedside table, housing more than a few dead bugs. The mattress appeared to be newer, but I still hesitated to touch it.

  “I’ll show you the rest,” he turned to move by me, but the unusually narrow doorway caught us both clumsily.

  Pressed against him, my chest hollowed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, dancing with him in the doorway. He went left, I went left. He went right and I followed. Finally, he firmly gripped my upper arms. I was in the air, turned, and landed on my feet in the hallway.

  “West, I can take this room. You’re so much bigger than me, and it wouldn’t be fair.”

  He ignored my offer and ushered me through the hallway, leading me through the kitchen into a small living room. A loveseat fit snugly in the compact space, almost charming in blue-and-white gingham print. A new, flat-screen television, about twenty-five inches, occ
upied the wall that the loveseat faced. The walls were white and blank, less the gaping holes from artwork past.

  “I can sleep anywhere. You’re used to that big, fluffy bed.”

  Admonished, I dropped my iPod to the loveseat and glared at him, crossing my arms. “I shared a room with Morgan, for your information, until she moved out. And my mattress was a hand-me-down from my grandmother. And it’s super-firm.”

  He smirked, shifting the weight of my suitcase in his arms. “I stand corrected. Okay, through here,” he gestured to a room in the back of the house, facing the shore.

  Walking into the bedroom, my senses were overloaded with familiarity. I struggled with the feeling of déjà vu, finally understanding the phenomenon for the first time. “This is the room… from my dream.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  I turned to him, my face to his chest. Lifting my eyes, I met his smoldering gaze. He dropped my suitcase to the floor without looking away.

  “Can we… walk by the shore? I’ve never been to the ocean,” I pleaded quietly, my heart racing. His lips, kissing my stomach…

  “Sure.” His eyes still locked with mine, he nodded toward the door in the master bedroom. “We can go out here.”

  He followed me out to the deck. We climbed the steps over the dune, and at the bottom of the wooden staircase I kicked my flip-flops off and left them in the sand. We walked together, the beach nearly deserted where we were.

  He sat, his arms resting across his bent knees. The sun was just beginning to set. I sat cross-legged next to him, slipping my fingers through the grains of sand. The surface was warm, but just below was cool, and the combination felt soothing.

  He took my hand, eyes still on the ocean. I returned the comforting grasp. Gently, I touched his skin, tracing my fingers over the numbers. He stopped me, threading his fingers through mine.

  We listened to the ocean lap in pensive silence. Tiny clams in pastel colors washed up repeatedly on the shore, stealing moments to dig to safety before the next wave washed in. I dragged my breath, collecting the courage to tell him the words he needed to hear. Finally, my voice cracked when I spoke.