The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

It was a little bit after seven in the evening when we arrived in Flagstaff, Arizona. I hadn’t wanted to stop anywhere, but for gas and food, and Dean obliged.

We were eight hours away from Malibu, and I finally felt like I could breathe.

Visiting Liam had been one of my worst ideas ever, which was hysterical considering that time I went skinny dipping in the Hudson River in March—it’s not something I’d recommend doing.

Dean took care of checking into the hotel while I sat in the car.

My stomach rumbled with the need for food and as if conjured by the sound of my rumbling tummy, Dean finally reappeared.

“Let’s put our stuff away and go grab dinner.”

“It’s like you read my mind sometimes,” I told him as I tumbled out of the car. I nearly scratched my knees on the asphalt but managed to catch myself and sprung to attention.

He shook his head at my antics but said nothing.

He strode around to the trunk of the car to grab our duffle bags while I slung my backpack across my shoulders and reached for his guitar case in the back.

The hotel was ordinary, with a tan exterior and shitty landscaping.

I didn’t care, though. I was grateful to be out of Malibu. I

couldn’t take it another minute in that place, which was a shame because it was so beautiful.

Dean and I were quiet as we rode the elevator up to our room.

I smiled when he opened the door and I saw that there was only one bed.

“Ooh, I like the way you think.” I waggled my brows and set down his guitar case before diving face first onto the bed.

I bounced a few times before settling.

“Forget food,” I turned my head to the side to look at him as he approached the bed, “I want sleep.”

“Nope. Not yet.” He poked my side, right in my most ticklish spot.

“Dean!” I cried, wiggling away. “That was mean.”

“I think you’ll survive.”

“I won’t. I’m bleeding internally.”

He chuckled under his breath and moved to stand in front of the window.

The air conditioner kicked on, the loud whir of it rumbling around the room like an old truck.

Turning back around to face me, he clapped his hands together.

“Come on. Time to go. I need food and I need it now.”

I tried to glare at him, but it was futile.

I shucked off my backpack and reluctantly followed him out of the room.

We found a local burger joint a few blocks away. The place was small, a little hole in the wall place to be honest.

The inside was decorated in black, white, and lime green, with strange spindly chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. They looked almost alien.

We walked up to the counter and placed our order.