The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

I turned it on, just to have the background noise.

Neither one of us did well in silence.

I slid into bed and rolled over to face Willow in hers.

There was a small, wistful smile dancing across her lips. “Do you remember that time when we were little and convinced our parents to let us sleep in tents?”

I laughed at the memory. “Yeah, I remember. You got scared in the night and ended up in my tent. Your dad was so pissed when he found us.”

She laughed too. “We’re always pushing his buttons, aren’t we?”

I shrugged. “He’s just worried that I’m going to take advantage of you.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Why would he think that?”

“For starters, I’m a guy and he’s your dad. That’s already a strike against me. Most dads don’t like their daughter’s being friends with boys, and we were friends from the time we were toddlers. Also, I’m a little bit older than you, so he would think I might pressure you into something.”

She rolled onto her back and laughed at the ceiling. “He’s so silly. I mean, he wasn’t this overprotective when my prom date came to pick me up.”

“I guess it’s because I’ve always been there for you and he knows that I always will be. And as your dad, he’s always going to be there for you too. Whereas what’s-his-face was just a fleeting thing.”

“His name was James,” she laughed, “and I know you remember that because you called him James the Jabber.”

“He did talk a lot.”

She threw a pillow at me and her musical laughter filled the small room.

We weren’t at home, but the sound of her laughter made it feel like we were, because Willow was my happy place.

I’d missed this.

I’d missed her.

And I was only beginning to realize how much I needed her.

Willow

Dean was already awake when I finally cracked open my eyes.

He was dressed, his brown hair curling around the collar of his shirt.

When he turned around I couldn’t help but smile at it. It said: THUG LIFE. DROP THE T AND GET OVER HERE.

Dean and his endless supply of funny shirts always amused me.

“Morning,” he greeted me cheerily.

“Good morning,” I replied, rubbing my eyes. I sat up and stretched my arms above my head. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven,” he replied, picking up his guitar and sitting it beside the door as well.

I rolled out of bed and reached for my duffle bag on the floor. I pulled it over to me and shuffled my clothes around until I found the shorts and top I was looking for.

I passed by Dean and into the bathroom to change.

My hair had dried into a frizzy mess and I was surprised Dean hadn’t been scared for his life. I was looking pretty monstrous.

I combed it through and pulled it back into a messy bun. Several pieces escaped and fell forward to frame my face.