I shake my head and shoulder my backpack.
“You shouldn’t either. You should probably keep your cell phone off for a few days. Don’t read the newspaper, don’t watch TV—nothing.”
Perplexed, I look at him. “W-why?”
He gets on the Yamaha without giving me another glance. “Because I don’t want you to. Because I don’t want you to see something I don’t want you to see! Not yet!”
Hello? I am completely baffled. What shouldn’t I see? What the fuck has he done? And why not yet?
“Come on already! We don’t have time!”
I put on my helmet, sit behind him, and wrap my arms around his waist. I want to pull out my phone right away and check the latest news, but I don’t have reception here. And even if I did, I probably wouldn’t do it. There’s something inside me, an inkling that something completely different might be true.Something so unimaginable I never really thought seriously about it.
What if he’s Asher Blackwell?
It’s getting dark as we ride the Yamaha along the Las Vegas Strip. It’s still oppressively hot, as if the city is storing the heat of the day like a bell. Exhausted, I cling to River. The city is overwhelming. Hectic colorful lights flicker everywhere so that I can’t clear my head. Countless people blur into a parade of indistinct faces, laughter, and flowing garments. Drag queens, street artists on stilts, and showgirls line the fronts of glittering hotels, and every now and then, a drunk or a stoned junkie lies on the side of the road. Surreal. Bizarre. This is all a gigantic illusion. The idea of River being Asher Blackwell fits that vibe. It’s too bright, too crazy, too loud. Several times, I simply close my eyes to block out the world in order to think, but inside me, the same restlessness flickers. It just can’t be.
Since we don’t have a reservation and the well-known hotels on the Strip are, naturally, booked, River gives up after the fourth one and turns onto a quieter side street to continue looking.
Now I’m absolutely convinced he’s wanted, and the clock in my head counting down our hours is ticking louder and louder. Were those groupies at the gas station? And if so, why doesn’t he want to tell me? I have to calm down so I don’t go completely crazy.
After exploring the smaller, lesser-known hotels, River—of course, always wearing sunglasses and a bandana, we finally move onto a hotel away from the Strip that doesn’t inspire confidence. From the outside, the building looks in danger of collapsing. The walls inside appear to be made of plywoodpanels, and the fire escape, I realize after looking from the first floor, could have been an old prop.
I look at the furniture with a bad feeling in my stomach. The simple double bed might, at least, have clean bedding, and there’s a sagging sofa and a low coffee table. No vases, pictures, or other decorative stuff. Which is good, just in case River has to break something again.Like a star!
Currently, he seems composed—too composed for my taste. We both know his secret is about to be exposed, but he just ignores it. Sure, he’s a master at that. After all, he ignored my silence.
After rummaging through the backpack for a while, he lies down on the bed and folds his arms behind his head.
I raise my eyebrows. Say something already!
But he just stares at the ceiling, his brow furrowed as if he was thinking hard.
I have to check in with Dad, I type, holding the phone close to his face so he can’t avoid it.
He takes the cell phone from me.Okay, let’s go to the lobby, I saw a computer. Then you can leave airplane mode on, he writes in reply.
In the lobby, he falls casually into a worn wing chair next to the computer as I sit at the ancient guest computer and log into WhatsApp.
I text Dad briefly that everything is okay without looking at his messages. Just as I’m about to log off, a message from Mr. Spock pops up.
Stardate: Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. This far and no further! No more half-measures. Maybe I should just call it quits!!!
I stare at the words for seconds, and my heart beats faster. I glance at River, who coolly sits in the chair, not taking his eyes off me. He probably wants to make sure I’m just writing my message and not surfing the Internet.Damn!Given the current situation, I can’t possibly ask him if I can tell anyone where we are. But equally, I can’t let Mr. Spock down. He was the only one who was there for me last year.Calling it quits won’t solve your problem!!! Your mom needs you! I’m in Vegas.I glance at River, who is sitting far enough away to be unable to read the words, then type the name of the hotel, feeling like a traitor to River. What am I thinking? What if Mr. Spock shows up? How will I explain it?
When we get back to our room, River fumbles with my cell phone, which he had plugged in earlier. When I look at him in surprise, he says, “I’m turning it off, to be safe.” He places it on the dresser next to the door, then falls back onto the bed, staring intently at the ceiling. When he continues to ignore me, I go into the bathroom, close the door, and lean on the sink. I hope he actually turned off the phone and isn’t looking at my personal messages because then he would see what I wrote Mr. Spock. No idea if he ever saw me type in my password, though. On the other hand, it’s definitely too risky for him because of the tracking. After all, we want to stay here for one night, at least.
I take a deep breath and try to sort through the many thoughts in my head. Hopefully, Mr. Spock won’t mess up. Sometimes you write or say things you don’t mean. But just in case he meant it, now he knows where to find me. I just don’t know how to explain it to River. Then again, he should understand best, since he truly wanted to save me. And luckily, I still have a bit of time. If Mr. Spock actually comes, it will probably take him more than twelve hours from Oklahoma City—if he’s really from Oklahoma City.
Exhausted, I wipe my face and stare at the girl in the mirror.
“Hey,” I whisper to her. The girl looks back shyly, as if I were a stranger but someone she seems to trust. “What do you think? Is River Asher Blackwell?” The words sound hoarse, but I don’t stutter because I’m alone.
She just looks back in fear, and I feel my heart beat faster. Saying it makes it more real and puts it, as crazy as it sounds, into the realm of possibility. I clench my hands. It can’t be true!
He said he loves me.Damn it!
And that’s exactly the fact that speaks against it. Why the hell would Asher Blackwell fall in love with Kansas Montgomery? That would be... bizarre?
