I start the engine, and the drive to Zzyzx Road is easy. Clover has her playlist going, and for once, we’re not racing against time, fear, or my stupid need to keep her at arm’s length. The desert stretches out endlessly on both sides, painted in impossible shades of the morning sun.
“There,” she points to a sign ahead. “Zzyzx Road.”
I pull over at the famously odd-named location. It’s just a sign on the side of the highway, but somehow it feels significant, as though it’s a marker for something ending and something else beginning.
Clover hops out with her camera, but her movements are different now. Less performative, more personal. She’s not creating content for her followers, she’s documenting something for herself.
“Where the world ends and you figure out who you are,” she states, filming the sign.
I watch her work, something stirring in my chest. She’s beautiful when she’s focused like this, when she’s not trying to be anything for anyone else. Just Clover, creating something real. She turns the camera toward me without asking, and for once, I don’t object, move away, or make some excuse. I simply let her capture whatever she sees when she looks at me.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, still filming.
“How different everything is from three days ago.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Good,” I say without hesitation. “Definitely good.”
She lowers the camera, smiling. “Yeah. It is. And don’t worry, the video of you is just for me. I won’t post it. I remember weneed to be invisible to The Rojas Cartel.”
I smile at her cheekily, tilting my head. “You going to jerk off to it later?” I tease, throwing her words back at her.
She rolls her eyes before jumping back in the car. “Hardy-har. C’mon, let’s head out. We have more to see, and Vegas lights by night, baby!”
Chuckling, I slide into the driver’s side and we take off to our next destination, back on the road toward Seven Magic Mountains. The colorful rock installation appears in the distance like something from another planet, vibrant towers of painted stone rising from the stark desert landscape.
“Oh my God,” Clover breathes. “It’s incredible.”
The morning light makes everything glow, each color more vivid against the pale sand. It’s exactly the kind of place Clover would love. Artistic, bold, completely unexpected, and in the middle of nowhere.
I park at the base of the installation, and we climb out into the desert heat. It’s already warm, but not the brutal heat of midday. Perfect for what she wants to do.
“This is it,” she says, setting up her camera. “My final road trip content.”
But she’s not rushing, not trying to get the perfect shot as quickly as possible. She’s taking her time, moving between angles, really seeing the place instead of merely photographing it.
I find myself in several shots without her asking. Not posed, not trying to look like anything. Just there, part of her story now, and knowing she won’t post the pictures of my face eases my mind.
When she moves close to adjust the camera angle, I instinctively reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face. The simple touch sends electricity through us, and I don’t look away fast enough.
“Phoenix,” she says softly.
“Yeah?”
“This thing between us. We’re not pretending it isn’t happening anymore, are we?”
“No,” I say, my thumb still tracing her cheek. “We’re not.”
She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. “Good. Because I don’t think I could go back to pretending.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now? A thing?”
She opens her eyes, and there’s mischief there, but something deeper, something raw. “What would you call it?”
I take a moment, my gaze soaking her in. The curve of her smile. The desert breeze catches her hair and sweeps it back as if we are in some windswept, dramatic scene in a movie.
She’s absolutely stunning.
