Most days I eased into waking up, indulging in slow, lazy, languid stretches and yawns, relishing the feeling of JC behind me or nearly on top of me. The next morning, though, my eyes popped open early and I was instantly awake. The room was still and quiet, sunlight pouring in through the thin curtains over the windows. I breathed an inward sigh of relief that we would not be driving through the same band of rain from the day before.

I crept out from underneath JC and tip toed around the room, quietly unzipping my suitcase and digging out a pair of sweat pants and socks. My eye caught one of his shirts-- a thick, long-sleeved, dark blue, cotton sweatshirt-- hanging out of the corner of his suitcase. I pulled at it until it came out and moved into the bathroom to put it and the rest of my clothes on, then slipped into my sneakers, picked up my phone and a room key. JC still laid on his side with his back to me, sheet pulled up just barely to his waist, half a butt cheek peeking out from underneath. I adjusted the sheet so it covered him, brushed my lips across his jaw, and headed for the door.

Only the sound of my footsteps crushing into the plush carpeting accompanied me as I moved down the hall and toward the elevator. When it arrived on our floor, I stepped into it and pressed ‘L'.  When the door opened again, the spacious hotel lobby with its gleaming floors and freshly vacuumed carpets welcomed me. The check in area near the front desk was crawling with people standing in line, bags and suitcases in hand. 

A hot breakfast was served each morning until 10am. The scent of buttery eggs, bacon, waffles and wheat toast wafted out of the small room just past the front desk. My stomach rumbled with hunger, like it always did when I smelled food. It was a wonder I didn't weigh a whole lot more than I did. JC could put away food like no one I'd ever met before and seemed to enjoy the fact that I could eat just as much as he could and not complain about it.

There was no time for breakfast, though I made a note to myself to pick something up for us on my way back. At the moment, I needed some fresh air and time to myself.

Nodding at the staff in crisp vests and bright white shirts breezing back and forth in my path, I walked through two sets of double doors and out to the front of the hotel. A charter bus was parked out front, explaining the sudden inflow of guests. I made my way around the bus and to the edge of the parking lot then stood on the sidewalk, the great metropolis spread out before me; gas stations, restaurants, bars, bowling alleys, hotels. I looked right and then left. Either way I went, I wasn't going to see much action, so I turned right, inserted my ear buds, turned on the music and started walking, breathing in deep gulps of clean air.

The city of Kingsport, Tennessee was more like a small town, really. Quaint and quiet, small and unassuming, Clay Street housed a wide selection of shops, hotels, and cafes in single story buildings that showed every year of their age like rings on a tree.  The rain the day before had taken a giant scrub brush to the air and atmosphere. Every surface was wet with residual raindrops.  The morning air was cool and crisp, the sky a bright, cloudless blue. It was already a good day.

JC's words didn't take long to come back to memory. The same old trap seemed to be inevitable -- wanting Regina to be better so badly that I was willing to believe that she was, without much more proof than a few good months on the right track. Regina had years to make up for, years to work out of her system, years of hurts and faults to make right. It couldn't happen overnight, as much as I wanted it to happen that quickly.

For the first time, I was worried about going to Denver. The holidays were such a special time to my family, especially now that I had moved away. Leaving the comforts of home and a family that loved me and was concerned about me to sit in awkward conversation and long, pregnant pauses with my birth mother, father, and grandparents wouldn't be worth it if I was walking into a trap. It would also mar the entire holiday experience and throw a black cloud over any happiness. I found myself regretting so easily agreeing to leave the comfort of my family.

The demons, my old friends, circled ahead. The days of Regina getting a handout of a few dollars had long since been over. I understood, now, JC's reaction to her simple request to ‘help her out for a little while'. It smacked of her old ways, in a sense. What if she wasn't still clean? What if it was a trap? What if she was on the verge of losing her job and dropping out of school and being kicked out of her parent's house? Wasn't there a chance that she would try something -- a taste, a hit, a whiff-just once, to remember what it felt like and end up strung out again? Did I even remember enough about the old Regina to be able to tell? Should I prepare for that? 

A cloudburst of questions mounted in my head, one on top of the other, frustrating me and causing more anxiety than the calm I was seeking. I was hoping to avoid the dramatics and the assumptions, but maybe JC was right. He was frequently right about things, a lot of things, but I would hate it if he was right about this one thing. I didn't want him to be right about Regina.

I had walked, lost in deep thought, down several blocks. The towers of the Marriott were behind me as I came to the end of a long block, crossed the street and began walking back. I watched my feet pound the pavement beneath them, silent to me as music poured from the ear buds into my ears, directing the rhythm of my steps. I smiled to myself, feeling a little sneaky.

JC declared that there would be none of his music played during the trip, so whenever I could get away, where he couldn't hear what I was playing, I always played him. I missed his music and the sound of his voice drifting through melody and harmony. I missed his improvisations-hand claps and feet taps and whistles. I had to create my own methods of feeling close to him, since we lived so far apart for so long. I couldn't be with him every day, but I could hear him and his music every day. I could remember the sound of his voice and the beat of his heart, just under the tone of each song.

Sometimes my mind drifted back to life before him. Back to when I thought I was happy, before I found out what real, true happiness was. Back to how I sometimes indulged in immature fantasies of meeting him, letting them play out in my head, holding onto the memory until my mind replaced the scene and the setting.  It was hard to believe sometimes that we spent a year living on separate coasts, flying back and forth, getting to know each other, learning to love each other. The right now was some kind of unbelievable fairy tale, being with him all day every day, getting to know him much better than I ever could while we were making the most of trips for work and long weekends and mini vacations.  

I tipped my head up, letting the sun warm my face, smiling into it. My life had changed so drastically since I met him-had started changing the moment I met him. The depth of my happiness amazed me but frightened me, made me cautious and wary. Could the meaning of happiness really be wrapped up in one person?  Was I happy because my life was different, or was I happy because of JC? Was it a bad thing that I thought JC likely had more to do with it?

That thought scared the hell out of me. There would be so much pressure and stress on him to be the source of my happiness. What if he wouldn't always be around? What if something happened between us and I was stuck in LA... would I be happy or miserable because I wasn't with JC? This thought, this question had been dominating my mind lately. I couldn't even enjoy the right now, for worrying about the future. I wanted to enjoy this, this being happy thing. Not live in fear of it.

The sun hung high in the sky, baking the streets, drying up all the droplets left over from the rain. Kingsport was alive and in motion. The street in front of the hotel was busy, packed with cars already. People were milling around in parking lots, walking into and out of restaurants and gas stations and hotels. We'd have to get busy too, and on the road soon. We had another eight hour drive to New Orleans.

I headed back to the hotel room the way I had come out, through the double doors out front, and past the front desk. I couldn't refuse the pleading of my stomach pangs and stopped into the small banquet room, loading up two heaping to-go cartons of food to take back to the room. I gave another nod and a smile at the front desk clerk, and then hopped onto the elevator behind a small crowd of people.  

"Warming up already," said a man standing next to me in a t-shirt, jean shorts and flip flops. I smiled and nodded at him in agreement.              

"Yeah I just had a nice walk. Feels great after the rain yesterday."

"Sure does. That breakfast smells like it'll be a great reward for your walk."  The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened. He stepped off on the 8th floor. I balanced the two cartons on one palm while fumbling for my room key as the elevator rose up two more floors to the 10th floor and dropped more people off.  Finally we reached the 12th floor, and I was heading back down the quiet hallway to our room. I wondered if JC was even awake yet.  

The lock gave a low beep and a click as I slid my card through the reader and pushed the door open. There was not a sound in the room- no TV, radio, shower, humming, talking singing-JC's usual sounds, so I stepped lightly and quietly around the bed.  He'd moved the table back over to the wall so he could get out of bed in the middle of the night. I set both cartons next to a copy of the USA Today that I'd picked up on my way back to the hotel.

"Where'd you go?"

His voice was soft and quiet, mumbled through a light layer of sleep. Surprised at the sound of his voice, I whipped around. He had moved, now laying on his back, sheet pulled to his waist, a wrist across his eyes, one leg bent.

"Hey," I answered, smiling, winding my ear buds together to put them back into my purse. "I went out, for a little bit. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry."

JC inhaled deeply, his chest barreling with his breath, and moved his arm off of his face. He kicked his legs a few times, under the sheets, stretching and yawning.  "You didn't," he squeezed out, between two yawns. "I tried to roll over and scoot up next to you and almost fell out of the bed."

I tried to hide my giggle but it didn't work. It spilled over and bubbled out, at which JC stopped wriggling around in the bed and smiled. "I like that sound. You laughing. It makes me feel good. In here." He tapped his chest, near his heart.

"Really? Even when I'm laughing at you?"

"You're not," he mumbled, now laying in the middle of the bed. "I'm laughing on the inside. Come here."  He wiggled the fingers of one hand at me, one eye half open. I made my way to the side of the bed and fell into it, landing on his arm with ‘oomph'.  "I said come here, not fall here. Ow."

"Sorry. We probably need to get going soon, right?"

JC rolled his head toward me and groaned, nuzzling my ear. "You let me worry about the schedule, okay? Relax. You're on vacation."

"No. The second I relax, you're snapping your fingers at me and telling me to hurry up. Decide what you want."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Sometimes you get a little too relaxed."

"Whatever, Chasez."

"Yeah, whatever. So, what's up?"

My lips met his easily as I turned my head toward him. "What do you mean, what's up?"

"I mean what I asked. I usually have to pull you out of bed in the morning. Today you're up early and you left the room for an hour. Talk. After you bring me that food over there." He nodded toward the cartons on the table.

I sat up to grab them, two forks and two bottles of orange juice from the in-room refrigerator before coming back to the bed. JC was sitting up, cross legged, patiently waiting. I smiled as I set the carton down in front of him and he opened it, clapping and then rubbing his palms together before digging in.

"The way to a man's heart, you know."

"His stomach? I heard that."

"It's true," he said, around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He bit off a corner of toast, took a swig of orange juice, and then glanced over at me. "So? What's up?"

"Nothing's up. I woke up early. I wanted to get a walk in before we spent eight hours in the car." I awkwardly tried to cut a pancake with a plastic knife and fork before I gave up and ripped it in half and shoved it, sans syrup, into my mouth.

"How was the walk, then? Good? Nice out?"

I nodded, glancing toward the window, just to make sure a cloud hadn't moved in, all of a sudden. It hadn't. The day was still as bright and beautiful, the sky as blue and cloudless as it was when I awoke. I hoped it held all the way to New Orleans.

"So nothing's wrong, then?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why do you keep asking?"

JC chewed, swallowed, and gulped the last bit of orange juice from his bottle before he answered. "You keep saying nothing but you don't say it like it's nothing. Is it what we talked about last night?"

I shrugged a shoulder and kept eating, finishing off a small stack of pancakes and eggs. We ate in silence for a few minutes before I even tried to answer him. "I just feel kind of stupid. You know?"

JC dropped his fork into the empty carton and tossed it across the room into the garbage can, then moved back against the dark wood of the headboard, pillows piled up behind him. "What do you feel stupid about?"

"It's just, you know...."

I shrugged and tried to keep eating but couldn't, picking at the food left in my carton and poking holes in the forlorn half of a pancake at the bottom of the Styrofoam tray. "I lived with the whole Regina thing for so long, I just became immune to it. It's like things didn't even register to me as weird. I guess because, except for when she would come around every few months to ask for something, she never did really ask me to help her. I just did it, because it had to be done."

"Honey, that's not a bad thing. I wasn't saying you shouldn't want to help. Just that you shouldn't be so eager to rush right out and spend a lot of time and money and effort on her right now. Remember what Charles said? She isn't your job anymore?"

I nodded, dropping my fork into the last bite of food that I couldn't seem to get into my mouth, no matter how much I stared at it. "Yeah. I know. It's hard to let go of, though. Did I ever tell you, what I used to do with her? For her?" He shook his head. I pushed the carton away, sat back against the headboard next to him, and took a giant step back into the past.

"Regina was always kind of a vagrant, but she had her usual places she would stay, when she could. They weren't always safe, though. Run down places, where a bunch of them would squat for a few nights here and there. The reason I was so surprised to see her at my house that night last year, when she came by is because she wasn't allowed to come to my house. I would meet her wherever she wanted to meet but she didn't come to my house, ever.  Otherwise she got nothing.

"If I hadn't heard from her for awhile, my curiosity-and my worry, I guess-got the best of me. I'd so much rather find her strung out or dead than have someone call me and tell me she was dead. So I'd go looking for her, at her usual places. And when I found her, I'd put her in my car and drive her to like... a suburb or something. Not downtown or anything, but someplace nice. Sometimes the Crown Hotel or whatever and get a room."

I paused, mostly to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. JC's hand snaked under my arm and across my lap until his hand closed around the inside of my thigh. He squeezed, ever so gently, and said, in a low voice, "go ahead."

"Uhm. Well so... I'd check her in and let her take the longest, hottest shower she could stand, and wash her hair, and wrap up in one of those really thick bath robes. We'd order room service and I'd let her order whatever she wanted. Steak, burger, chicken, whatever. She never really ate that much but whatever she wanted, I let her order it. Then we'd sit in the room and I'd comb all the tangles out of her hair and we'd watch movies and talk. Sometimes... sometimes she'd need a drink or something. More than once, she shot up in front of me. That was..." I blinked, trying hard to remember the emotion. I didn't recall much, beyond shock.

"Anyway... there was always that window of time, with her. When she wasn't this lady hanging around and ranting and raving and high or drunk, messy and dirty and smelly, wearing clothes that stank and were too big or too small. There was that really small window where she'd let me help her and she'd open up a little bit. We'd talk and laugh and I'd think about how I sounded like her. Even our laughs sound alike. I could even convince myself that she was normal, and maybe she'd like being able to spend time with me and being in clean clothes and having clean, dry hair. But then after awhile, it got weird for her. She would get antsy and restless and shaky. Really uncomfortable around me. She'd clam up and then say I was holding her hostage and she wanted to go back to where it was I picked her up from. She'd scream until I took her back."

I sighed, exhaling a deep breath. "The window always closed with a slam, not a slide. There wasn't even a creak, to give me a hint or a warning. Just, one minute we could be watching a movie, like you and I were last night. The next minute, she's a lunatic and I'm shoving her and her shit into the car and I can't wait to get away from her. She didn't like for me to help her, not like that."

"Maybe she felt like she didn't deserve that from you."

My head tilted at the thought. "I never thought of it that way before, I guess."

JC shrugged a shoulder, his hand still gripping my thigh and pulsing, squeezing lightly. "Makes sense to me. Not that she didn't like you helping her, she just felt like she hadn't done anything to deserve that. Guilt, maybe. She always seems to be feeling a lot of guilt, from the way you describe her."

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. And I guess... when she just mentioned, real casually, that maybe I could help her out, I guess I missed being able to do things for her, to make sure she was safe and make sure I got to see her and make sure she was taken care of. She just disappeared, out of my life, you know? I didn't even get much of a chance to decide that I couldn't take care of her anymore. She took that decision away from me when she left for Denver. I guess I was just happy to hear that she needed me, again. I want to help her and to be there for her--"

"You want to save her." JC broke in with a low, soft, gentle voice full of the brashest boldest truth he'd ever spoken. It almost made me angry, except that it was so true. I felt like I'd been doused with a bucket of ice cold water, tightened chest and shivers included.

"You can't," he continued. "Only Regina can save Regina. See honey, you think that if you're nice enough to her and if you buy her enough stuff and if you'll be the perfect daughter that you can save her and make her clean and make her sober. And make her stay. And I really think she was trying to do that, so many times. Every time she went to treatment. Every time she went to rehab, she was doing that for you. But now she's in Denver, living for herself and she needs to keep doing that. She can stand on her own two feet. And you can stand next to her. And hey, man, I'll even be on the other side, if you want me there. But where you can't be is in front of her, leading her. She has to make that trip herself."

I listened, blinking and nodding, while JC talked-lectured, rather-not really able to say much but knowing he was right and not even resenting it. "You know what, though?" JC was saying. "The fact that you want to help her, after everything you've been through with her, says a lot about the person you are. I meant what I said, last night. You have a big heart. You want the best for everyone. I like that about you. I love that about you."

I let myself grin a small smile at him, feeling a red-hot blush crawl up my body. "I want the best for you, too. So I'm driving again today, so you can work. No arguments."

JC laughed, then leaned over and landed a wet, noisy kiss on my temple. "Bossy. I like that."

"You must. You're kind of bossy yourself."

"You like it."

I smiled and laughed and returned his kiss. "I do. So let's go. I can't wait to walk around the French Quarter with you and listen to your really bad French Creole accent."

"Don't forget my impression of Emeril. BAM!"

I scooted forward, swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up in time to see JC's naked form slide out from under the sheet and head toward the bathroom.  "I'll hear that later, though. Right?"

All I got in response was gut level laughter and the spray of the shower. Wasn't too worried, though. I was pretty sure he couldn't help himself.

*

"What are you doing, Mister? Nuh uh. Passenger seat."

I snapped my fingers and pointed, scowling at JC through the windshield as he slid into the driver's seat. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and started the car. Sucker stole my keys! I huffed and shoved the folded check out sheet from the hotel into my purse, then got in on the passenger side.

"We have a pit stop before we hit N'awlins," he drawled, a sneaky, smug smile on his lips. "About an hour or so. Then you can take over."

I cringed. "Aw, shit."

"Exactly," he responded with an arm across my seat, backing out of the parking spot and headed toward the main road, then out to the highway.

"Dare I ask where we're going?"

"Nope. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Listen to some music." He pushed the volume knob to power the stereo, tuning the radio past static to a pop station. The hook of Britney Spears' Toxic poured through the speakers.  "It's Britney, bitch," he said, laughing.

"Uhm hmmm," I responded, glancing at him and turning back to the road and the passing cars.

"What was that?" He asked, the edges of his voice sharp.

Shocked, I glanced at him again, shook my head and looked away. "What was what?"

"That eye roll. Was that at me? Or because it was Britney?"

I struggled to not roll my eyes again. His eyes kept darting from my face to the road and back to my face. "Does it matter?"

"Kind of. Yeah." I chuckled and shrugged a shoulder. "Really. What was that?"

"Nothing! I'm just not a big fan of her, that's all. That's all it was."

"Okay, then. You don't have to roll your eyes every time I mention her."

Slowly, my head turned back toward the driver's seat. JC was frowning, the creases between his brows deep. I chuckled, again. "Are you mad? Seriously? Because she's your friend and I don't like her?"

"No, I'm not mad." he said. "It's nothing. Just... it's nothing." He snapped the radio off with a flick of his wrist, propped an elbow up against the window and gripped the wheel tightly.

"What's your problem, JC? Are you mad at me? You can tell me."

"It's just that you're kind of judgmental," he blurted. "And I don't really like that. But whatever."

"What?" I scoffed, turning away from him, and then I couldn't resist picking. "I'm judgmental?  I'm judgmental. Me. Because I roll my eyes at shitty bubble gum pop, like anyone else on the planet does, at some time or another, I'm judgmental? Did you not roll your eyes at my disco the first time you rode in my car? You're judgmental!"

"It's more than that," he argued back. "It's more than not liking the music. You rolled your eyes because of what you think of her. If you didn't like the song, you'd just wait till it was over, like you do when I play AC/DC or Moby. You rolled your eyes and gave this... look." He shook his head slowly, blinking rapidly, chewing the hell out of his bottom lip, staring out at the road head. "I didn't like it."

"So, let me get this straight: I'm not allowed to dislike your friends or their music? This is because I don't like your friend's song? Right? I'm just checking to make sure, because it sounds like I can't have an opinion of my own and that I have to like people you know because you know them."

JC opened his mouth to respond but closed it just as quickly. He kept his focus on the road, his lips puckered out in an annoyed curl.

"You're hilarious," I said, laughing. Taunting, which was dangerous and I knew it but couldn't help it. He started it. "You're so protective over people you know. Talk about me wanting the best for everyone. You don't even like people to not like people you know."

"That's not true," he shot back. "Don't put words in my mouth. That's not what I said. You can not like Britney all you want."

"Really? Is that why you're being a pussy about my eye roll at her song?"

"Whatever, Serena. It wasn't an ‘I hate this song' eye roll. What'd you roll your eyes at, if it wasn't about her, specifically?"

"I don't like the song, JC. Is that a shock to you?"

"You don't like the song or you don't like her? She's been through a lot, you know. The Britney everyone thinks they know, and the Britney that gets shown all over TV and the tabloids and shit isn't the real Britney."

I laughed, snorted, and rolled my eyes all at once, on purpose. "Jesus, JC. Save your breath. I don't give a fuck about Britney Spears. I also don't care about any strippers or models or actresses you know. You can try and defend them all you want. I don't care, okay? I don't. give. a fuck!"

JC didn't respond, but the curl to his lip disappeared. After a few minutes of silence, nothing but the sound of the road beneath the tires, he muttered, "You're mean, today. It's not sexy, honey."

"I'm not being mean. I'm having an opinion."

"An extreme opinion. Which I don't believe is accurate. What if you like... lost your job and you had to pay your rent and you could make your rent in one night, stripping? You know? And then you liked it so much you just kept doing it, because you could make a lot more money stripping than working at an office, but everyone looked down their nose at you, because you strip? What then?"

I stared at JC, blinking for a few seconds before I dared clarify. "Uhm. What? What if I lost my job and turned to stripping? Why the fuck would I take my clothes off for money?"

"Cause you have stripper legs," he answered with a giggle. "And for the money," he added, checking out my expression with furtive glances. "Obviously."

"I don't have stripper legs, you ass."  I laughed a little, staring out of the window. This was, by far, the most fun we'd ever had while arguing. "And I'd never strip," I shot back at him.

"Why not? You have a stripper ass, too."

"Stop it. I'll tell you what I don't have, and that's a stripper brain."

"Wait. Wait. Wait." The crease was back. Damn. End of the fun. "Stripper brain? What's what? What's that mean?"

"It means I have brain that works, that's big and sexy, so I don't have to use my body to make money." I pointed at my head and tapped two fingers at my temple "I'd never get in a position where I had to strip for money, because I use my brain, duh."

"So-you know what? Let's stop this conversation, right now. One of us is gonna say something that pisses the other off, and-"

I tossed my head back, against the headrest and laughed. "Are you serious? Are you getting your feelings hurt-you really know some strippers, don't you? I bet they're Mensa members.  You guys sit around and talk about books and shit? Philosophy? Politics? They just strip because it's fun. They're totally smart; they just strip, just because."

"I might actually know some," he answered quietly while I laughed. "Not all of them are... bright. But not all of them are dumb."

I snorted. "Please point out a smart stripper, when we get to LA. I have to see this."

"I can do you one better," he said. "You remember my friend Lara. You like her, right? You think she's pretty smart, right? Stripper. Well, dancer. With her clothes off."

Suddenly, I was choking on my laughter, coughing and sputtering. JC stared ahead, shaking his head as I struggled to breathe. He finally grabbed a bottle of water from behind his seat and dropped it into my lap. I scrambled to pick it up and screw the twist cap off. I gulped a few mouthfuls of warm water, stale from sitting in the car for days on end.

All I knew about Lara was that her boyfriend was in a band and he traveled a lot. The more I thought about it, the more things made sense. Lara was a night owl and existed solely on a nocturnal schedule. She paid for everything in cash, with crumpled five, ten and twenty dollar bills. And during my stay in LA for the Qwest project, I would sit on one side of JC and Lara would sit across from him. My entertainment was watching the volley of debate go back and forth between them. She was the smartest, wittiest person in any room, matched only by JC. I thought I was smart, until I met her.  

"Shocked, huh?" JC said, after I'd caught my breath and was slumped into the seat, against the door panel. "What'd you think she did for a living? Lived off of Michael? I'm just saying. You think you know things, but you have no idea. LA is like a whole another planet, sweetie. You just wait. Your opinion about a lot of things will change."

"Maybe," I offered sheepishly. "I'd still never strip."

"Nah, I can't see you stripping, really. You can't dance."

It was all I could do to keep a straight face, while JC laughed. I shook my head and let a smile break through. "Asshole." 

JC laughed harder and slapped my thigh. "Awww, sweetie. The things you're gonna learn. I'm just laughing at how green you are. Not at you, specifically. Just the stuff you don't know. Gonna be a huge culture shock for you."

I smarted at his comments and his laughter, still sulking. He delighted in being right and pointing out that I was a dumbass. "It's awesome how you're laughing at my expense," I said, swatting his hand away from my leg.

JC did a double take as his laughter died down to a haughty chuckle. "You're mad, now? You insult my friends and I'm a pussy. I show you you're wrong and you're mad. I bet I don't get to call you names, though. Huh? Would the word cu-"

"Don't you fucking dare," I said in a gasp, ready to clap my hands over my ears. I hated that word and he knew it. "Fine, you big baby. I'm sorry for calling you a pussy. Happy? Would you just drive, JC? An hour and I already want out of this car. You're getting on my nerves."

"Ha!" He laughed, only he wasn't really laughing. "Me? I'm getting on your nerves? You're getting on my nerves!"

"Then let's both shut up and you just fucking drive!"  I punched the dashboard to emphasize my point, realizing at the last possible second what a bad idea that was. "FUCK!" I screamed, wincing at the searing pain shooting through my knuckles and wrist. I almost couldn't breathe, it hurt so badly, but I cradled my hand to my chest and bit my lip to keep from crying.

I stole few glances at JC, to see if he even cared that I possibly just broke a bone in my hand. His eyes were glued to the road, twitches jerking his jaw back and forth. The road signs ahead announced Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge exits and JC moved to the far right lane.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice still carrying an edge of irritation but was mostly a whine through pain.

"You'll find out when we get there," he replied, his voice flat, not teasing as he normally would. After a few minutes, he reached across the console between us and tried to pull my injured hand away from my chest. I fought him, hunched over and turned away until he glanced over at me. The daggers shooting of his eyes changed my mind and I relented. My swollen, purple knuckles lay in his hand, throbbing and hot and hurting like hell.

"What did you think would happen, Serena? Can you move it? Open and close your fist." 

Slowly, through wincing and yelping, I opened and then closed my fist, again and again and again. "It's probably not broken," he said, gingerly pressing his thumb over the purplest areas, feeling around. "We'll stop and get some ice and some Tylenol. I'll make you an icepack, okay?"

I nodded and sniffled as he cradled my hand in his palm and brought the darkly bruised skin to his lips. He kissed them, ever so lightly and very sweetly. I blushed, mostly from embarrassment, but also because it sort of made me feel better.

"Learn your lesson?"  He was smiling, very slightly, but smiling.  

"Yeah. Don't punch the car."

JC laughed again, my hand still laying in his. "We've got this fighting thing down to a science."

I nodded, smiling a little at my next thought. "I suppose you'll want to make up, later."

"You know me so well," he said, laughing.

I laughed with him, letting my hand settle on his thigh so his hand could cover it. "If you would let me be right sometimes..."

"Never," he said, flipping up the turn signal and taking the exit toward Pigeon Forge. "This stop will be fun, though. We'll get rid of all of our tension."

"I'll be honest, JC. I'm scared, right now."

"Good. That's what seeing the Shittiest Shit is all about."