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“This would have been a happy trip for her. I don’t want to spend the summer crying. It still hurts, but this was her happy place. I want to be happy while I do this for her. No tears.”
“We can do that, darlin’. No tears.”
She gives me a small smile. I reach for her hand and squeeze it, silently promising that this will be a happy trip if it’s the last thing I do.
CHAPTER 8
Let’s Explore
Trevor
Everyone passedout as soon as we got to our hotels. Lynn, Tom, and I are staying at Hôtel Raphael. Some of the others are choosing to stay at accommodations with smaller price tags.
We’ve slept in most of the morning. Our group chat just came to life around one p.m., which makes it around eight a.m. back home. I’m up, showered and ready for the day.
I want to get things started. We have so much to cover and I want to do it all. I know Brooke would have been up and at it hours ago; forget jet lag or the fact everyone else would still be sound asleep. The thought slices through me, leaving the searing pain behind.
I’d promised her we would go for éclairs together our first day in Paris, no matter what. This is our no matter what. I know she’s here with me… with us in spirit.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as Lynn opens her room door. “What time is it?” She yawns.
I’m speechless for a moment. Lynn’s scarf has come loose and is crooked on her head, the left side of her face is covered in lines from her pillow, there’s a little drool in the corner of her mouth, and one leg of her pajama pants is bunched up her thigh—nearly stuck in her crotch, but she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Well, I would. If I had it my way, I would have been lying next to her when she opened her eyes. I wish we were sharing a room instead of my getting stuck with Tom.
I shake my head to clear it. Lynn blinks those big brown eyes at me, pulling a smile to my lips. “It’s one here. About eight in the morning back home,” I reply.
Lynn groans. “I’m going back to sleep, Trev.”
I move fast when she tries to close the door. With one hand on the door, I reach for her arm with the other. She stiffens and turns slowly to look at where my hand is wrapped around her bicep. Her flesh has pebbled over, but I ignore the reaction and push my way into the room, closing the door behind me.
“I know you’re tired, but I made a promise. I don’t want to do this one alone. I’m sure you’re as hungry as you are tired,” I say softly.
She looks up at me through her lashes, and for a brief second, the same desire and hope from our day at the cabin appears. However, as fast as she allows it to show, it disappears. Lynn takes a step out of my hold.
I drop my arms to my sides and shove my hands in my jeans pockets. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. The war within is written all over her face, leaving me to wonder what she’s warring with.
We agreed we’d do this for Brooke, and we’d be happy while we’re here. I hope she’s not having second thoughts. I don’t think I can do this alone.
She tugs her pajama leg down and starts to wipe her face as if just realizing what she looks like.
“Give me some time to shower and get dressed,” she murmurs and rushes toward the bedroom.
I follow behind her, stepping into the living area as she disappears behind the bedroom’s decorative curtains. This suite is nice. It was a gift from my parents.
We all want to make this easier for Lynn somehow. I look around. My room is similar, except for the two bedrooms I’m sharing with my best friend.
My gaze lands on Lynn’s guitar case open across one of the accent chairs. I walk over to lightly touch the strings. A grin comes to my face when her notebook and pen on the coffee table come into view.
However, my grin falls when I look around again and the trash bin full of crumbled-up pages comes into view. I saunter around the chairs to the bin and squat to pull out one of the pages.
There’s only a single line on the page that’s been scribbled through. I sigh, wondering when the last time was that she wrote more than a few tossed-out lines. Lynn is so talented.
Her mama was the one who told me she hadn’t been singing or writing since the accident. Lynn not singing is like her not breathing. This alone tells me how much pain she’s in.
Pushing up, I amble over to the couch and take a seat. I’m so lost in my thoughts; I don’t know how long I sit waiting for Lynn to get ready. When she opens the curtain, I stand and shove my hands into my pockets again. The moment she steps from the room, I’m breathless.
She’s wearing a yellow sundress that gives her skin a warm glow. Her curves are on display, bringing a blush to my cheeks. Her hair looks beautiful in the braids she had done before we left for this trip.
