Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) by T.I. Lowe Read Free Book Online Page B

me with his hands on his
too lean hips. “How?”
    “Bless your heart is the South’s way of saying you’re
stupid.”
    He smirks at this and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“So, you say you’re not hungry?”
    “Yep.”
    “Well, bless your heart,” he draws out in a pathetic attempt
to sound southern.
    “You don’t even come close to pulling that accent off,
Stone,” I sass back.
    He raises an eyebrow at me and throws his hands up in defeat
before going over and sitting at the picnic table. Stan blesses the food and
the three of them dig in.
    For the next hour I sit in misery as Greyson shovels in food
at a considerable rate. I’m worrying if he is overdoing it, but he looks so
darn happy. I sit back and watch him consume nearly an entire chicken and three
helpings of potato salad and baked beans. He’s so cute, covered in sticky
barbeque sauce and carrying on a lively conversation with our company like he’s
known them all of his life. That’s the thing about Greyson Stone—he doesn’t
meet a stranger. Meeting people and getting to know them is something this man
can do with such ease.
    He eventually throws in his napkin only to pick it back up
when Mrs. Betty pulls out a banana pudding. I.
Hate. Bananas. I think it’s something in the Thorton blood. Even the smell of them makes me nauseous.
Before the gagging starts, I excuse myself and head back to the RV.
    I flop on my bed and make the mistake of checking my
messages. Tabloids are now reporting falsely that I vanished with a few other
models for another stint in rehab. Great. Just great. Another message pings from my agent. She thinks
it’s the perfect time to agree to another movie role with all
of the buzz around my name. Leave it to her to work the negative
publicity to further my career. I’ve put in my time with roles in probably
twenty films. Mostly supporting roles. A few leads,
but I’m over that too. It’s just as stressful as the modeling career. All of it
is just too overwhelming anymore, and I don’t know what I want and where I want
to go next. Feeling defeated, I power off the phone and settle on my bed,
trying not to cry as I wait for Greyson to return.
    I guess about an hour later, he shuffles in slowly, looking
a bit green. He sits in one of the plush leather chairs diagonally from me and
takes several deep breaths.
    “Honey, are you okay?”
    He takes off his hat and rubs his head in misery, but says
nothing.
    “Greyson?” I ask as I scoot to the edge of the bed to give him a
better inspection. A fine sheen of perspiration glistens from his face and he
looks downright miserable.  
    Before I can decide what to do, he bolts out of the chair
and rushes to the bathroom. Instant sounds of him retching up all of that food
fill the RV, and I actually feel pain for him.
    I go over and knock on the door when he quiets down.
“Greyson, honey, are you okay?” He only grunts for a response and it worries
me. I stand by the door for what feels like forever, listening to him breathing
laboriously, and then the sink water finally turns on and his electric
toothbrush comes to life.
    After the hum of his toothbrush silences, Greyson staggers
out the door and almost plows right into me. I put my arm around him to help
him steady. “You okay?” I whisper.
    He nods his head and walks like a zombie to his bed. I help
him lie down and then go grab him a bottle of water. Without thinking, I open
the cabinet where he stores his vitamins and plunder for some antacids. There
are prescription bottles I have no idea what are used for and it makes me
uneasy. Has he begun to dabble in pills? They are just as bad as any street
drug addiction. This is one thing I’ve learned. Addiction comes in all sorts of
forms. I scan the bottles until I stumble across one for nausea. It’s Phenergan
and the only label I recognize. I bring it along with the bottle of water, but
he is already out. I set the water beside him and sit on the edge of the bed.