“You’re always welcome to stay with me. You know that, Anya.”
“I know.”
“Well,” John says finally. “If you’re really doing this, text me when you get there. And every day after that.”
I smile, genuinely touched by his concern.
“I promise. Daily updates,” I say, checking my phone again. As I get up from the couch, I’m already thinking about what my tasks would be at the resort and getting excited all over again.
The next day, I’m stuffing my clothes into my backpack, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and terror. It’s not like I have much to pack. I only have a few t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, underwear, socks, and my toothbrush. It’s pathetic how my entire life fits into one ratty backpack with a broken zipper that I have to hold closed with a safety pin.
“So, you’re really going through with this,” John says from the doorway of his tiny bathroom, where I’m gathering my toiletries next.
“Flight leaves in two hours,” I reply, carefully wrapping mydollar-store shampoo in a plastic bag so it won’t leak on my clothes. “I’ve already confirmed with them.”
“Anya.” His voice has that gravelly quality it gets when he’s worried but trying not to show it. “You don’t know anything about these people. What if it’s some human trafficking shit? Or what if they’re like... organ harvesters or something?”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help smiling at his dramatic scenarios. “Because my kidneys are so valuable? Please. Nobody wants my worn-out organs.”
“I’m serious.” He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. “At least research this place before you go running off to it.”
“I did.” I zip up my toiletry bag and push past him back into the main room. “There’s not much information online. It’s very exclusive, apparently. But the reviews from the few guests who’ve been there are amazing.”
“That doesn’t mean the staff is treated well,” he counters, following me. “They could be working you to death for that three grand.”
I shrug, tucking my toiletry bag into the main compartment of my backpack. “Then I’ll leave. It’s not like I’m signing a blood oath, John. If it sucks, I’ll figure something else out.”
“Fine. But don’t forget to text or call me.”
I pause, looking up at him. His stringy brown hair falls over one eye, and he pushes it back with a frustrated gesture. Despite his gruff exterior and questionable life choices, John has been my rock. When I ran away from home at eighteen with nowhere to go, it was John who offered his couch. When I’ve been between jobs, it’s been John who made sure I ate, even if it was just ramen noodles or boxed mac and cheese.
And he usually doesn’t give a shit about people.
“I promise,” I tell him softly. “Every day. Even if there’s terrible phone reception and I have to climb to the top of a palm tree or something.”
He snorts, but I can see the tension in his shoulders easeslightly. “You better. I don’t want to have to come rescue your ass from some island cult.”
“As if you could,” I tease. “You get seasick on boats.”
“I’d power through it for you,” he says, and though his tone is light, there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes my throat tighten unexpectedly.
“I know you would,” I reply, busying myself with checking that I have my ID and the few other important documents I own. “But it won’t come to that. This is a legitimate opportunity, John. I can feel it.”
He sighs dramatically. “Your ‘feelings’ led you to date that guy who stole your laptop, so excuse me if I don’t put much stock in them.”
I wince at the reminder of my terrible judgment when it comes to men. “Low blow. But fair.”
“We should probably head out soon if you need to be there by 1:30. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch,” says John, glancing at his watch.
My heart skips. This is really happening. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He gives me a skeptical look, then heads to grab his keys. I take one last look around the apartment that’s been my temporary home these past months. The sagging couch. The tiny TV. The kitchenette with its perpetually dripping faucet. I won’t miss this place, but I will miss John for sure, my only friend in this world who’s had my back.
The drive to the heliport is mostly silent. John concentrates on navigating the midday traffic, and I stare out the window, watching the familiar cityscape slide by. Soon, I’ll be somewhere completely new.
God, I’m so excited.
“You know,” John says suddenly, breaking the silence. “Without you, it’s going to get lonely as fuck.”
