Page 7 of The Rowdy Ones
“So what kind of doctor is this?” Rowdy asks. “An eye doctor?”
“Gwen runs the Blind and Visionally Impaired Youth program in town. She’s a transition specialist for teens and also teaches at the local college.”
A flicker of hope ignites inside me. When they mentioned a doctor, I thought I’d be going about my arm. Or worse, I thought it would be for thereasonmy arm is injured. Not someone who specializes in vision impairment.
Rowdy, satisfied with that answer, asks about where we’ll eat lunch. This sparks a lively discussion about cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. Admittedly, in this car ride to this Gwen lady, I’ve felt the best in probably two years. Maybe leaving our homestead truly was what I needed.
We drive for about an hour and finally park. Rowdy opens my door for me, hoists me out of the vehicle, and places me on hard, snow-shoveled pavement.
“Are we going to run into any problems?” Rowdy asks, voice low. “With, you know, where we came from?”
“Nah. Mom already told her about how you all live off-grid. Payment will be handled discreetly. It’s going to be fine.”
Rowdy’s palm finds my lower back. “Hope so. If they get weird, we’re out of here.”
I bristle at his words. We’ve barely stepped out of the vehicle and Rowdy’s ready to hightail it out of here. He wants to protect me, and I get it, but I want to give this place a fair chance. This could be good for me.
“Can we not shut it down before we even try?” I mutter in a terse tone. “Please?”
Rowdy’s fingers go from gently guiding to clutching the back of my coat like I might run away from him. It makes my heart rate quicken and the urge to escape nearly overwhelming.
“Watch your step,” he instructs, then tugs me aside.
Oh.
So maybe he’s not trying to keep me from this place.
Embarrassment heats my skin again. Thankfully, Rowdy goes back to his usual guiding. We remain quiet as we enter the building. As soon as the door opens, I’m hit with an apple and cinnamon scent that puts me at ease. Smells are definitely a thing for me. If the smell is wrong, I can’t be around it.
Like Jace?
The sudden thought of his ripe, nauseating breath tickling over my face as he…
“You’re shaking,” Rowdy growls under his breath. “We don’t have to do this. We can leave now.”
I shake my head sharply, frustrated that he’s mistaking my reaction for fear of this place rather than the truth. “I want to be here, Rowdy. Stop hovering.”
It’s mean and I don’t intend to be so harsh, but my emotions are scattered. The last thing I need is for Rowdy to treat me like I’m made of glass.
He doesn’t respond. I’ve hurt his feelings. Wonderful. Ugh.
“Oh, Atticus, how’ve you been, hon?” a woman asks from somewhere close.
They chat in lowered voices and then she tells him she’ll take us to the back. We follow after them and once inside a room and the door closed behind us, Rowdy shows me over to a chair where I can sit.
“Hello?” a pleasant voice chirps, along with a knock. “Destiny Jamison? You in here?”
“Yes,” both Uncle Atticus and Rowdy answer at once for me.
“Are either of you named Destiny Jamison?” the woman asks politely, but with a twinge of annoyance in her tone.
“No, sorry,” Uncle Atticus mutters.
“No need to be sorry,” she says curtly, “but here at the Northern Lights Vision Rehabilitation Center, patient independence is at the top of our core values.”
“I’m Destiny,” I say softly. “This is my uncle, Atticus, and my brother Rowdy.”
Light footsteps glide my way and a lovely floral scent wraps me in a warm hug. “I’m Dr. Gwen Simmons. Call me Gwen. I’d like to shake your hand, Destiny. It’s about chest level to you. Take your time finding it.”
