Mister Bodyguard (The Morgan Brothers Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

  I sigh. “Yeah, I know. And that’s okay. I love you. All of you.”

  “But what if you take it as a personal insult when I struggle, like I’m somehow rejecting you and the patience and love you’ve shown to me if I occasionally fall apart a little bit? What if you feel unloved when I struggle and then I’ve got to worry about your feelings every time I’m not doing well, as well as my own? That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “There’s no pressure. I know your issues aren’t about me. Of course.”

  She sighs with frustration. “But you’ll need support sometimes, too, Zander.”

  “And you’ll give it to me.”

  “Will I? Do you honestly think I’m the right person to give you support when you need it?”

  I touch her hair. “I do. In fact, I’m positive you are.”

  “But how do you know that?”

  “Because I love you. And you love me. And I have faith we’ll both rise to any challenge.” I sigh. “Aloha, we’re both lots of things. But, most of all, we’re badass motherfuckers.”

  She can’t help chuckling at that.

  “Okay?” I say.

  She bites her lower lip. “Okay.”

  I wrap my arms around her. Kiss the top of her hair. Stroke her back. “Don’t be scared, my little koala in a tree. I know you’re not familiar with the concept, but I’m gonna teach you what it means to be loved unconditionally, for no other reason than you’re you. Just wait, my love. I’m gonna teach you all about it.”

  Chapter 54

  Zander

  The crowd at Madison Square Garden is going ballistic for Aloha. A few minutes ago, she left the stage after giving the best show of the entire tour, and she’s just come back out for her usual two-song encore.

  I’m watching the show from the wings, like I always do. But this time, I’m feeling particularly moved. Two songs from now, it will be the end of an era. A finish line of sorts, in more ways than one. Now that Aloha’s signed a two-album deal with River Records that will take her music in a decidedly different direction, will she ever play a huge arena like Madison Square Garden again? She’ll always have an audience, of course, but will her Aloha-nators follow her in droves into the next chapter? Will edgier music fans who’ve never given Aloha a shot before give her new music a chance? Only time will tell. Either way, tonight was the last vintage “Aloha Carmichael” show my wife will play to an arena full of diehard Aloha-nators on U.S. soil. And that feels big to me.

  But this concert also feels like the end of an era for another reason: this concert in New York was the one that was supposed to be the finish line for the stupid bet hatched three months ago in Dax’s living room. The one prompting me to vehemently swear up and down I’d never fall in love with Aloha Carmichael. Surely, if someone had shown me a crystal ball that night, objectively proving to me I’d not only fall in love with Aloha by her New York show, but that I’d be married to her by now, my head would have physically exploded.

  To say these past three months with Aloha have been an adventure would be the understatement of the century. It’s been the best ride of my life, particularly this last month as Aloha’s husband. Each day has been better than the last. Even Aloha’s one little meltdown two weeks ago in Raleigh—when she woke up crying hysterically in the middle of the night after having had a horrible nightmare in which, she said, I’d left her for Daphne—strengthened our bond. Of course, as Aloha’s tears kept flowing that night in bed, I came to understand she wasn’t crying about the dream itself. And certainly not about any actual fear I’d leave her for Daphne. No, I understood that the dream was a symbol of her greatest fears. Abandonment. Loss. I understood that, after finally feeling truly loved for the first time in her entire life, she was suddenly realizing just how un-loved and abandoned and betrayed and used and abused she’d always been up until now. And that was a hard thing to grasp, all at once. So she was having a bit of a catharsis. A cleansing. A purging so she could put the past to rest and move forward in earnest.

  Of course, I reassured Aloha that night. I told her I was all hers and not going anywhere. That I loved her and only her, forever, no matter what. And, finally, after about an hour of melting down like I’d never seen her before, she calmed down and crawled into my arms and we both drifted off to sleep again.

  The next morning, Aloha’s eyes were red and puffy, but other than that, she seemed perfectly fine. Better than fine, actually. More in love with me than ever. And I felt more in love with her than ever, too. Oddly reassured that she trusted me enough to lose her shit that completely with me. Because, man, did she lose her shit. But that’s when it hit me: it’s not the times when things are picture-perfect in a marriage that are the true measure of the strength of the relationship, it’s when they’re not. Frankly, it was that night that made me feel like Aloha’s true husband in a whole new way.

  The crowd explodes with applause as Aloha reaches the end of her first song of the encore. Holy shit. We’re now one song away from this North American tour being in the memory books. After tonight, Aloha and I will take a week off here in New York, just to rest and do a little sightseeing, and then we’ll jet off overseas for the four-month international leg, culminating in Australia. And after that, we’ll come back to LA for about a year, probably, during which Aloha will record her new album while I’ll start my new career as a celebrity fitness trainer. Thanks to all the workout videos Aloha’s posted of us throughout the tour, not to mention the viral clip of me “rescuing” Aloha in Las Vegas, I’ve already got a mile-long list of celebrities wanting to hire me to whip them into shape. And some of them are household names. Big, big household names. Man, I can’t wait. Aloha and I talk about our future life in LA all the time. How dope it’s gonna be when the tour is over and we’re living a simple, married life together in her beautiful house in the Hollywood Hills. How awesome it’ll be for me to watch her making her dreams come true while I’m starting an exciting new career for myself—all while living in the same city with Peenie again. Wesley and Woody, together again! And, of course, when Aloha’s new album is released, I’ll travel with her on whatever tour. Not just as her husband, but as her personal bodyguard again. Because, as Aloha and Barry both know, I don’t trust anyone but me to guard my wife.

  “Zander,” a female voice behind me says, and I peel my eyes off Aloha singing her final song onstage.

  It’s Crystal standing before me... accompanied by... Oh my fuck. A woman I never thought I’d see again.

  Daphne.

  How is this possible? How is she here? My gaze flickers down to a VIP backstage pass dangling from Daphne’s neck... and my brain melts again. How did she get that?

  I glance at Crystal to find her glaring at me with hard, disapproving eyes. She says, “I’ve asked Brett to accompany AC to her dressing room when she gets offstage, as you requested.”

  “As I requested?” I say lamely.

  But I’m saying the words to Crystal’s back. She’s already stalking away in an angry huff.

  My gaze darts to Daphne. I can’t for the life of me fathom how... or why... ?

  “Hi,” Daphne says. “I was so excited to get your text. And to get this.” She touches the backstage pass around her neck. “Thank you.”

  Why is she thanking me? “How are you here?” I blurt. “Why?”

  Daphne looks around. “The music’s way too loud for anyone to overhear us. Can’t we talk for real, just for a couple minutes?” She looks around again. “You know, about what you said in your text?”

  “My text? The one I sent two months ago in which I said I’d always be your friend from afar?”

  Daphne rolls her eyes. “The text from two weeks ago.” She leans forward. “The secret one, Z.”

  My heart is thumping painfully. I exhale. “Daphne, can I see this text, please?”

  Daphne’s face tightens. “You don’t need to delete it off my phone. I swear I haven’t shown it to anyone and I won’t.”

  “Daphne, ple
ase. Whatever it is, I didn’t send you a text two weeks ago. I’ve sent you nothing since the ‘friends from afar’ text over two months ago.”

  Daphne looks utterly confused for a moment... and then crestfallen. But being the sweet, kind-hearted girl she is, she pulls out her phone, fiddles with it for a moment, and hands it to me.

  I look down and, sure enough, there’s a text exchange between “me” and Daphne that ends with me confirming the logistics for her attendance at this concert tonight. The whole text conversation makes my head spin and my stomach lurch, but none of it more so than “my” opening text:

  Hey D. I don’t know how to say this so I’m just gonna spit it out. My marriage to AC was just a publicity stunt. She wanted to revamp her image so I agreed to be her “boyfriend” in the media for the first two months of the tour and her husband for the third. We’re gonna get the marriage annulled after the NYC show and she’s gonna pay me a cool mill for my trouble. When I’m officially a free man again after NYC, I’m hoping you’ll be willing to hang out and see if maybe the spark is still there. Will you come to the NYC show as my guest? I know you’re a huge fan of AC’s, so I’ll arrange for you to meet her backstage. Don’t worry, AC won’t care. Like I said, our thing is just for show. The only thing is you have to promise to play it cool and act like we’re just friends in case anyone is watching. Wouldn’t want to blow AC’s cover or blow my payday. Looking forward to hearing from you, Z

  The arena explodes in applause as I look up from Daphne’s phone. Apparently, Aloha just finished her song—the very last song of her North American tour. Her last “Aloha Carmichael” performance on U.S. soil. And, thanks to my psychotically insecure wife, rather than soaking up this one-of-a-kind moment as I should be doing, I’m standing here dealing with a shit show.

  “I didn’t write this to you,” I say, handing Daphne her phone. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.” I shout to a nearby crew member who happens to be walking past, and when he approaches, I bark at him to escort Daphne to an unrestricted area. But when I return my attention back to the stage, Aloha is long gone. Apparently, Brett has already escorted my lunatic wife to her dressing room, just as “I” requested.

  I’m enraged. Livid. Furious. Although, hey, I can’t say my wack job wife didn’t warn me. On day one, Aloha told me she’s a psycho bitch nightmare, didn’t she? I guess I should have listened. My heart crashing in my ears and my blood on the cusp of boiling in my veins, I take off sprinting toward the dressing room.

  Chapter 55

  Zander

  When I arrive at Aloha’s dressing room, she’s not there. “Fuck!” As I’m turning to leave, my phone buzzes with a text from Brett.

  Escorting AC to the back door to sign autographs outside. She says she’ll meet you on the bus.

  I’m so pissed, I can barely breathe. I take off sprinting in the direction of the back door, winding my way through the hectic backstage area—past milling backup dancers and musicians and crew and costume racks—and finally spot Aloha just as she and Brett are reaching the back door.

  “Aloha!” I boom.

  She turns around. And the minute she sees the look of fury on my face, she balks. And I don’t blame her. I’ve never shouted at her like I just did. Never had anything even resembling anger in my voice when addressing her before now.

  “I’ve got her, Brett,” I grit out when I reach the pair. I clutch Aloha’s upper arm, keeping her from going any-fucking-where, and force myself not to sound as furious as I feel. “Let’s make sure the venue guys have the barriers set up properly out there before she starts signing.”

  “Yup.”

  And off Brett goes through the door.

  I grip both of Aloha’s shoulders, my chest heaving. “You invited Daphne here from my phone? How could you do that to me?”

  Tears flood Aloha’s eyes. “I... I don’t know why I did it. It was two weeks ago, right after I had that nightmare. You fell asleep and I couldn’t sleep for hours and I couldn’t stop thinking about my dream and I guess I just—”

  “You trust me that little?” I bellow, my eyes bugging out of my head.

  I know I should keep my voice down. Keep my anger in check. People are watching. And Aloha looks like a trapped animal. But I can’t keep my cool. I’ve been nothing but loyal to this woman. Reliable. Kind. Loving. Patient. Every breath I’ve taken for the past three months, I’ve taken for her. And this is how she treats me? Like a puppet in some sick little puppet show? Like my love is some kind of game to her, to be toyed with on a whim?

  To my surprise, she comes out guns blazing. “I knew this would be the last show in the States and then we’d be heading overseas and after that... what? You actually think I’m capable of playing happily ever after with you in LA? Forever? How the hell am I not gonna fuck that up? I mean, reality check, dude, do you know who you’re dealing with here? So I just thought, ‘Well, shit, if I’m gonna fuck this up and push him away and then get decimated, I’d rather he leave me now before I get in so deep, I need him to breathe. Before I need him to smile. Before I won’t be able to physically survive it when he leaves!’” She bats on my chest. “If you’re gonna leave me, then just do it now! Because I can’t keep doing this with you, knowing it’s only a matter of time before you go!” She turns sharply, yanking herself out of my grasp, hurls the back door open—a surprise move that makes me lurch backward to avoid getting clocked in the forehead by the heavy door—and off she runs.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. I march through the door after her and watch as she runs straight toward the bus... straight toward Brett, thankfully... and, also, straight toward a cluster of excited fans standing to the side of the bus behind a barrier...

  My eyes lock onto a woman in the crowd. She’s elbowing her way violently to the front. I recognize her. Where have I seen that woman before? Henn’s pile of photos. Oh, God.

  No.

  I take off running, just as the woman blasts through the simple barrier and straight into Aloha’s path of travel.

  “Aloha!” I scream, my legs pumping.

  As if in slow motion, I see the woman reach for something in the pocket of her trench coat and every instinct in my body tells me to leap. To protect my wife. So that’s what I do. I leap through the air toward Aloha and tackle her, just as a loud pop thunders through the night air.

  In a flash, a searing pain scorches through me. I thud to the ground. Hysteria unleashes all around me. I look up, ready to defend Aloha against any threat, and immediately see Brett tackling the woman and a pistol skittering across the asphalt.

  Oh, fuck, I can’t breathe.

  I’m suddenly in too much pain to force air into my lungs.

  I can’t breathe.

  But, no, I have to breathe.

  For Aloha.

  To protect her.

  Aloha.

  Yes.

  She’s my reason to breathe.

  I suddenly realize Aloha is shrieking underneath me. Has she been shot? Please, God, no. I tilt myself as best I can to let Aloha squirm out from underneath me. She scrambles to my side on the asphalt. She’s screaming hysterically.

  “Are you hurt?” I choke out.

  But she doesn’t answer me. She’s shrieking for an ambulance.

  Does she want it for me... or for her?

  Her hands are slathered in blood. Is that mine or hers?

  “Are you hurt?” I choke out again, but I can barely get the words out.

  I can’t breathe.

  “I’m not hurt,” Aloha gasps out. “Oh, God, Zander!”

  Relief floods me. Yes, I admit it’s less than ideal that the blood all over Aloha’s hands came out of me. But better me than her. At the end of the day—and it looks like this might be the end of my very last day—all that matters to me is that Aloha is safe.

  Aloha is safe.

  I can go now.

  My eyes flutter closed.

  Darkness descends.

  “No!” Aloha shrieks. She grips
my hand hard, jolting me back to consciousness, just for a second. Just long enough for me to hear her scream, “I love you! Zander, no, don’t close your eyes! Don’t go! I love you! You’re my everything!”

  Somewhere my brain registers the happy thought that Aloha just now used the magic words—and she was talking to me. I must admit that makes me happier than I ever thought it would. I genuinely thought I didn’t need to hear those words from her, but now that I have, I realize I did. Just once. And now my life is complete. I got the best going-away gift from my wife possible, and now it’s time to go.

  There’s only darkness now.

  I can’t hear anything happening around me anymore. Is there anything else anymore, but this serenity? This love I feel for Aloha? Because that’s all I can feel. Love. Well, that, and the life force seeping out of me. No, flooding out of me, actually. Wow. I think I can actually feel my heartbeat slowing down. Thump, thump... thump...

  Thump.

  I wish I could open my eyes so I could see Aloha’s beautiful face one last time. I wish I could speak so I could say, “I love you, too. Now, don’t be scared. You got this, baby. Be brave, Aloha. Be you and be brave.” That’s what I’d say to my wife if I could. And if, by some miracle, I could say a little bit more, I’d also tell her I’m at peace. That this is exactly how I’d want to go out. Protecting her. If I could speak, I’d tell her that, if given the chance, I’d do exactly what I just did a hundred times out of a hundred. With no regrets. Because she was my reason for living. In fact, now that I’m here, I’m positive I fell in love with her in the primordial goop eons ago, and only arrived on earth in my present form when it was time for me to get on track to do what I just did... because she’s my destiny. My primordial destiny.

  But before I can open my eyes to behold my wife’s emerald green eyes one last time or get a single word out… not even a simple “love”… I feel the last drop of life force trickle out of me… and my heart thump one last whisper of a time… Visions of Aloha, Peenie, Mom, and Zahara flicker weakly across my brain like static on a walkie talkie. And then the world, and my mind, fade to black.