“Dayne . . .” Her voice was a frightened whisper.
He stood and held up his hand. “Down here.”
She took light running steps toward him. “Ugh.” She dropped beside him on the blanket. “I can’t believe we did it.”
A thrill ran through him at the sight of her. She filled his heart like no one ever had. He couldn’t believe in just a little while he was going to have to say good-bye.
Nervous laughter danced in her eyes. “I thought I’d find you down here surrounded by cameras.”
“No.” He chuckled. “I told you, it isn’t usually this bad. They have a job to do; that’s all.” He handed her a cup of coffee and pulled the bag of food closer. He’d brought fruit and cheese and sourdough bread from home. No time to stop at a store and no need rousing the attention of the tabloids that he was planning a picnic.
“Did I hear you right?” She smiled at him. “Telling me the paparazzi aren’t that bad when last night they were pounding at the door?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying you get used to it.” He was testing her without coming out and saying so. If she cared for him the way he cared for her, shouldn’t she be willing to take a little extra attention? It was something he hadn’t considered all week, not until today’s press conference. But wasn’t that maybe the answer to their problems? That she be willing to give up some of her privacy?
Katy thanked him for the drink, but she set it aside. She seemed to miss the whole talk about paparazzi and getting used to the cameras. The sun was heading toward the shore, and Katy gazed at the ocean. “I talked to Luke.” She leaned back on her elbows and stretched out her legs. “I thanked him and told him good-bye.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s more than that.” She looked at him. “Dayne, I’ve been thinking. You have to talk to the Baxters. Hiding from your brother and sisters . . . what does that accomplish?”
“Their privacy.” His words were quick and maybe a little too harsh. “The same privacy that matters so much to you.”
“But you said yourself this isn’t so bad.” She turned onto her side and faced him. A smile played on her lips. “If you can convince yourself of that after this week . . .”
“I’m trying.” He stretched out on his side a few feet from her and let himself get lost in her eyes. The tensions from the week were getting to him, and he made a conscious effort to let them go. She couldn’t know what he was thinking unless he spelled it out. “I have an idea, Katy.”
“What?” She reached out and brushed her knuckle against his chin, his cheek. “Run away with you to Mars, where no one can bother us?”
He ran his fingers along her bare arm. “No.” The moment was tender and light. Trees shaded the grassy area where the blanket was spread out, and an occasional seagull cried in the distance. “Move here. So we can be together and I can finish my contract.” He didn’t blink, didn’t do anything to break the connection he felt with her. “Then who knows . . . in a few years maybe we’ll both move to Bloomington.”
A fresh hurt dimmed her smile. “Move here? You mean move in with you?” She sat up. “Are you serious?”
“Not move in with me.” He pushed himself up and took her hand. Why couldn’t anything ever be easy with her? “Come on, Katy. You have to know me better than that.”
“Okay, then what? Move here and take an apartment, leave everything I love in Bloomington so we can run around in the shadows together?” Her words were slow, thoughtful, not the least bit sarcastic. She looked at the grass and ran her hand over the tips of the blades. “You’ll be busy making movies.” Her smile was sadder than before. “It wouldn’t work, Dayne.”
She was right, and he hated the fact. Hated that he couldn’t change his life enough to make it appealing to her and hated the contract that would keep him bound to Los Angeles for several more years.
He groaned and stretched out on his side again. “So you’re going to run anyway?”
“I’m not running.” She eased back down and onto her side again. “I’m going home.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Where I belong.” She hesitated. “Maybe where you belong too.” Her voice was gentler than the breeze in the branches above them. “Have you ever thought of that?”
“What . . . I move there and take an apartment?” His teasing felt good, much better than the heaviness from a few moments earlier.
“Yes . . . brat.” She gave him a light push. “You buy the whole building if you want. At least you’d have a place to come home to.”
“Between films.”
“Yes, between films.”
“With all of Bloomington watching?”
“Yes.” She gave him another shove. “Even the Baxters.” She searched his eyes. Despite the easy atmosphere between them, the ultimatum was clear. He would find a way into her world or they wouldn’t find a way at all.
He’d thought about the idea, but when would he ever be there? At least for the next few years he needed to be close to the studio, right? Close to the premieres and preproduction publicity and red carpets. Close to his agent and casting directors and costars. He thought about that reality. The list sounded terribly shallow and meaningless compared with Katy Hart.
A sigh filtered through his teeth. “I don’t know.” He rolled onto his back and looked at her. “You’re all I want, Katy.” He raised his arm and crooked it over his brow. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”
She rolled onto her back too and stared up. “I’m serious about wishing you’d move to Bloomington.” She glanced at him. “But I’d never ask you to leave your life here for me. Not really.”
He inched closer to her. “I’d leave it tomorrow if it made sense.” He worked his fingers through her blonde hair, and suddenly he knew he couldn’t hold back another moment. She was leaving and this was good-bye. He turned over and touched his lips to hers. His voice was thick with desire when he pulled back. “Katy . . . how can I let you go?”
She angled herself toward him, and this time the kiss came from her. “I’ll never forget this . . . no matter what happens after today.”
He was about to tell her not to talk that way, that even if they couldn’t think of a single sensible scenario, somehow they would find their way back together again. But before he could speak, there was the sound of running feet coming up the hill below them. They sat up at the same time, just as two photographers stopped and began shooting them.
With every click, he could feel Katy panicking. But this time he wasn’t letting it happen. “Fold up the blanket, Katy.” He stood and glared at the cameramen. “Leave us alone!”
“Dayne . . . please . . . let’s get out of here!”
He shot her an angry look. “I’ll take care of this.” He clenched his jaw. “I’ve had enough.”
She turned her back to the photographers and did as he asked.
Without thinking about his actions, Dayne put himself between her and the paparazzi. They were fifteen feet away, snapping pictures.
Dayne lunged at them and knocked one of the cameras to the ground. His blow separated the high-powered lens from the camera’s body and cracked the casing. Dayne’s hand hurt, but his anger was still rising, taking over everything inside him. How dare they hunt him down this way, every time he and Katy tried to find a moment alone?
The photographer nearest him reached for his broken equipment and snarled at Dayne. “You’ll hear from my attorney about this.”
“And you’ll hear from mine.” Dayne raised his fist toward them. “Get out of here.”
“Come on.” The other one elbowed his partner. “Forget about it.” He motioned toward the parking lot above them. “You’ve got nowhere to run, Matthews. The parking lot is full of cars.”
“Leave!” Dayne took another step toward them.
The two men jumped back. The one with the broken camera shouted, “You wanted this life, Matthews, so deal with it.”
They gathered their gear and stomped off. The angry one hollered
over his shoulder, “We got the shot, anyway.”
Dayne turned and saw Katy scrambling toward the walkway. Her face was pale. “What should we do now?”
“Face them.” He was fuming, angrier than he could ever remember being. Would they stop at nothing for a single picture, be willing to interrupt any moment so long as it meant a sale to the tabloids? He marched toward her and took the blanket and the bag of food.
Katy carried both coffees as she trailed behind him, struggling to keep up. “They’ll see us, won’t they?”
“Yes. Stay behind me.” His words were tight, drenched in fury. “They won’t get anything worth printing.”
They came into the open, and just like the photographers had said, the parking lot held half a dozen cars. Some of the waiting cameramen jumped out and began shooting them. Others pointed their lenses through their open car windows and took their pictures that way.
He had the urge to drop the blanket and food and take out each and every one of them, one level punch at a time. Instead he kept his head low. “Stay behind me.”
“I am.” He could feel her moving along, shaking from the terror of the moment.
They reached his Escalade near the bushes, and he opened the passenger side first. Once Katy was inside he hesitated, staring at each of the photographers. He could take out three of them at least. God, give me the strength not to kill them. . . .
Son, man’s anger does not bring about God’s righteousness.
The words stopped him in his tracks, cut his fury at the knees, and sent him stumbling toward the driver’s seat. The quick answer had to be from God, had to be Him speaking truth to his heart. They were words he’d read in his Bible before Katy arrived in town. At the time he hadn’t thought much of them. He wasn’t an angry person, so why take note of words about anger?
But now he was so furious he could’ve leveled a full-blown assault at the paparazzi. If it weren’t for God’s reminder.
He turned the key in the engine and looked at Katy.
She had slid down in her seat, and with one hand she was shielding her face. “What’re we doing?”
“We’re going to lose them.” His anger was back but not like before. He didn’t want to lash out at them; he wanted to be rid of them. Whatever the cost. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal and screeched into a U-turn that spit him onto the main road that led off the campus.
In his mirror, he could see the photographers scrambling for their cars and rushing after him. “Not this time,” he mumbled under his breath. “Get your seat belt on.”
Katy began fumbling with the belt, but her eyes told him she was scared to death. “Don’t go too fast, Dayne. It doesn’t matter if . . . if they know where we’re going.”
“It does.” He sped up and barely made the light at the bottom of the hill. Screeching his tires, he took the left turn hard and gunned it. “No one’s going to dictate what we do.”
“Just take me back to the hotel.” She was near tears, her words stiff with fear. “Please, Dayne . . .”
“I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.” Behind him he watched every one of the six paparazzi vehicles run the red light. The last one almost broadsided a passenger van. “They’re absolutely crazy.”
“I know.” Katy covered her face. “Dayne, this is stupid. Just get me back to—”
There was the blast of a horn as a car coming the other direction turned left directly in front of him.
“Katy . . . hold on!” He swerved, and his SUV skidded across the intersection and came to rest inches from a pole.
The driver of the car that had turned left honked again, longer this time.
Adrenaline rushed through Dayne’s body as he maneuvered his SUV back into the lane and continued southbound.
“Dear God . . .” Katy had her hand over her mouth. “Any faster and we would’ve wrapped around the pole.”
It was true. Dayne felt his heart start beating again. “Katy . . .” He reached for her hand. What was he thinking? Why had it been so important to lose the paparazzi when to do so would only mean having them continue the chase a few hours later or the next day? “Katy, I’m sorry.”
“That car . . . it turned right in front of you.” In the fading sunlight, he could see tears in her eyes. “We could’ve been killed.”
In his mirror he could see the photographers still on his tail. Katy was right. If he’d been traveling any faster, he would’ve collided with the other car, causing horrific damage. In that case, the cameramen would’ve gotten prize photos. Pictures worth a fortune. Never mind that they would’ve been the cause of the wreck or that injuries and fatalities might’ve been involved. Car accidents were newsworthy.
The reality made him sick to his stomach. He let up on the gas and settled back to a normal speed. “I’m taking you back.”
Back to the hotel, back to the place where she could make her getaway and return to a normal life. His world wasn’t only crazy and unnerving—it was dangerous. He couldn’t subject Katy to that type of danger even if she were willing to move to Hollywood.
The six photographers traveled in a row behind them like some sort of bizarre parade. Dayne didn’t care anymore. He reached over and eased his fingers between hers. “This was why you got so upset at the beach that night.” His tone was quiet, defeated. The adrenaline still had his heart racing, but the fight was over.
The paparazzi had won.
Katy looked at him, as if she were trying to understand his comment. “At the beach?”
“Yes.” He held tight to the wheel and kept his eyes straight ahead. He wasn’t taking any more chances, not with Katy in the vehicle. “You told me I scared you. You said, ‘Where can it ever go?’”
Her eyes grew wet again. She covered her mouth with her fingers, as if she didn’t want to remember her own words. But she couldn’t deny them either.
“I went to sleep that night so confused,” Dayne continued. “You told me I had Hollywood and my movies and you had Bloomington.” Every mile took them closer to good-bye, but he was helpless to do anything but keep driving. Driving and convincing himself that letting Katy go was the kindest thing he could do. “You asked me how it was ever supposed to work.” Tears blurred his eyes, and he blinked so he could see. “I thought you were just afraid, that you needed time to adjust to all the attention.”
“Dayne . . . I don’t want to leave.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “My world doesn’t give you any choice.” His chin was quivering, anger and sorrow about to break his heart wide open. “Does it?”
She let her head hang, let the tears fall onto her lap. The sobs worked their way to the surface, and she brought his hand to her cheek. “If there was a way . . .”
But there wasn’t. Suddenly he knew this was his chance, maybe the only chance he’d ever have to tell her exactly how he felt. How strong his feelings for her really were.
They turned into the hotel parking lot, and behind them the six paparazzi cars followed. He stopped and framed her face with his hands. Before the cameramen could jump out, before they could capture a single picture, he kissed her and looked straight to her heart. To the most beautiful heart he’d ever known.
He could hear them, slamming their car doors, running along the pavement. “Katy . . . I love you.” He kissed her again quickly. “When you leave, you’ll take that part with you.”
Her lips parted, her eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.
“Dayne! Katy! Pose for a picture!”
Two doormen were herding the photographers, keeping them back.
“I’m . . . sorry I never said it before.” Fresh tears filled Katy’s eyes and slid down her cheeks. “I love you, Dayne.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, then to his. “Good-bye.” She held her bag up to her face, climbed out of the SUV, and hurried through the revolving door. She turned around just once, long enough for him to see that she was crying harder. She mouthed the word good-bye.
&
nbsp; Then she was gone.
As he drove away, he had no energy to fight the paparazzi or threaten them, no desire to speed through the streets of LA trying to lose them. They were part of his life. They might as well follow him home. What did it matter now?
Katy was gone and not just that. The dream was gone too. He had wanted to think it could work, that she could blend into his lifestyle and come out the same on the other side. But look what had almost happened. They’d nearly been killed just because they were that frantic to find an hour alone.
In the quiet of his Escalade, he let the tears come. Hot and salty and frustrated, they made their way down his cheeks, stinging his eyes and his lips and making him wonder about his new beliefs. He had asked God to make a way for them, to give them a future. But their one week together had come to a sudden, abysmal end. And the tabloids hadn’t even hit the stands yet.
Sure, he could make an occasional trip to Bloomington, show up at Katy’s CKT practice, and steal a few hours talking to her in the Flanigans’ living room. But times like that weren’t the stuff relationships were made of. The love he wanted to share with Katy should’ve meant dinner dates and long walks, cozy conversations and sitting side by side at church.
He dragged his fist across his cheeks and rolled down the window. The ocean air was his friend, washing away the impossibilities of his life and giving him the sense that somehow, someway he would wake up tomorrow and find a reason to live. He had learned from Bob Asher that God had a plan for his life—plans for a wonderful future centered around faith in Christ. Yes, Dayne Matthews would survive, and he would have a reason to live.
But without Katy, without the feel of her in his arms and the light from her smile, there was something he knew he’d never have again. Something he had held tight to every day this week.
A reason to love.
Like every time she said good-bye to Dayne Matthews, Katy couldn’t draw a breath without aching because of how much she missed him. She forced herself to get in the shuttle Saturday morning to the airport, and somehow she survived the morning. But just barely.
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