by Elle Casey
“Keep your eyeballs in your head where they belong,” I warn.
His head turns to the front. “My eyeballs aren’t doing anything wrong.”
I battle a smile as I try to chant away the attraction I’m feeling. He is not charming. I will not flirt. He’s not going to wiggle his way under my skin or my skirt.
The helicopter moves, tilting slightly to the left. Both my arms fly out involuntarily. One of them slaps Ty in the chest, and the other one hits the door next to me with a bang. A scream escapes my lips.
Ty folds my hand into his and holds it at his chest. “Don’t worry. Takeoff can be a little wobbly, but it’ll be fine in a minute.”
My laugh is very shrill. “Ha, ha! A little wobbly? That sounds awesome!”
He squeezes my hand more firmly. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
I really don’t think I’m safe with him at all. He convinced me to go to this event and didn’t give me the whole story, which ended up with me in a tiny helicopter that feels like it’s dangling from the end of a yo-yo string.
We lift up from the top of the building and move over to the edge. I don’t want to look, but I have to. If I’m going to die, I want to see it coming so I can mentally prepare myself. I start to scream as we get too far over the edge to stop. Too late! Too late! We’re going to die! We’re going to plummet to the earth and explode! God, please let me die an instant and pain-free death!
Next to me is Ty, laughing his butt off with his headset in his lap.
“What’s so funny?” I yell, breathing so fast it sounds like I just finished a 5K.
He puts an earpiece of his headset up to his ear. “What?”
“I said, what’s so funny?”
“Your screaming!” he yells. “It’s hilarious! Your mouth is open and I can tell you’re freaking out, but all I can hear is the copter.” He puts his headset back on. “Mic check, mic check . . . can you hear me now?”
I yank my hand away and hold on to my seat belt with an iron grip. “Shut up. It’s not funny. I’m scared.”
He stops laughing and goes completely serious. “Don’t be scared. I swear to God, I would never let you go up in a thing like this if I thought it was going to hurt you.”
I glance at him and then go back to looking over the edge of the building. The helicopter moves slowly past the office building next to the one we entered from the street. This is real. I’m actually dangling in the air in the middle of Manhattan. I think it’s magic that’s keeping us up. I believe in magic. I believe in magic. I believe in miracles. Please, God, don’t let us fall.
My speakers crackle and then Ty’s voice comes into my ears. “Honestly, if I’d known you were going to be this freaked out, I wouldn’t have done it. I thought you would think it was cool.”
Was he trying to impress me by bringing me on this thing? I’m charmed and pissed at the same time. These are two emotions that should never be trying to work together. I shake my head at this Ty Stanz craziness.
We pass another building and then one more. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to cramp up and stop. But lights are coming on around us, making it look like the city’s twinkling, and that’s not entirely awful. “Well, it’s not cool. Not really.”
He leans in closer to me. “Are you sure? Because you don’t sound very convinced.”
I shove him away. “Be quiet. I’m busy praying that I don’t die. Don’t interrupt me, or God might not hear me in time to stop this death trap from falling out of the sky.”
He chuckles and takes my hand again. “Just hold on to me. You’re going to be fine.”
We both stop talking and stare out the windows. I have to admit, the scenery is pretty amazing. This is nothing like riding in the airplane, where I only got a tiny window that offered very little view of what was below me. I can see everything from where I’m sitting now. The edge of the city becomes visible and then a big river appears. Several bridges span the water; they’re loaded with cars that have their headlights on.
I’m glad it’s not the middle or end of summer yet because then the sun would still be up this late and I would miss all of these lights coming on. The tension slowly eases out of my body as the helicopter levels out and flies in a straight line. The stress isn’t gone completely, but I don’t feel like I’m about to have a heart attack or a stroke anymore either.
“How long until we’re at the airport?” I ask.
“Fifteen minutes.”
I look at Ty’s profile as he stares out the window to his left. He is so damn handsome. I wish he were ugly; maybe it would be easier to stay mad at him. “And where is this flight going, exactly?”
He turns, his expression pained. “Can I plead The Fifth on this one?”
I sigh. “No, you cannot.”
“How about if we just make it a surprise?” His eyebrows go up and he nods, trying to sell me on the idea.
I’m torn. I want to say no and insist he tell me what’s going on, but something about his reaction makes me think he’s nervous. Maybe he’s worried that I’ll dig my heels in and say I’m not going if I don’t like his answer about our destination. And I think the only reason he’s going is because I am. How bad could it be, anyway? He knows I have to be back in the morning for the breakfast meeting.
“How important is this event to you?” I ask.
He thinks about it for several long seconds before he gives me an answer that sounds like a confession. “I want to say it’s not important at all, but that would be a lie.”
“Why would you want to lie about it?”
“Because. I don’t care about all this PR garbage . . . this bullshit. I just want to play music, that’s it.”
I nod because I get it. I get him. “But these events are part of the deal. Part of being a member of the band.”
“Exactly. They’re uncomfortable and stiff and full of fake people, but it’s something I agreed to do when I signed up.”
“Why do you hate it so much? Is it just because of the fake people?”
He shrugs and looks out the window. “That’s part of it. I don’t know. You’ll see when we get there. Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“I don’t know.” He looks at me, his expression almost sad. “Maybe you’ll like it.”
I look out my window, a little hurt that he thinks I’m the kind of person who likes hanging out with assholes. I speak before thinking my words through. “I doubt it. I can’t imagine me liking something that you don’t.”
Neither one of us says anything else until we get to the airport, but the mood between us is heavy. It’s possible I made some sort of declaration with my last statement, but I didn’t mean to. I just feel a really close connection to him right now since we’ve had this helicopter-induced near-death experience together, and I also sense a great deal of pain coming from him that I want to ease as a friend if I can. He’s stuck with the band because he loves the music, but I’m not getting the impression he really loves the band members, which is super inconvenient since they’re in this big-time relationship together. I wonder again why he’s here while they’re in Toronto. Hopefully, I’ll find out by the end of the night.
Whatever their relationship is, it’s definitely weird. I think these band members have too much control over both Ty and us Glenhollow girls. All they have to do is snap their fingers and they turn people’s lives upside down. That’s probably why I sense some sort of kinship with Ty. I think my sisters would like him too, if they could get past his abrasive exterior. I’m finding it easier and easier to do, the longer I’m with him.
My thoughts are interrupted by the helicopter arriving on the tarmac at the airport. It’s not a perfect landing, but I think our scary takeoff prepared me for anything, so I hardly scream at all when we bounce down on the ground and finally come to rest. A black town car takes us from there to a private jet.
Ty stands next to me at the bottom of the stairs leading into the plane. The wind batters my hair
and almost knocks my chopsticks out. I stick them more deeply into my ’do as he watches.
I give him a warning look. “If you mock the chopsticks, you’re not going to be allowed to borrow them when we get to the buffet.”
“I would never mock the chopsticks. The chopsticks are cool.”
“Maybe I’ll buy you a pair someday.” I wink at him.
He looks up the stairs, his good humor melting away in an instant. “You ready?”
Not that I’m okay with the mood swings, but I am starting to get used to them. My plan is to ignore any emotions of his that I don’t like, so I will be disregarding his sudden party-pooper attitude. I straighten my posture and hold my purse with both hands in front of me. “Not until you promise me this thing isn’t going to crash.”
“I promise.” He gestures at the stairs so that I’ll go up first. I begin my ascent but then turn around to look over my shoulder at him. “Don’t look at my butt.”
His eyes are dark. He’s not smiling like I expect him to be. “No promises.”
I fight to hide my smile as I go up the stairs to the entrance. I hope he does look at my butt; I sure didn’t buy a dress this tight to be ignored.
A woman in a navy-blue pantsuit is waiting, smiling at me. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks. Where’re we going?”
She opens her mouth to answer but looks confused. She stalls out, probably because it’s weird to be taking a passenger somewhere who doesn’t know where she’s going. Yes, I’m a kidnap victim. Save me!
Ty shows up behind me. “Don’t tell her. It’s a secret.”
The girl gets a load of my fellow monkey and a huge grin lights up her face, her eyes practically twinkling with merriment. “Oh, okay, Mr. Stanz. Your secret is safe with me.”
I watch her go all googly-eyed at Ty and it reminds me how cute he is. I’ve been so busy being annoyed with him, I’ve not really appreciated that about him. If you go for rockers, and I’m not sure that I ever have before, he’s definitely got all the things groupies like: the hair, the tattoos, that I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-the-world attitude. But I think deep down he’s sad. He doesn’t fit in. He wants to but he can’t. Maybe that’s part of the attraction for me. I feel that way often myself.
I wonder if this event will shed any light on who Ty Stanz really is and what’s behind his angst. Just picturing it makes me feel compelled to get involved, fix what’s broken. Protective instincts toward a near stranger? Huh. That’s weird.
Normally, Rose is the healer of wounds in our house, both physical and psychological, so I must be channeling her energy. I’m only going to be here for another twelve hours or so and then I’m leaving, so feeling responsible for Ty’s happiness could be mighty inconvenient. Plus, he’s in a band and I live on a hippie commune, and I’ve made my choice to stay there to help my family. There is no future for me anywhere else or with this man except for this single, friendly outing—or whatever this night is.
I vow to just enjoy my time with him and see him as a friend, despite the attraction I feel toward him. I can definitely do this. I’m a down-to-earth, well-grounded person, and I’ve never been one for flights of fancy. I make hard decisions all the time. A New York City romance is not in the cards for me, but that’s okay. There will be other men and other situations more convenient than this one, for sure. I feel so powerful right now, totally in control of my destiny. I’m only feeling the tiniest smidgen of regret. Minuscule. Microscopic. It’s hardly even there. What regret? I don’t know. See, it’s gone already.
I sit down in a plush leather seat and am handed a glass of bubbly wine by the flight attendant. Ty takes the seat next to me and touches his glass to mine. “Bottoms up.” He gulps his back, draining the entire thing in five seconds. His bad-boy image is in full effect, and my powerful, I-don’t-need-this-man confidence falls away a little as my heart skips a beat and then goes mushy.
“Aren’t you supposed to sip the stuff?” I have to lighten the mood to keep myself from being stupid.
“Trust me . . . you’ll want to get liquored up for this.” He signals the woman for a refill and she comes over with the bottle.
Without thinking, I take it from her hand and nod at her. “We’re just going to keep this here with us.” If my friend wants to get liquored up, who am I to stop him? Maybe it’ll help him relax.
She gives me a tight smile and walks away, leaving us alone. I set the bottle down in front of me on the small table that sits next to the window.
“I like your style, hippie chick.” His voice carries true admiration.
I tip my glass toward his face. “I like yours too. Nice job on the eyeliner tonight, by the way. No smears.”
“Thanks.” His grin is wide and very infectious as he takes the bottle from the table and fills his glass to the rim.
I sit back in my seat, slowly sipping my drink as the jet takes off to parts unknown. I’m hardly scared at all as the flying machine that’s held up by magic and a ton of highly flammable jet fuel races toward the end of the runway and begins tilting toward the sky. I really want to call my sisters and tell them about the crazy adventure I’m on right now, but I think it’ll be better if I can tell the entire story from start to finish. I cannot wait to call them later tonight.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What Ty calls a little event, I call a monster party. A limousine takes us from the small executive airport in a city I haven’t yet managed to identify to a club that’s been rented out specifically for the thing we’re here for . . . whatever that is. The place is packed, and the minute Ty enters, he’s swarmed by fans. Two large men step up and take positions on either side of him. He quickly grabs my hand and pulls me in close.
He speaks to the guy on his left, yelling to be heard over the music. “She’s with me. Don’t let her get lost.”
I look at the two guys who appear as though they could be professional fighters and realize they’re acting as bodyguards tonight. They keep the crowd at bay as we move through the throng to the bar.
“This is insane!” I yell. People are shoving one another, trying to get near Ty. Women are practically crying when they look at him. Guys don’t seem concerned whether they’re assaulting these women or not . . . they just want a piece of the man who’s holding my hand.
“This is my life,” he says over the music playing in the background. I recognize the song right away; it’s one of my mother’s favorites: “Red Hot Love.”
We get to the bar, and the bodybuilders clear us a space. We stand next to each other while our protectors turn their backs to us, facing the crowd and keeping people away. Flashes are going off all around us. I can’t tell which ones are coming from the disco balls and which are coming from cameras.
“They’re taking pictures of us.” I hope my chopsticks are where they should be. I resist the urge to check, though, because I fear someone will take a photo of my armpit; it’s not my best feature.
“I know. You get used to it.”
I shake my head. “I could never get used to that. It’s going to give me a headache.”
“Why do you think I wear those sunglasses all the time?” He gives me a sad smile.
“You don’t have your glasses right now.”
He pats his chest. “They’re in my pocket.” He mumbles something I don’t hear.
“What did you say?”
He speaks really loud, blasting me in the face. “My mom says I shouldn’t wear them all the time . . . that I should let people see my eyes.” He seems to realize when he finishes that he spoke too loud and turns away, embarrassed.
I put my hand on his shoulder and shake it a little. “She’s right. You have nice eyes. You shouldn’t hide them all the time.”
He glances at me and looks like he’s going to respond, but the bartender comes over, pulling his attention away.
“What can I get you, Ty?” he asks.
I lean in close to speak directly into Ty’s ear. “Do you know him?”
<
br /> “Nah.”
It’s weird to me that perfect strangers will call him by his first name, acting as if they’re buddies. How would I feel if the entire world started calling me Amber? I think it would be very unsettling; I’d wonder if I should remember their faces from previous meetings.
“I’ll take a scotch, rocks.” He looks at me, nonplussed by the bartender’s easy familiarity. “What would you like?”
I shrug. “More champagne?” My sister Rose is an authority on anything having to do with chemicals. She’s been an organic chemistry buff since we were kids, way before she majored in it in college. She told Em and me that mixing drinks is not a good idea, back when we were fifteen years old and sneaking booze we found in our mothers’ cabinet. I went for what I called the suicide—a little bit of everything mixed together. She stuck to whiskey, and Em went with rum. All three of us were vomiting our guts up the next morning, so I’m not sure if her advice was solid or not, but I’m following it anyway.
“I need to make sure certain people see my face,” Ty says.
“And who would those people be?”
The drinks come, interrupting our conversation. He hands me mine and then lifts his. “Cheers,” he says, tipping his glass toward me.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
He lifts a brow. “Are you going to touch my glass and toast to our continued good health?”
I guess we’re entering another battle of the wills. I stare at him over the rim of my glass. “I will if you will.”
He nods, sending a jolt of what feels like electricity through me. Those eyes . . .
I touch my glass to his.
“The band,” he says.
His words do not compute. “The band?”
“Yeah. They need to see me here. So do my manager and my agent.”
Did I mishear something because of all the noise in here? “I’m not sure I understand. Are you telling me the band is here tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“But . . . they’re in Toronto, I thought.”
He looks at me with his face all scrunched up in confusion. I’m not sure if he’s really lost or just mimicking my expression.