"And after Grant's done, I think you need to sit down with Brayden and talk to him about all of this."
One glance at my texts told me Brayden had learned the contents of Jared's book, no doubt thanks to Lucas. "You’ve spoken with Bray?"
"Yes. I told him you were okay. But he wants to hear it from you. And he's concerned as to why I'm having Grant wire your place." Lucas poured me another cup of coffee. "Here's your last bit of procrastination. Then you've got to tell Brayden about the flowers and about being followed, okay? He deserves to know."
I was dreading telling Brayden. I knew he'd feel betrayed that Lucas knew about what was happening with me before he did…and that there was no way he'd like that I revealed everything to Lucas.
Brayden would feel betrayed, but at this point, I doubted he'd be surprised. "Let's go to Brayden's apartment first—I want to talk to him now."
Lucas agreed, but wouldn't let me go alone. So when the three of us—me, Lucas and Grant—ended up outside Brayden's door, Brayden wasn't exactly sunshine-and-roses welcoming.
He also wasn't alone, which, for some reason, seemed to annoy the hell out of Grant. I mean, it wasn't the most comfortable situation to have a strange man coming out of Brayden's bedroom having obviously just showered and dressed, and since Brayden stood in front of us in sweatpants and wet hair, the picture wasn't hard to paint.
Except the guy wasn't Zack. I crossed my arms and Brayden muttered, "Don't start," at me and then, "See you around," to the guy, who said, "Call me," as he slid around us and left.
"Sorry to interrupt," Grant said. "But this is important."
"I don't even fucking know you," Brayden shot back as Lucas stayed strangely silent, watching the interaction with interest.
"Bray, this is—"
"Lucas's hired hand," Brayden finished and I swear I heard a growl come from deep and low in Grant's throat, although when I turned, Grant’s expression was neutral.
"He's my business partner," Lucas broke in as if to settle the stalemate.
"Didn't realize we were having unscheduled meet-and-greets," Brayden muttered.
"Please, Bray, let me explain." Something in my tone made Brayden stop his stonewalling.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
"I am. But…" I paused. "I need to tell you something."
"About the book?" Brayden asked.
"No. About the flowers."
"Why don't you let me go downstairs and check out your place while you finish up?" Grant suggested.
"Why don't we all go?" Brayden snapped irritably, grabbing his shirt and shoes and padding toward his door. He held it open and ushered us all out.
It was a quiet, uncomfortable elevator ride even though we were only going down a single floor. Brayden was the one to open my door, shut off the alarm and survey the apartment first. Grant went in next, room to room like he was checking for something…or somebody. That made me nervous as hell, but he came out of my bedroom and said, "All clear. How does everything look, Ryn? Anything out of order?"
"No flowers," I said hesitantly after I scanned the areas I could see. "At least not in here."
Lucas followed me through the rest of the apartment. I was relieved to see everything in place and nary a daffodil in sight.
"There is one thing, though," I said slowly, pointing to a grouping of my newer paintings, which didn’t include Man in Trees. "These are out of order."
"What do you mean?" Grant asked.
"I put them in a certain order last night and it's different now," I explained.
"Are you absolutely sure? You remember the exact order?" Grant persisted.
"Are you calling her a liar?" Brayden broke in.
"I know it sounds weird, but I definitely remember how I leave my paintings. I do it purposely. There's a method to it." A method to trying to regain my past, I almost said, but I was pretty sure they were all thinking it.
"Is this the first time this happened?" Lucas asked now.
"Yes." I crossed my arms, wanting to study this new order but knowing I wouldn't be able to concentrate with Grant and Lucas here. Instead, I took pictures of the new order and walked away to let Grant figure out the wiring.
"You seem pretty calm for someone who had someone in here touching her art," Lucas said.
"Someone's trying to send me a message. The daffodils were a message too," I said. "Good or bad…I need to know."
Brayden spent the afternoon stomping around my apartment while Grant wired every inch of the place in a completely unobtrusive manner, which I guess was the whole point. He glared at me, Grant and Lucas and I showered to avoid part of that wrath. I heard them all arguing while I was in the shower, but I couldn't make out much over the running water and I didn't bother trying.
I was emotionally exhausted. Lucas was right—it was time to tell Brayden what I'd been hiding, and I knew my best friend would be angry but ultimately forgive me. Telling him would be the easiest part, and that’s what worried me most. Because from here, nothing was solved. Nothing was safe.
"I showed Brayden how to use the system," Grant told me. "I can show you too, if you'd rather—"
"I said I can show her," Brayden bit out from behind him and Grant stiffened visibly.
"It's okay," I said with apology in my tone. "Thanks for doing all of this."
"It's no trouble," Grant said.
Lucas gave me a smile, and a kiss that promised he'd see me later. They left, and Brayden locked the door behind them and immediately used the code on the alarm pad.
"It's the same code," he explained. "The only difference is that you can use different numbers to let Grant and Lucas know if you're okay or if you think someone's following you."
Brayden took the time to explain the system to me first, putting my safety ahead of everything. Then he looked at me and said, "They want to wire my apartment too. I'm letting them do it now."
"Good." Relief coursed through my body. "I'm so sorry, Bray. I didn't think about how my past could affect you too. And then I wasn't sure if I was imagining things, especially after the first flowers disappeared. I felt like I was going crazy. It was right before the show. I called Dr. B and he said it could've been a stress fugue state, like what happens when I paint…" I trailed off. "I was going to tell you about being followed, but it happened right before the party and then…"
"And then," Brayden echoed. "You shouldn't have to explain to me. I'm not one to lecture. Hell, I'm no one's idea of a role model."
"You're mine."
He side-eyed me. "Shade, Ryn?"
"Not at all," I took his hand in mine. "You're a successful business owner. I can't believe how much you accomplished from sheer will. When you explained it to me, without me asking and after I'd shared my past…you didn't have to. You trusted me as much as I trusted you. I knew then you'd be a friend for life."
"Ride or die, babe." Brayden squeezed my hand. "I can spot the broken ones. I can't always fix them though."
"That's not your job."
"It's not?"
I smiled, because I knew, underneath the joke, he was more than half serious. "You gave me a chance. You let me fix myself. That's the only way this works." I paused. "You've always given me the space to find my own way. I needed that."
He sighed. "I want to protect you from the world. I understand Lucas's need to do so."
I blinked. "You're actually agreeing with Lucas?"
"World must be coming to an end."
"Want to talk about Zack?"
"Not really."
"I thought…"
"It's easy," Brayden broke in, then conceded, "Sometimes. We don't have a commitment. We don't want one."
"I believe you don't want one, not from him but…" I shook my head. "What happened between you and Grant?"
"What? Nothing," he protested.
"Right." I stared at him he threw his hands up in the air.
"He's a good-looking guy."
"Very," I agree.
&nbs
p; "You didn't trust me enough," Brayden blurted out, like he'd been trying to hold it inside and couldn't any longer.
He looked so hurt that tears came to my eyes. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Didn't want to worry me?" he echoed, his tone one of complete disbelief. "You're shitting me, right? You think I haven't worried about you every single day since I met you? You think I haven't worried that I've been exposing you to terrible things by asking you to share your art with the world? You don't think I have sleepless nights over this shit, Ryn?"
No, I hadn't realized just how worried Brayden was. It sounded like he might be more so than I was. "I'm sorry. At first, I thought…shit. I thought it was me being stressed. And crazy. And I thought, maybe I was taking pills without realizing it. Maybe I was that crazy artist everyone was writing about."
"If you are, I wouldn't care. You're Ryn. You're my best goddamned friend, okay?" he said roughly. "And we don't keep secrets like this from each other."
"I won't anymore, okay? I promise." I paused. "I know you said you understand Lucas's protectiveness…but you still don't trust him, do you?"
"I don't trust him," he agreed. "But I do trust you."
"Then trust me that I think I can trust him."
Brayden looked skeptical. "I'll try, babe."
"That's all I ask."
After Brayden and I talked, we decided that I should read Jared's book while he ordered dinner. He'd already read most of it and having him here while I speed read through it would help me immensely.
"You're going to be pissed," he warned.
"I'm already pissed," I pointed out, and opened the cover with a sigh.
I practically read through my fingers, not really wanting to see the words on the page and cringing through the parts of my life that he did happen to use—basically, that constituted the entire first half—and then saw what he'd made up for my past.
God, it would be nice if this fairy-tale horror story was the truth; would be even better if Jared was psychic or a detective…and I had to admit, it'd make a great, sappy movie.
This wasn't my life at all, especially not the neat wrapping. I'm not sure how I knew that, but I did.
Well, at least I could be certain that Jared wasn't a true part of my past. His book and his movie were agitating whoever wanted to make sure I retained my amnesia, but it wasn't the truth.
If I wanted it, I had to make sure I remained a target. I had to make myself vulnerable.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time. I slammed the book shut and looked up at Brayden.
He shook his head. "The book, I mean it's you, but it's not…"
"It's not anything I didn't tell him," I finished and slumped down to the couch in misery.
"Hey, he dazzled you at first." Brayden sat next to me. "No one's going to know it's you."
"At least he's changed artist to writer. Because he's an egomaniac." I sat up. "Oh my God, he turned me into him!"
Brayden laughed.
"It's not funny," I told him before dissolving into hysterical laughter, the kind that you had to do or else you'd cry instead. We rolled around on the couch until our sides hurt while we absorbed the truth.
"You could pretend you think this version's the truth," Brayden said finally. "Come out publicly. Say you're grateful. Pretend to be with him."
I thought about that. It might make whoever was coming for me back off but… "Then I'll never know the truth."
"Sometimes the truth isn't worth knowing."
Chapter Thirteen
In the days following the party, the papers were all about Jared and his book, the subsequent movie and its casting. Gabrielle Weston, the actress I'd met at Jared's book party, had gotten the part of…me. That was almost a relief, in a weird sort of way. The guy Jared picked to play himself was a handsome star who appeared like he could be as big of a jerk as Jared himself. Thankfully my name hadn't been mentioned, but I was still suspicious of Ann Maslow and assumed she was digging into any connection she could find.
If she went upstate to the Catskills, Susan and Arnold would get wind of it immediately, and our small town would effectively cut the investigation off. That was the benefit of living in a place where everyone knew you.
They knew me, but they didn't know my background. Even so, I was one of their own, and any stirring up trouble would be met with the cold shoulder.
Jared was the one who couldn't be trusted. I was still most worried about him, and about Lucas attempting to shut him down, but I threw myself into work so I didn't obsess about it. I knew Lucas read the book as well, and although he must've had questions, he was good about not asking them. He attempted to keep my mind free of anything but art and him, and for the moment, I was okay with that.
But two weeks later, after most of the news of the movie was dying down (and would gear up again once production began, I realized), Brayden called me from the gallery.
"Gabrielle came in looking for you," he told me.
"She did?" I still had her card, of course, but assumed that her urging me to call had been nothing but polite party chatter.
"She didn't have your number and you hadn't called her. Anyway, I took her number again and told her you'd call. She seemed really nice."
"She bought more art, didn't she?" I asked cynically.
"Yes, but that's not why I think she's nice," Brayden countered. "She seemed like she needed a friend."
"You don't think it's dangerous to talk to her?"
"I've considered that. It might be, but it's also a way to keep up on what's happening without having to approach Jared."
"I don't want to use her, Bray," I protested.
"Well, you should be able to figure out fast enough if she's using you. If she's not…well, Ryn, you deserve to have friends, right?"
"I have you."
"Always, babe. But this is your time to shine. Gabrielle loves your art. She'd be a good supporter."
"And I like her," I said softly. "Okay, I'll call her."
"Good. Let me know what happens."
I wasn't sure Lucas would be as enthusiastic as Brayden was, but I also knew he'd never stop me from making this call. I dialed the number nervously. I didn't know how to make friends. Brayden came to me, as did Lucas. But I wasn't good with women, as evidenced by Meghan.
"She's not Meghan," I told myself firmly, right before Gabrielle answered. "Hey, I heard you were looking for me."
"I'm so glad you called. Listen, can you meet me for lunch?" she asked. "I'm close to the gallery—I saw some of your new pieces."
"Cool. And sure, okay." I wrote down the address and met her at the restaurant about twenty minutes later. It was well past lunchtime and she was seated all the way in the back.
She jumped up when she saw me. "Hey you," she said, then leaned in to give me a hug. "Oh, sorry—maybe you're not a hugger."
"It's okay. It's good to see you again."
"You too. I don't know…there was just something about you that I felt really comfortable with. I hope it's okay that I asked for you to get in touch," she said, motioning for me to sit.
"No, it’s cool. I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise."
"Trust me, I don't give my number out to many people. Or any people," she confessed.
"Me neither." We smiled at each other across the table and I immediately knew she wasn't going to be pumping me for information—at least not at Jared's behest.
Just then, the waitress came by with a tray, laden with food. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked as she put down plates of food.
"I ordered some appetizers and stuff. We're in between lunch and dinner, but I know the owners," Gabrielle explained.
"Sounds good." I ordered a Diet Coke and realized I was starving. "I haven't congratulated you yet about getting the part," I told her, in between bites of fried food she confessed she shouldn't be eating.
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I knew I was right for it. I hope that doesn't sound conce
ited, but sometimes, you just know." It was then I noticed that she looked tired. She was beautiful—naturally so, and she could get away with lack of sleep and makeup, but this was more than that. And I wasn't going to question her about it, because this was our first lunch, but after a brief moment's hesitation, she asked, "There weren't any paparazzi outside, right?"
"None that I saw."
"Good." She took a sip of water. "Lately, they've been following me with a vengeance. The price of fame, I realize. I know you've dealt with them recently too."
I rolled my eyes in commiseration. "Not fun."
"Not at all," she said softly, and her entire countenance changed, as if she dropped the 'it's all good' act entirely.
I leaned forward on my elbows, concerned. "What's wrong?"
She sighed. "God, I'm the worst new friend ever, right? New friends are supposed to talk about happy stuff."
"So pretend we're not new friends."
"It feels like we're not, right?" she asked and I nodded. "It's just that, I feel like I can talk to you. Which is weird because I never feel like that, even about people I've known forever."
"I'm a good secret-keeper," I told her and hi, understatement of the year.
She lowered her voice purposefully, like it was a new habit she was cultivating. "I'm thinking of giving up the part."
I couldn't hide my surprise. "What? Why?"
She spread her fingers helplessly, palms up toward the sky. "I have a past."
The weight of her statement settled over me, hot and heavy. "We all do."
She shook her head hard. "Not like mine. I know it's hard to understand, but trust me…"
All this time I'd been so worried about my own past, about Gabrielle seeing right through me, that I'd been blind to the fact that everyone had their own shit. Everyone had something to hide. Just because I was caught up in my own drama didn't mean that everyone else was.
I needed to get my head out of my ass. I leaned forward and took Gabrielle's hands in mine. "Tell me what I can do to help. Because there's no way you can give up this opportunity. I don't know you well, but I've got to bet you've worked toward this kind of success for years. You've sacrificed and struggled. Part of this is fear of exposure, yes, but part is also pure and simple fear."
Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel Page 12