by Emily Bishop
“I shouldn’t need a safe space,” I replied.
Jerr merely shrugged and meandered off to his office, stopping to chat at tables along the way, the previous anger forgotten.
“I shouldn’t need a safe space,” I repeated.
Chapter 19
Jarryd
I sat on the edge of the bed in my hotel room and wormed my finger through a hole in the sheet. I’d spent the last half hour watching the sun set and fraying the opening, thinking about Aurora.
I still couldn’t find her and phoning her cell resulted in a hang up or straight to voicemail. She didn’t want to hear from me. All right, I could understand that, but I couldn’t accept it. The last rays of the sun painted the wall burnt orange, colored the blank TV screen, and stretched to the door.
I fished my cell out of my pocket, unlocked the screen then tried her number again. Same result. She was at the restaurant, of course, working. I bounced off the bed, took a step toward the exit then sat down again.
“Don’t,” I muttered. She doesn’t want you there and forcing your presence on her won’t make things easier for either of you. That was sensible. Of course, it was. But I had to apologize for today.
God damn, I should’ve pushed past the paps and run after her. But I hadn’t, and now she wouldn’t speak to me. I inhaled, nodded then opened a blank text message.
I want to apologize to you in person. This can’t be easy for you, Aurora. Please, meet me at your mother’s cabin after your shift. Shit, now, what time did her shift end? The restaurant closed at eleven o’clock, didn’t it?
I sent the text then rose from the bed. I’d head out to the spot now and wait. Just be there. Maybe find the shirt I’d lost the last time we were there. The memory staggered me, and I halted, palm pressed to the door knob.
If I left now, I’d probably have to wait for her for hours, but it would be worth it. Give me time to figure things out, find a way to make all of this work. Maybe even Pride’s Death.
Relax, kid, you’re an actor, not a miracle worker.
I let myself out of the room, locked up then walked down the hall, gaze on the carpet beneath my shoes, lit by the shell wall sconces. Everything had slowed since I’d arrived in Moondance. Everything except my feelings for Aurora. That shit was on an exponential graph.
They’d exploded out of nowhere and grown, quite literally, overnight.
I entered the lobby, looking up in time to stop myself from ramming directly into Luke.
“Whoa,” he said and stopped mid-stride. “Almost steamrolled me.” He gave a sheepish grin and scraped his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry,” I said, lamely.
The reception area was blessedly empty, and the guy, Kevin, who usually sat and observed everything in the space had taken a break—the chair behind his desk was empty. The silver, retro egg chairs either side of the door drew my attention. “You want to talk?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Luke said and sighed. “I think we should.”
He fetched one of the chairs and dragged it over the orange carpet, placed it next to the other one. We lowered ourselves into them and faced each other.
Luke thumbed his nose then rubbed his palms together. “Listen, man, I was out of line earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”
“No, you weren’t. You were completely in line,” I replied. “I’ve been… different the past week. It’s not easy for me to be this way. You know how I am.”
“Committed,” Luke said. “Committed to everything without fail.”
“Exactly. But I committed to Felicity, and look where that got me. In a world of pain.” Out of everyone, Luke knew what I’d gone through with her.
Felicity had wanted everything, all at once, and holding her at arm’s length hadn’t been an option. Frankly, I hadn’t wanted to at the time. I’d let Felicity flatten over my doubts and fears and into my arms. Perhaps, because the soft side of her had reminded me of my late mother.
But the soft side had worn off like moss off a stone rolling down a hill, and all that’d been left was the hard rock underneath.
Luke thumbed his nose again, his version of a nervous tick. “I have to tell you something, man. It’s something I’ve been carrying around with me for a while, and I feel kinda bad about it. Guilty.”
“You didn’t fuck Felicity, too, did you?”
“What?! No! Dude, Jesus Christ, don’t even say shit like that. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.” Luke choked it out. “And I sure as shit wouldn’t do that to her. Man, it’s no secret I’ve never liked Felicity.”
That was true. Luke had made his feelings about her amply clear. “Yeah, you called her a spoiled brat, I believe.”
“Among other things that I didn’t say to your face but muttered under my breath.” He whipped out his sardonic half-smile. “I wanted you to know how I felt, but I didn’t want to stick my nose in your business. Now, I’m not sure I made the right decision.”
“Because of how things ended,” I said.
“Yeah, and for another reason.” Luke fisted his thighs, leaned back a little. The skin around his eyes wrinkled a little and he screwed up his mouth. “This is gonna hurt a little, I think. I don’t want to fuck with you, Jarryd.”
“Spit it out, man. You’ve got me on the edge of my—uh, egg.” What was with the retro décor in this place, anyway? Orange carpeting, hardwood floors, the silver egg chairs, and what looked to be a jukebox in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust.
“Remember Brigman’s party?”
“How could I forget?” It’d been the party of the decade. Arthur Brigman, an Oscar-winning director, had thrown the soiree in true Gatsby style to celebrate his engagement. Of course, the fucker had no concept of how to do that.
He’d hired strippers, put out drugs, and brought in fucking mixologists. The party had lasted three days and nights, and I’d checked out on the first night after a couple drinks. Just shown my face and gotten the hell outta there because I had work to do, and I’d always despised that drug shit.
Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he gulped audibly. “You left on the first night, right?”
“Yeah, I faded out and proud of it.”
“But Felicity stayed.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I hadn’t been able to tear her away from the bar. She’d planted her butt on one of the stools and blatantly refused to move an inch. She’d flirted openly with the mixologist. “She came home like two days later and spent the rest of the week in bed. Hangover from hell.
“Yeah, well, I was there the rest of that night, and I saw something that’s been fucking with my head for the last year. I should’ve told you sooner and saved you all the shit you went through with her. I should have—”
“What did you see?” I asked and lowered my voice. A door slammed somewhere down the hall, and Luke’s eye twitched. “Come on, man, it’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal. I’m supposed to be your friend. I gave you shit this morning about not being yourself, and I treat you like this in return. It’s not right.” Luke cleared his throat. “Look, I saw Felicity with someone else.”
“The bartender?”
“No,” Luke replied. “She was at the bar for ages, and I was talking to another girl. She was cute, and we were both a little tipsy. A model. She spotted Felicity and went crazy. She tugged on my arm and asked me if I knew her. When I told her I did, she asked to be introduced.”
“OK?” What was he going to tell me? That Felicity had gotten experimental with a model at Brigman’s house? I wouldn’t put it past her. “Where are you going with this?”
“This model wanted to know her, so I introduced them. Felicity insulted her then walked off. I took offense. She’d make both of us look like assholes. So I followed her,” Luke said, swallowed again. “I found her upstairs, five minutes later. She was with Brigman.”
“They were fucking?” I asked, bluntly.
“No, kissing, but it was pretty
clear that it was headed in that direction,” Luke replied. “I yelled at her and asked her what she thought she was doing, but she laughed and closed the door on me.”
“And you never told me.”
“No,” Luke replied. “Every time I tried, Felicity magically fucking appeared.”
“But you didn’t.” It didn’t surprise me that Felicity had cheated with Brigman. She’d done it with countless others, and I’d only caught her later on, but I’d always worried. “Why not?”
“I was a coward,” Luke said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me, and you’d get angry that I’d told you what you’d consider to be lies. I didn’t want to lose your friendship or jeopardize our working relationship. It was selfish of me.”
“And you carried this guilt with you all along. Knowing that you had this information I didn’t know?” It made sense. Luke had avoided me for two weeks after Brigman’s party. He’d also acted strangely for a while after, but I’d never figured out what the problem had been.
I probed my emotions, searched for the anger that should’ve built inside me at the apparent betrayal. Was it truly betrayal if it’d been an omission? He’d stood back and allowed me to continue loving Felicity. But I couldn’t find disgruntlement at Luke, not even on my deepest level.
Because I’d always known Felicity wasn’t for me, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it. And being with her had been good for business. Luke avoiding telling me the truth had been good for business on his part, and I understood that.
That was how artificial our lives had become. We could do things that might seem nasty to others and forgive each other for it because we understood what it was like to be put in that position.
What would I have done if Luke had told me then that Felicity had cheated? Flown off the handle, yeah. Accused him of lying? Maybe. Maybe but I’d have ultimately asked Felicity for the truth, she would have lied, and I would’ve believed her. Same outcome.
It’d taken seeing her in bed with someone for me to realize that I couldn’t continue lying to myself. It was easier to have the hot Hollywood couple and none of the drama of press interfering in my single life. Or so I’d thought.
“Jay?” Luke cut across my musing. “I’ll understand if you want me to get the fuck out. If you want me to drop off the project after this.”
“No,” I said. “No. It’s all business in the end. Bad business, good business. This is what happens when you mix pleasure with it. I should never have been with Felicity in the first place. I put myself in a difficult situation by being with her, and consequently put you in one, too.”
“Nah, bro, there was no excuse for what I did. I should have told you.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s over now. You don’t need to feel guilty about it. I probably would have done the same if our positions were reversed.”
“Shit,” Luke said. “You’re saying that to make me feel better. But yeah, seeing that was part of the reason I refused to talk about Felicity with you, and why I hardly spoke to her at all. Even now, I find it difficult.”
“I understand,” I said.
Luke raised his fist and I bumped it. “What I’m trying to tell you is I don’t want you to get hurt again. I failed you once, and I don’t want to fail you again. If you’re into this chick, I’ll respect that and try to support you, but I can’t sit back silent if she’s going to fuck you around.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.” I patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you about the script, all right? I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
“Sure, man,” Luke replied. “I’m glad I finally got to tell you this. Relieved you don’t hate my guts.”
I cuffed him on the shoulder. “Keep safe, man.” I rose from the egg chair and nearly clipped the back of my head on its rim.
“Where are you headed? Do you want to take the Porsche?”
“Nah, I can’t reach where I’m going with the Porsche,” I replied and looked out of the window at the approaching dusk, a lavender haze on the horizon sinking between the trees and across the street. It would be dark soon. I’d have to use the flashlight on my phone to get there, and I didn’t trust I’d find my way in pitch darkness.
I hadn’t exactly memorized the route the last time. I’d been too focused on Aurora and her beauty.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I smiled then headed for the exit and let myself out into the quiet evening. The air smelled of crisp pine and hot macadam. The world cooled after the heat of the day, and I strode toward the road, hands in my pockets.
Moondance wasn’t too far away, neither was the spot Aurora had shown me on our path back from her mother’s cabin. I had the night to breathe and consider my next move.
Drop it all for her, or shove my feelings aside and remain professional?
Chapter 20
Aurora
I took off my apron and hung it on one of the hooks in the kitchen at the Bar and Grill, phone in my hand, staring at the message he’d sent me. It was the weirdest moment, receiving it. The calls had been one thing, they were easier to ignore, just a push of a button or stowing the cell in the bag under the bar but this? These were his words, written out and sent directly to me.
And they made me fucking angry.
Why should I allow him a moment to apologize when it was both our faults? And why did it infuriate me that the paparazzi had come between us? I should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.
He was Jarryd Tombs, and I was the new stylist, apparently.
Except I wasn’t. I was done being the one who got overlooked or judged, and he needed to know that. No, I didn’t want his apology. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind.
What would he have done if the roles were reversed? Would he have hung around in the background like some lovesick puppy dog while I was flocked by reporters and photographers? Doubtful. He had enough of an ego that he’d have stormed off, too.
“You all right?” Jerr nudged me.
“What? Oh yeah, fine.”
“It’s just, you’ve been staring at the hook on the wall for about three minutes now.” Jerry nodded to my apron.
“Sorry,” I said and managed a laugh. “I guess I’ve got a lot to think about.” I bid him a farewell then left the kitchen and the restaurant behind. Outside, darkness bathed Moondance in anonymity. The street lamps provided the only light, and clouds hung low, hiding the stars and the moon itself.
I had to go. I adjusted the straps of my handbag, felt the cold tube of pepper spray in the side pouch then set off down the road. The cabin wasn’t too far removed from the road, far enough to keep the quiet, and the dirt paths to it were small enough to allow only foot traffic.
I’d walked the path out to the cabin countless times. Moondance was safe enough, but nerves still jerked inside me. The day had frazzled me. Chewed me up and spit me out.
“Chill,” I muttered. This wasn’t the worst thing that’d ever happened to me.
So, my ex was an asshole, and the man I’d fallen for—fallen for, good god—happened to be totally inaccessible and probably didn’t need my drama in his life. No big deal.
I strode down the sidewalk under lampposts that cast vignettes of light on the concrete and road. The surrounding town fell back, and I found the path I’d walked so often in the two years I’d lived in the cabin with my mother.
I entered the forest, surrounding myself with the gentle rustle of leaves and the noises of all the tiny creatures of the night. Rodents scurrying through the grass, the hoot of an owl. Sounds that had scared me as a kid now soothed me.
The fool walking ahead, spontaneous and free, but unthinking of what might lie ahead.
I snuck beneath the branches, over roots and rocks, across the dirt path toward the cabin in the woods. It reminded me of one of the childhood fairytales my mother had read me as a girl, tucked up in bed. Sweet stories or ones about witches and children leaving breadcrumb trails behind to find their way home.
Every story had captured my imagination, but nothing had ever truly captured my heart. Until now.
I brushed a few leaves aside and came out into the clearing at the lake. Across from me, the cabin was shrouded by darkness. I scanned the space in front of it and spotted him. Jarryd’s shape, broad-shouldered, seated on the bench beside the lake. He had his phone in his lap, and the blue light from the screen illuminated his slightly hooked nose, the smooth forehead, his eyes gazing at the screen. Fixed on it.
I slunk around the side of the lake, observing him. My heart pit-pattered faster. I cracked a twig, and he looked up.
“Aurora?” he whispered and switched off the cell phone’s screen. “Is that you?”
“No, it’s the rider of the apocalypse.”
Jarryd hesitated then rose from the bench, a tall, dark shape beside the squat outline of the bench. “Weren’t there three of them?”
I walked to him then, right up to him, and peered up into his eyes. The tiniest glint of light—a parting in the clouds above to allow a sliver of moonlight through.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I replied.
“You did, and you came,” Jarryd said. “Listen, before you say anything, I want you to know how sorry I am for what happened today.” His smell, the light cologne he wore, that same musk of his skin, inhabited my nostrils and scoured the anger from my mind. “I can’t imagine how you felt.”
“I bet you can’t. I bet you haven’t been in a situation where you were the fan boy doting on someone more important than you,” I replied.
“I’m not more important than you, Aurora. Shit, I’m not more important than anyone else. We’re all part of this,” he said and opened his arms. “The planet. I don’t know. I’m not good at this philosophical stuff.”
“I get what you’re trying to say, and it’s sweet.” It was sweet, but it didn’t change much. I’d felt miniscule this afternoon. How could he consider me seriously when I was so far beneath his notice? Or rather, he was so far beyond my reach.