A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (24 page)

“What would you do if you were me?” I ask.

“Fly to Australia.”

“Really? With the mother I have? You’d do that?”

She nods. “That’s what you want to do, and maybe your mom isn’t that kind of person—maybe she wouldn’t do it for you—but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it for her. If I found out my birth mother was missing, I’d go. Doesn’t matter that she hasn’t wanted me around.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”

“Because that’s the kind of person I am, and not even she can change that. Besides, no one, no matter how awful, deserves to be abandoned at a time like this, you know? Your mother’s in trouble. She’s vulnerable. She needs help, and I’ll bet she feels like she’s got no one. And who knows? Maybe this’ll convince her to see things your way and stop calling you sentimental.”

“Uh, no. That would never happen.”

“Even now?” says Kyra. “People change when the situation is dire enough, and this sounds serious. If it were my mom, I’d go and hope that she learned how much I care about her from the whole experience. If she blew me off, then yeah…” She shrugs. “But I’d give her once.”

I cup my hands around my mug of warm milk and watch the steam rise from the surface.

“And if she blew me off, it’s her loss anyway, because I’m awesome.” She smiles.

“You are,” I agree.

“So are you.”

I shrug at that.

“Lizzie, any intelligent person who knows you would do anything to keep you in their life. People like you are rare.”

Kind words, but I still feel awful. “You took on the world’s media and told them all to stuff it when they blamed you for Triple Cross’s breakup. I don’t think I can stand up to the producers and say, ‘See you later. Gotta jet to Australia.’”

“Yeah, but that’s because you care about the people who rely on you. It’s not a weakness.”

“Thank you for figuring out how to put everything nicely. That’s a talent.”

“Come on, Lizzie. It’s not hard with you. You’re a
good
person. You are totally there for people. Especially people who have no one else. You’ve gone to the rescue of how many sick children?”

I sip my milk.

“How are things with Devon?” she asks.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just…how are they?”

“I love him.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“How?”

“Just the way you look at him. The fact that you train with him every morning when you don’t really need to. The way that you keep working things out with him no matter how complicated it gets.”

“I’m gonna get slaughtered here, aren’t I?”

She takes a deep breath. “Well, yeah. He’s not the nice, sweet guy he was seven years ago, and I think you know that deep down.”

I nod.

“But so it goes. Love hurts sometimes.”

“It’s a horrible process.”

“It really is. Whoever designed it was a very sick and twisted individual. But I swear to you, when you find the right person, it’s all worth it.”

I drink more milk. “Thanks for coming out to talk.”

“Any time. I know I’m out a lot and that things with you and Zach aren’t exactly good, but you can always talk to me.”

“Same here. I guess I should get back to bed.”

“Okay. Night.”

“Night,” I say.

I return to my room, finish my milk, and stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up. Ten minutes before my alarm goes off, I switch it off and text Devon.

Lizzie:
Really sorry, but I can’t make it this morning. I hope you get this in time to sleep in.

Then I get up, shower, pick at some oatmeal for breakfast, and call the Northern Territory Police.

“Hi,” I say. “It’s Lizzie Warner? Shannon Warner’s daughter.”

“Oh, hello,” says the woman who answers. “You’ll be wanting to know about your mum?”

“Yeah. Any news?”

“None yet, dear. I’m so sorry. They’re still searching.”

“Is there anything I can do? I wanted to hire an extra helicopter.”

“That’s sweet of you, but no. We’ll just keep you updated. Was there anyone in the department you wanted to speak to directly?”

“Um, no,” I say. “But thanks.”

“All right. We’ll be in touch.”

I pick at my breakfast some more before I call the driver of the car that picks me up every morning. “I’m home right now,” I explain. “No need to go by the gym.”

When I show up to work, everyone is clearly surprised that I’m there, and no one even dares ask how I am. I get ready to do my scenes, but my mind and heart aren’t in the work, and I wonder if that makes me look unprofessional or just human rather than all messed up and ice queen.

I make it through the day, but when the PA hands me my sides and call sheet for tomorrow—along with instructions not to wear any underwear beforehand—my resolve cracks. Maybe I can’t single-handedly rescue my mother, but I need to do something.

“Listen, I am
really
sorry about this,” I say. “I need to fly to Australia.”

Nobody, not one of the overstretched, overwhelmed crew, reacts with disgust or disappointment. All I get is respect and kind words. Not even Kevin gives me a hard time.

He nods and says, “Good luck. Let us know.”

The network offers to fly me by private jet, but I turn them down. I’ve cost them enough money, and they can always fly me back if they need to get me here on their schedule. Cleo books me a flight out that leaves first thing tomorrow morning and the car takes me back to my apartment building.

I’m not hungry for dinner. I don’t care that Zach and Kyra aren’t there. I’m not even stressed about the lack of updates from the police. Or maybe I’m so stressed that I’m numb. I’m like a zombie, wandering around, not packing, not resting. It’s as if my heart doesn’t know how it’s supposed to feel, so I’m just at loose ends.

At around nine, my phone pings with a new text.

Devon:
Missed you this morning. Everything all right?

I grab my purse and keys and head out the door.

W
HEN
I
KNOCK
on Devon’s apartment door, there’s no response. No rustling inside. Nothing. The lights are off, and he’s probably out for the night. All the same, I knock on his door again, and this time a light winks on. I see its pinprick of illumination in the peephole and a thin line of it around the blinds of the window.

Someone coughs inside, fumbles with the doorknob, and finally opens the door.

I brace myself to see some girl in one of his T-shirts ready to scream at me, but it’s just him, wearing pajama bottoms and nothing more.

“Lizzie?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He’s still a little dazed.

I dart past him, into his apartment, where the futon is now folded out as a bed, the covers rumpled. The air is slightly musty.

“I woke you up,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s stupid. It’s… My mom’s missing.”

He scrubs his hands through his hair and stares at me a moment. “That is not stupid. What happened?”

I begin to pace the room, stepping over his discarded clothing, books, and dirty dishes. These barely make an impression on me.

“She was in the Australian outback, out of touch for a couple of days, and when they went to look for her, they found her camp abandoned, her phone still there, and then they found her jacket at the bottom of a ravine. No idea where she is or how long she’s been without food or any way to call for help.”

“You flying out there?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I feel like a diva because they do need me back to work on the show and… I just don’t even know if I should be leaving, but it’s my
mother
and—”

“Okay, okay.” He cuts in front of me to stop me pacing and grasps me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. What do you need? What can I do?”

Our gazes lock, and I feel his hand on my shoulder falter.

“Devon,” I whisper.

Before I can react, he’s kissing me. His arms wrap around my waist and his hands grip the back of my shirt.

I press my body against his and put my arms around his neck. The bare skin of his back is warm and smooth, and his touch is exactly what I’ve craved all this time.

He pulls away.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“Hang on.” He pauses a moment to catch his breath. “Just…yeah… Hang on.” He holds me at arm’s length.

And I can’t help it. I start to cry. One moment, I’m in the only place I want to be, and now I’ve been shoved out in the cold once more.

“I want to be with you,” I confess.

“Meaning what, exactly?”

I blink. “Just…I want you to hold me and…I don’t want to have to act like nothing ever happened between us.”

He relaxes his grip on my arms but holds up a hand to keep me from coming closer. I watch as he grabs a shirt from off the floor and pulls it on.

“Devon,” I whisper.

He holds up a hand again. “Give me a minute.”

I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze tight while I watch him take a few more deep breaths and massage his temples with his fingertips.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You are a sexy, gorgeous woman in my apartment at night is what’s wrong. My mind’s going places you’re probably not ready for.”

“Oh. Really?”

The look he shoots me is pure reproach, as if I’m a complete idiot.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” I say.

“I’m a guy, Lizzie. We’re always interested.”

“Right,” I whisper. “But you’re not
interested
interested. The fact that it’s me instead of some other random girl doesn’t matter.”

He shoots me another sharp look, but this one has an undertone of bafflement. “Excuse me?”

“I love you,” I confess. Then I cringe, expecting him to throw me out on the spot.

“No, you don’t. Just… You’ll find your mom and—”

“Yes, I do. I’ve tried not to act like all the other girls who keep begging you for more, but here I am.”

“Lizzie…”

I blink and more tears slide down my cheeks.

“Stop, please. You trying to make me ravish you? Come
on.”

I fold my arms and fix my gaze on a dirty sock draped over a plate full of crumbs on the floor.

He follows my gaze, curses under his breath, and starts to clean up. Dirty clothes get flung into one corner and plates get stacked in a heap in the sink.