A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (28 page)

“And that’s not because she’s Australian,” I babble. “She just didn’t care.”

Devon comes up more than once. “I want the guy he used to be. If I could find someone like that, I’d be so happy, but that’s not him anymore and I feel like a total idiot, but I still love him,” is the gist of the strangled sentences I manage to get out.

Kyra listens the entire time. I don’t hear her pause to eat, drive anywhere, talk to anyone else. Things are so quiet that she could be seated in a white, soundproof box, and every time I pause, she reminds me that she’s there and she’s listening.

As I wind down, I say, “I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. That is not how this works.”

“Thank you. So I’ll be home in a couple of days.” And for the first time, when I say “home,” I don’t just mean the place I sleep most nights. I’m coming back to where my heart is, battered and bruised though it may be.

“Cool. Give me your flight times.”

“I’ll text them.”

“Okay.”

“Have you seen Devon?”

“Yeah. And no, he doesn’t say anything.”

“Oh.”

“And you shouldn’t care.”

“Right.”

“Girl, we’ll get you through this, okay? Promise.”

When my plane lands in California, I’m like a zombie again. I slept, but sleep on planes doesn’t count for much. The moment I step into the terminal, though, I’m where I belong. It isn’t just the sound of American accents all around. It’s the feel of the air against my skin and the sight of the airport interior. I’ve been here so many times throughout my life.

Alone, I clear customs and let them search my bag—something that rarely ever happened to me before. When I reach the arrivals lounge, I look up and down the line of waiting people, searching for Kyra, but see no sign of her, so I pull out my cell phone.

“Can I help you with your bag, ma’am?” says a voice behind me.

I startle and turn. Devon stands there with his arms folded across his chest.

“Hi.” There’s no masking the surprise in my voice.

He nods towards my suitcase and holds out his hand.

“You sure you want to be seen wheeling a pink suitcase?” I say. “The paparazzi who took pictures of us before are probably around here somewhere.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye at my mention of paparazzi or the pictures of us. Maybe he never saw them. “Real men don’t fear pink.”

“So…that means I should take the suitcase or…” I lift an eyebrow and wait.

He smirks at me and grabs the handle. “Very funny.”

I want to hug him and kiss him and pour my heart out to him, but his stance is too guarded for me to dare.

“Could Kyra not make it?” I ask.

“No. She asked me if I could cover.”

“Oh, okay.” Confusion wells up inside me. Why would she call him?

He jerks his head towards the exit and I follow him out into the dry, evening air, across the lanes of traffic picking up passengers, and into the parking garage, where he leads me to his beat-up old Honda.

“Not as nice as your ride,” he says.

“Oh, well, I
guess
I can tolerate it just this once.”

“That’s big of you.” He hoists my suitcase into the trunk and nods to let me know the doors are unlocked.

The interior of his car smells like him, like sweat and aftershave and soap and musk. I inhale and shut my eyes. This is excruciating. If he’s trying to be friends, there’s no way I can endure it anymore. That thought feels childish, but it’s true nonetheless.

My phone rings as I settle into my seat and I see that it’s Kyra. “Hello?” I say.

“Don’t stop for dinner on the way. I’ve got stuff here.”

“Oh—”

“Because Devon would probably just take you to a drive-through or something. Zach and I, we’ll get him to sit down and stay awhile.”

“Um…thanks?”

“I know he’s the one you want, so…it’s worth a try, right?”

“Sure.” I’m still confused and I have no idea how to get Devon up the stairs to my apartment. Should I tell him dinner’s there waiting? My gut tells me that this would never work. He’d run.

The car creaks as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “You hungry?” he asks.

“No,” I lie. “But thanks.”

“Okay.” He starts up the engine and pulls out of his parking space.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“No problem.” His attitude is aloof as he swings the car around a corner and heads for the exit.

At the payment window, I pull some bills out of my wallet and press them into his hand. He looks uneasy but uses them to pay and hands back the change without a word.

My stomach churns. That was awkward, and I’m thoroughly exhausted. I lean my head back as he pulls out of the parking garage and onto the street.

“So…how’ve you been?” I ask.

“Same as usual. You know, just running on a treadmill like a professional hamster.”

Caught by surprise, I laugh. “Oh, right. Yeah. That’s how I always think of you.”

“I knew it.” He smiles at me.

And I just melt. Why can’t this be simple? Why can’t he just give me a try, let me be good to him, and see how he likes it?

“So I bet your mom was happy to see you,” he says.

I think over my answer a moment. The polite thing to do is just say yes. I take a risk and opt for honesty.

“No. She was so mad I left my show for her.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That’s how it is with her.”

“I hear that.”

I shrug. “I try not to be angry about it.”

“Well, you’re a better person than I am. I still hate my mother.”

I look over at him.

He looks back immediately, but I can’t read his expression. He’s entirely closed off.

“Sorry if the press bothered you while I was gone,” I say.

“Eh.”

“I mean, did they?”

He glances at me. “Yeah. Some guys followed me to work after I dropped you off and started asking me all these questions. I didn’t say anything. Just ignored them.”

“Good. That’s about all you can do.” I want another smile, a pat on the knee, permission to lean over and kiss his cheek or rub his shoulder, but I don’t dare try any of those things.

As if sensing my thoughts, he gives me another uneasy look, and I fold my hands in my lap and sit with my knees together for the rest of the drive. Every minute of silence that passes is a minute wasted in my book. It’s a missed opportunity to talk to him, tell him that I love him, ask him if we can try being a couple. But perhaps the silence is better than risking outright rejection. The ride would seem
really
long if that happened.

Once we arrive at my apartment complex, I’m relieved that he says, “I can help you take your suitcase up.” Kyra will take over when we arrive at the apartment, and I trust that she’ll know what to do to keep him there, provided she is actually on-board with this.

He follows me into the building and into the elevator. His posture is tense, though, and withdrawn, and I wish I knew why. Is my building intimidating, or does he just want to get away from me as soon as possible? For the millionth, time I wonder if he saw the paparazzi picture of us kissing and, if so, what he thought.

The door to my apartment is open, and Kyra’s laughter rings inside.

“You live in the penthouse?” Devon asks.

“Prepare to be underwhelmed. It’s just a two-bedroom with nice views.”

“Oh, is that all?” he teases. I can tell that just the sound of Kyra’s voice puts him at ease though, which is also strange. Does he not know she hates him? Or did something happen while I was en route from Australia?

“You!” she snaps when he shoulders his way in the door behind me. “Oh, and hi,” she says to me.

“Hi.”

“You are going to stay for dinner,” she commands Devon.

“I am?”

“Yes. As a thank-you for picking Lizard up.”

The bathroom door opens and Zach steps out. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s Devon,” says Kyra.

“Do I have to like him?”

“Up to you,” she quips.

He looks Devon up and down. “So you’re the butch personal trainer?”

“And you’re the girly boy-bander,” Devon shoots back.

“Yeah, he’s all right. You staying for dinner?”

Without looking at me, Devon says, “I guess so.”

Kyra and Zach go to get the takeout boxes they’ve left in the oven to warm and set them out on our barely used table in the dining nook. They got an assortment of dishes from a noodle bar, which makes it easy for everyone to customize their plates.

I know better than to stare at Devon, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He seems comfortable joining the crowd and dishing up food for himself. Kyra and Zach take one side of the table, and Devon drops into the seat next to me without comment. I almost wish he were sitting opposite so I could look at him. Every time he shifts his weight, I wonder what he’s thinking and what his expression is.

Zach takes care of the small talk, as the only person in the room who doesn’t know Devon. “So I hear you’re really good at your job.”

“Spreading compliments about me will not get Kyra any fewer push-ups to do.”

“Dang
it,” she mutters.

Zach laughs. “How’d you end up a personal trainer?”

“Well, I didn’t finish high school when I was eighteen…”

“Me neither,” says Zach.

“Me three,” I chime in.

Kyra pauses mid-chew and looks around. “What?” she says. “What are you guys looking at? Okay,
okay.
So I’m not one of the cool kids at the table.”

“So as you were saying…” Zach returns his attention to Devon.

“I got started up in Seattle and got a job with a gym and I just liked it. I dunno. Nothing much to tell. Got tired of the rain and moved down here.”

“Where’s your family?”

I wonder if anyone else sees him go tense. “I don’t have family,” he says.

Zach just nods, indifferent.

“But I grew up in Montana.”

“Oh yeah?” says Zach. “I’m originally from South Dakota.”

“I think I knew that,” says Devon. “I had a little sister who was into your music.”

“Mackenzie, right?” says Zach. “Lizard told us about her.”

“Do they really call you Lizard?” Devon asks me.

I nod.

“All her friends call her that,” says Zach.

“As in both of them.” I point to Kyra and Zach.

“No, don’t count Logan out.” Zach smirks at me.

“Oh, right. My mistake. He calls me Lizard too.”

Devon chuckles. “Does that bother you?”

I shake my head. “You should hear the things I’ve called them.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” says Zach. “Can we hear what you’ve called us?”

I blink, all wide-eyed innocence.

Devon just shakes his head and carries on eating. The meal goes too fast for my taste. Before I know it, we’re cleaning up the dishes, putting leftovers in the fridge, and loading the dishwasher.

“Can you stay?” Kyra asks Devon. “We were gonna play a game and it’s better with four people.”

I love her so much right now.

“What’s the game?” Devon asks.

“Strip poker.”

“Um…”

“She’s kidding,” I interject. “Whether she
realizes
it or not, she’s totally kidding.”

“Trivial Pursuit,” she amends. “More fun with two teams of two than three people all playing against each other.”

Devon hesitates, and I sense him look sidelong at me.

“Come on,” says Zach. “I need you on my team if I have any hope of beating Kyra.”

Devon shrugs. “Sure.”

Dang
, I think.
My friends are good at this.
I just wish I knew why they were doing it.

We get out the game board and choose our markers. Zach and Devon sit on the floor on one side of the coffee table and Kyra and I sit on the couch.

“Any questions about anyone in this room don’t count,” says Kyra. “We just pick another card.”

We roll the dice and I end up asking the first question in the People and Places category. “This former Mr. Universe—”

“Yeah, throw it out,” says Devon. “Sorry guys. Didn’t realize I’d be in there.”

Zach busts out laughing and punches him in the arm.

I make good use of the opportunity to smile at him and restart the question. “This former Mr. Universe—”

“Arnold Schwarzenegger,” says Devon.