Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (14 page)

* * *

A
fter 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."

I
n 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 conceited, 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."

She stared at me and finally the hint of a smile ghosted along her lips. "I guess you'd know, right? Based on your first show and all."

"And that turned out…great." I managed to balance the last word with enough brightness and sarcasm to make her burst out laughing.

And then I joined her.

"Ah, I needed that," she said, wiping her eyes carefully with the pads of her fingers. "I've been too much inside my own head today."

"Yeah, I know what that's like." I gave her a sympathetic frown. "Want a drink?"

"Desperately."

Two shots of tequila later, we turned to sipping the amber liquid on the rocks and she was confessing that reporters had been threatening to look into her past if she didn't grant them exclusive, behind the scenes interviews on Jared's movie.

"Are there people in your past who will talk?" I asked carefully.

"Aren't there always?" She took a sip of her drink and winced. "I'm too much of a lightweight for this." She paused. "Is that why you didn't say much in your interviews?"

"Yes," I said honestly.

"You know they won't ever give up."

"I know that too." I wanted that, but it wasn't the time to share it. Yet.

"I think that's why I was drawn to you. Because I feel like you understand secrets, and you do it well. I need to learn that." She sighed. "You'd think I'd have come to terms with this a while ago."

"You were being superstitious. Not counting your chickens."

"I guess." She slid her drink away. "I guess I'll just have to deal with it when it comes out."

"Won't your manager handle it?"

"If I chose to tell him." Her mouth curved in a wry smile. "In this business, it's hard to trust."

"I get that. What about Jared?" I asked carefully.

"What about him?"

"Maybe…he could write your memoirs?"

She laughed a little. "I barely have a career."

"It could be an article," I pointed out. "Who better to talk about this with than the man who's going to put you on the map?" God, I couldn't believe how crazy this was, but Jared definitely had experience in spinning things. "You could make sure you have control over the article too. Come up with the way you want to come across. Surely, Jared would understand."

She nibbled her bottom lip for a second. "It's not a bad idea…but Jared? He's very…"

"Self-absorbed? Out for himself?" I said and she nodded. "Draw up paperwork. Or find someone else. There's got to be someone for hire for this kind of thing."

"You're right, Ryn. I've got to take control of it myself."

I wondered if maybe I should be taking my own advice. I clinked my glass to the one she'd set down and finished my drink, for both our sakes.

* * *

L
ucas
and I ended up in bed almost immediately after he came by, sometime after two in the morning. I was covered in paint and he ended up the same. We showered off sometime before sunrise and had coffee before we'd even slept.

I loved this upside-down life of mine. Loved that I had someone to share it with. Lucas seemed to thrive in this mixed-up world of nights and days the same way I did.

"Are you done working?" he asked.

"I think so." But in reality, I never knew. If the urge hit, I'd leave the bed and start drawing or painting. "I met with Gabrielle today. She came by the gallery and wanted me to have lunch with her."

"You knew she got the part," Lucas said, letting me know that he'd been following the gossip closely, and certainly not for his love of movies or tabloids.

"I knew. She's freaked out."

"Why?"

"The fame. The fact that people will dig into her past."

"And she's got one?"

"Enough of one that she was thinking of giving up the part. I told her to find a way around it, told her to figure out a way to tell her own story before anyone else did," I said.

"You're a good friend, Ryn." He paused. "Sounds like you've got a lot in common."

"I'm being careful. And no, I don't think she's working for Jared—not like that," I told him. "She seemed really scared."

"She's an actress," he pointed out.

"And I've got a gut intuition that I follow," I shot back.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad or doubt yourself, Ryn. I'm trying to protect you. Let me."

"How?"

"Let me find out about Gabrielle's past. Then I'll know if she's being truthful."

I thought about it for a minute. "Fine. But don't tell me about it, okay?"

"Deal."

I knew Lucas wouldn't share it with the world, but this way, he'd see that Gabrielle was telling the truth and then I could be comfortable in our growing friendship. I might not need a huge group of friends, but having another female in the mix was nice.

"What's really bugging you?"

I shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, but he knew better. "I just really feel for her."

"Why?"

I bit the words out before they clogged my throat. "I can feel her fear. She's worried she's going to lose something she's worked so hard for." I paused. "I'm sure you can guess my biggest fear."

He sat back. "You're worried that if you get your memories back, you'll lose your art."

Hearing him say it—hearing someone else say it out loud besides me—made the fear both bigger and yet somehow more manageable. Maybe because it was somehow now shared. "Suppose I lose it? Suppose getting my memories means losing whatever creates that art? You said it yourself when you met me."
Protect whatever the hell makes those.

"I guess it's something you'll have to decide if it's worth chancing…what you want badly enough."

"I don't know what I want that badly," I confessed. When he raised his brows, I added quickly, "Besides you."

"Better. And don't forget, Ryn, that you're already here, out in the open. I think you've already made your decisions. You're just trying to be at peace with them. For tonight, at least, let's just be." He tugged me down on top of him and we lay on my bed, in the middle of the night, in the rain. And it was perfect, this just being.

How long could things remain perfect? In my estimation, maybe another ten minutes.