Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (17 page)

A
fter dinner
, Grant brought me back to my apartment as Brayden went to his apartment to grab his things. I knew Lucas and Grant both had to work tonight and they'd obviously talked to Brayden ahead of time about staying with me that evening.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Lucas asked.

"I'm not going to let you miss work to watch me paint," I told him.

"That's not a hardship." He leaned down and kissed me, his tongue stroking the roof of my mouth, taking his time…and it took everything I had not to beg him to stay.

And he knew it, too. "Prowly
and
cocky," I informed him.

"I can't complain about either title," he said as Grant half-dragged him out, muttering something about not being able to fit his ego through the door.

I closed and alarmed the apartment, with Brayden looking over my shoulder, of course. "I've got this."

"Just checking," he said innocently. "Why don't you go do your work?"

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Never, babe."

In truth, he knew I was itching to paint. I saw him move toward the couch and told him, "Take the bed," but he shook his head, and I realized he wanted to be close to the door. It was, logically, the only way anyone could be entering to move the paintings around, but it seemed like a long shot.

Still, he set up on the couch, the TV on low, and shooed me into my studio.

I went gladly. I had my sketch of Lucas on the couch from last night but I didn't refer to it as I painted on the large canvas. The image of him, protective and prowly, was burned into my brain, down to his feet.

I was smiling as I painted. And when I finally dragged myself to the comfy overstuffed chair in the studio to sketch more, I was exhausted. I fell asleep for maybe twenty minutes. I woke with such a start that I found myself standing straight up like a soldier. I blinked a few times, reached back to steady myself with a hand on the high arm of the chair behind me. It took several minutes for me to realize what I was focusing on—the paintings, of course, but slowly I took them in, left to right. Over and over, I scanned them.

And then I screamed.

Brayden burst inside the room, immediately put his arms around me. I was shaking, but all I had to do was point and he knew.

"Shit." He paled as he stared. "Ryn, I was awake. What the hell?"

"The window," was all I could manage, but he was calling Lucas or Grant or both.

When he hung up, he said, "They said they'll bring the video footage here and we can look at it together."

"I don't know if I want to."

"Then they'll look at it. They don't want to invade your privacy, but checking the footage of your studio is the only way to see who came in," he said quietly.

But when he went to lead me out of the room, I stopped him. "Take pictures of this order. It's different."

He didn't argue, snapped iPhone pictures quickly as I tried to take note of exactly what had changed.

"The
Man In Trees
pictures are involved this time," he said quietly. And they were, spaced in between the commissioned paintings.

I let Brayden lead me out of the studio and into the living room. With a glass of whiskey and a blanket, I curled on the couch with him and waited for Lucas.

Ten minutes later, he and Grant were there. Grant went to talk with Brayden while Lucas came right to me.

"I knew I should've stayed," he told me.

"Brayden was right here, on the couch. He was awake. I was working. Then I fell asleep—not for long and I don't know how it could've happened. He didn't fall asleep. Unless someone came in the window…"

"You know what floor we're on?" Brayden asked from behind us.

Lucas glanced up at him and back at me. "Someone could've worked quietly. If their intent is to freak you out, it worked."

I rubbed my arms. "Definitely."

"The window's wired," Grant said. "No one got into this place without the key and the code."

"Not even you?" Brayden asked.

Grant's eyes narrowed. "Point taken. But we have footage."

"Let's play it," Brayden said.

"Ryn?" Lucas asked.

"I don't want to see it. You guys watch it. Please—I have to know but I don't need to see it."

Lucas nodded. He got up to move near Grant, and Brayden moved to me. "I'll wait with you."

"Thanks, Bray." I grabbed his hand and forced myself not to look over to where the laptop was.

"We can end this once we know," Brayden was saying, but I barely heard it over the noise in my own mind.

And then everything was quiet. Too quiet. I forced myself to look up when Lucas said my name, and he and Grant both looked uneasy.

"What's wrong? Who do you see?" I asked, although my voice sounded far away, even to my own ears.

"We watched it on fast forward so we could look for intruders without invading much of your privacy," Grant told me. "I want to show you what we found."

"Come on, Ryn," Lucas said, and Brayden and I went toward the laptop together.

Hesitantly, I focused on the screen. There was my apartment door, the living room, my bedroom and my art studio all showing at once. There was nothing and then…me, coming into the art studio. Grant pressed fast forward and I saw myself painting Lucas, then moving to the chair. I watched myself fall asleep and then pop up, just the way I'd woken up.

No surprises but… "What am I doing?" I asked out loud, stared closer at the screen. Because I wasn't standing there waking up. I was moving, toward the paintings. Picking up the paintbrush, then putting it down, and I hadn't done that when I'd woken up.

I was standing in front of the paintings then, and they were in the order I'd remembered leaving them in.

At least they were, until I started moving them around.

I was sleepwalking…and I was moving the paintings around.

Moving them. Staring at them. Reordering them. Standing back and gazing at them, shaking my head as if trying to make sense of them.

I was the intruder. I was the one breaking into my own life, trying to break into my past and break it open…

I was the intruder in my own life.

* * *

"
Y
ou want your memories
," Lucas murmured when I'd calmed down somewhat. It took several shots of whiskey to get me to this point, and I was curled on the couch, blankets around me, with the promise that Grant would return with food soon.

"I'm not taking those pills."

Lucas didn't say anything, but I knew what he was thinking. I also didn't think I'd been moving my own paintings.

"You should take the pills away from me. Take them to your place."

"Suppose you need them?"

"Fine. Sleep here while I work. Pocket the pills—or take the pills up to Brayden's."

"You've got nothing to prove to me. If you need the pills—"

"I don't."

"You take them," he finished. "You've done nothing wrong. Your memories need to come out. They're trying to tell you something. So listen."

"I feel like I'm going crazy. Like something inside me is trying to take over, and it's winning."

Lucas's eyes clouded after I shared that. "You're not crazy."

"You don't know me, Lucas, because I don't even know myself," I challenged. "What if I escaped a mental institution? Or prison? What if I'm a murderer and I've had surgery to avoid detection?"

"Like in 'Face Off'?"

"This isn't funny."

"No, it's not. Because I do know
you
, Ryn. I know you jump in to help your friends, that you can kick ass, so there's bite behind your bark. I know that you lose yourself in your work and you could never be with someone who doesn't get that or accept it. I know how to make you come, hard and fast and slow and easy. I know your body better than you."

I blinked at him, because he seemed to know more about me than I did. And then I held the pill bottle to him. "There should be a full bottle. I haven't been taking them at all."

Lucas took the bottle from me and opened it. I expected to see more pills pour out than what sat in his palm.

I practically whispered. "You have to believe me."

"I do," he said shortly. "But you've got an enemy."

One that was determined to drive me over the edge. I turned from Lucas and the pills and back to my paintings. "The flowers…Lucas, I didn't buy myself the daffodils. I know I didn't."

His expression hardened. "You haven't gotten any since we put the alarms in place, right?"

"Right."

"I hate to say this, but if you were bringing in the flowers yourself, you'd still be doing it."

"So someone was coming in here with the flowers," I said in a whisper. I wasn't sure if I should feel better or worse about that, but at least I knew I wasn't totally crazy. "I wasn't making it up. I swear—it happened."

"I don't think you were."

But then it sunk in. "What if I was sleepwalking? What if I thought other flowers were daffodils when I was in one of my fugue states?" I hated the way he looked at me, sympathy and worry. "I have to find out what's in my past. I have to, no matter the cost."

He blew out a breath that hissed between his teeth. "Did you ever stop to consider that it might be better for you to never remember your past?"

I answered without hesitation. "Every day of my life."

A
week later
, I met with Gabrielle for lunch at her apartment. Her interview teasers were beginning to leak and I couldn't go online without seeing a mention of the movie or of her. We'd texted daily since our lunch but this was my first time seeing her.

Since he knew that Gabrielle had shared her past with me, Lucas didn't seem worried about me seeing her, and neither did Brayden or Grant, so in my mind she was cleared. Surely none of those men would allow me to get close to a threat.

I'd let my guard down with her, maybe too fast, but she'd been in the right place at the right time. She'd read me, and anyone else might've taken advantage of my vulnerable position at Jared's book party. But she'd been in one too, with a career burgeoning like a swelling wave, and we clung to each other and our respective secrets. Next to Brayden, Lucas and Grant, Gabrielle was the first outsider—and the first female—in my life I'd ever considered a good friend. Susan was my mother figure, but beyond her, I'd always shied away from women.

Meghan was probably the best example of why.

"Hey, thanks for sneaking in to see me!" Gabrielle threw her arms around me when I entered her apartment. I'd gone through the garage to avoid the paps that had been stalking her since the news of her part in the movie broke. Thankfully, I was still able to stalk around mostly unnoticed, especially away from the gallery world.

Gabrielle could've used me for publicity. Then again, I could've used her too.

"No problem," I told her as I hugged her back then unbundled myself, taking my hoodie and cap off. She'd set up a beautiful meal by a picture window with the gorgeous view of the park she had. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not planning on googling myself ever again, but I think I'm okay. I'm already booked on a million shows for the week the interview comes out, so I'll let you know then. I might need to hide out at your place for a while."

"Just let me know."

"Come sit and eat."

I noticed that the elegant trays of food were all comfort foods—dumplings and potatoes and empanadas. An 'appetizer is the main meal' kind of party. Plus chocolate cake. "This looks delicious."

"I know." Gabrielle smiled and began to fill her plate as I settled in across from her and did the same. "I'm not eating carbs this week, so you're not seeing this." Then she gave me a semi-devious look. "Want to see the script?"

"Ugh. I've seen enough of Jared's work to last me a lifetime."

"True." She pointed the fork in my direction before spearing another dumpling. "He doesn't know we're hanging out. But he never talks to us. Any directions? He whispers to the director. Then the director tells us, like we don't know where it's coming from. It helps that the guy playing Jared is way less douchey than Jared actually is. No offense."

"Zero taken. Are you and said co-star getting cozy?"

"There's chemistry, but he's very married. I won't fuck with that. Damned Midwestern values." She took a sip of wine. "Any new developments?"

I shrugged. "It's all so messed up. Jared is still bugging Brayden about using my paintings in the movie. He refuses to take no for an answer. Made Brayden promise to convince me.”

Her brows rose. "Um, that's crazy that he won’t just stop."

"That was my first reaction. But…" I told her Brayden's theory. She downed the last half of her glass of wine in one gulp. "I guess you don't agree."

"I just want Jared to leave you alone. That fucker.” She filled her wine glass. "No more after this for me, okay?"

"I have no shoot to get up for."

"Young ingénues can't have circles," she said. I saw no evidence of any such circles on Gabrielle's face and she wasn't wearing much makeup either. She just looked relaxed. "Have you been working a ton?"

"Trying to." I took a second helping. I hadn't wanted to mention the part about my paintings being moved…or that I'd been sleepwalking. Not until I understood it all better myself.

"You said that you know Jared made up your past, right?" Gabrielle said suddenly. "I guess what he imagines it to be. But the thing is…how would either of us know if that were true or not?"

We wouldn't. It was my turn to gulp the wine. "Is that why I never heard from him again?"

"The way he talks about you in the book? Like you're the one love of his life who got away."

I rolled my eyes. "And thank God for that."