“Hmmm.” Concern weighed heavy in his tone. “Should I be worried?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure about anything.” She sighed. “I just need to see you, that’s all.”
Twenty minutes of traffic later, Bailey pulled into the Will Rogers parking lot and saw Brandon’s car parked close to the sand. His was the only one in the lot.
They were alone for now. Somehow the paparazzi must have missed him, or maybe they couldn’t be bothered to hunt down celebrities at midday. Thank you, God. We need this … please, give me wisdom, help us both hear Your voice.
She parked next to his newly leased gray BMW, the latest in a series of vehicles he rotated through in an attempt to confuse the paparazzi. Her chest felt too tight to breathe deeply, so she didn’t try. Instead she grabbed two water bottles from the backseat and stepped out of the car. The smell of saltwater was rich in the afternoon air, the sunshine on her shoulders warmer than it had been since last fall.
A strong wind blew off the Pacific, and Bailey shaded her eyes as she scanned the beach. She didn’t see him at first, but then she spotted him on the lifeguard tower. He was standing at the railing, staring out at the water. His body language told her that he was deep in thought, as if maybe he had an idea about why she wanted to meet, how she was feeling unsure about staying in Los Angeles.
She set out across the sand, glad when the wind let up a little. He seemed to sense her presence, because he turned her direction when she was only part way to him. Without hesitating, he started down the stairs toward her. He stopped when they were a few feet apart, lost in her eyes. He looked broken, terrified of whatever she had come here to tell him. Their last conversation must’ve really made him think. But in a move that was classic Brandon, he smiled and seemed to force himself to let go of his fears. Then he pulled her into a hug that lasted a long time. Warm in his arms, Bailey doubted herself more than she had all week.
“This must be serious,” he slid his face alongside hers, their cheeks brushing lightly together. He kissed her slowly, with a desperation she’d never seen in him. “Everything’s okay, baby.” He searched her face. “It is.”
She allowed herself to live in his eyes for a long moment, but just when she was going to tell him about her thoughts of maybe returning to Bloomington, she heard the sound of cars screeching into the parking lot. “No!” She grabbed his arm and together they ran for their cars. “Why does this always happen?”
Brandon took the lead and kept to her pace. By the time they reached their cars, ten yards away the photographers squealed up in two sedans. They spilled out and grabbed cameras from the trunk and backseat.
“Use my car,” Brandon shouted, running with her toward the passenger door. The wind had picked up again and it was hard to hear above the sound. “Get in. I can lose them.”
A scream rose in her throat but she swallowed it as she slid into the seat and he slammed the door. He ran around the front of the car, they had their cameras up. “Brandon, don’t leave! Let us get some pictures,” one of them yelled. “Why do you run? We always catch you.”
Bailey slid lower in her seat, her heart pounding. She hated this, being chased whenever they were in public. She didn’t have it in her to fake a smile, which meant the story would be about them breaking up. She couldn’t handle that. Especially now, when she was trying to decide whether she could stay another week in Los Angeles.
Brandon jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and sped into a squealing U-turn away from them. Bailey looked over her shoulder and watched them run back to their cars. “They’re gonna follow us.”
“I’ll lose them.” He sounded angry. “I said I would, Bailey.”
She sat back in her seat, shaken. He’d never talked to her like this, so what was happening between them? He sped across the parking lot and made a dramatic right turn on Pacific Coast Highway. She had no idea where he was going, but it didn’t matter. Suddenly the photographers chasing them weren’t nearly as important as one very obvious detail.
The question marks sucking the oxygen out of his BMW.
Six
BAILEY GLANCED AT BRANDON’S PROFILE AS HE DROVE. HE WAS clearly upset, focused on the road, speeding at the outer limits of safe. The intensity in his jaw told her this wasn’t the time to talk. So she looked straight ahead. Her heart slammed around in her chest, faster and louder than when they’d been running up the sandy beach. Did he really expect her to be fine with this? With paparazzi chasing them along Pacific Coast Highway? Putting their lives in danger?
The moment had an uncanny, terrifying resemblance to the ones Dayne Matthews had once lived with. It was a time like this that had caused Dayne’s nearly fatal accident on this very highway. She tried to breathe deeply, but she couldn’t. Her heart raced faster than before. If the constant danger caused by the photographers wasn’t trouble enough, there were the lies splashed across the tabloids.
Brandon shot her a quick, serious look. “I’m taking you out on my yacht.”
She blinked and shifted so she could see him better. “You have a yacht?”
His face relaxed a little. “Yes.” He smiled and it erased some of the anger in his eyes. “I thought I told you.”
“Uh,” Bailey uttered a bewildered sort of laugh. “No. You never told me.”
“I don’t use it much.” He set his jaw again, glanced in the rearview mirror, and returned his eyes to the road once more. “Our first time out shouldn’t be like this.” He sighed. “I was going to surprise you with the trip today. The captain lives in Marina del Rey, and he’s already on board, fueled up and ready to go.”
Bailey felt the air around her grow thinner. He had planned this? A trip on his yacht? How could she tell him she might leave Monday for Bloomington when he cared so much, when he would do anything to connect with her and talk to her? She cracked the window and tried to take a full breath.
“What?” He didn’t sound angry like before, but he wasn’t happy. “Why the whole window thing? You’re still worried about those guys.” He clenched his teeth. “We’ve lost them. I told you … trust me.”
“I’m not worried.” She craned her neck around and searched the two-lane highway behind them. If they were still being chased, for the moment Brandon had lost them. No frantic drivers appeared to be gaining ground on Brandon’s car. Bailey faced the front once more. She couldn’t tell him how she really felt. Not yet, anyway. Her mind raced, searching for a safe topic. But none came to mind.
He kept the car at top speeds until they turned left into the gated marina parking lot. “They’re gone. They’ll never follow me onto the water. Takes a whole other level of paparazzi.”
Bailey wanted to believe him. She stared out at the marina and the yachts lined up one after another. “It’s beautiful here.” Bailey turned to him. “I can’t believe you never said anything.”
“Well.” He eased the car to a stop and settled back against his seat, his hand gripping the wheel. He looked more like himself now, but his tone still held a weary edge. “Compared with the ride I’ve been on since I met you, it didn’t seem that important.”
He had a point, and again Bailey’s stomach ached at the thought of the conversation they needed to have. How could she tell him how she felt while they were out at sea together?
He parked in an underground lot, and as he killed the engine he leaned hard into his side door. “That whole race here … it wasn’t how I planned this.” He looked at her. “Please, Bailey … every time a photographer jumps out of a bush, it’s not the end of the world.” His frustration from earlier remained. “You make it exhausting.”
“Because it is.” She didn’t want to fight, but she couldn’t let the moment pass without at least trying to explain herself. Her voice grew louder. “It is exhausting. Always wondering who’s following us or what kind of pictures they’ll take and how they’ll lie about them in grocery stores across the whole country.”
“Who cares?” His tone matched he
rs, both of them more upset than they intended to be. “Nobody believes that trash.”
“You can’t be mad at me for wanting my privacy.” She pressed her open hand to her chest. “I didn’t grow up with this, Brandon.”
“But you don’t have to react to it.” He lowered his voice, but clearly he wasn’t giving up. Fear and determination mixed together in his expression. “Don’t you see, baby? They want to break us up. If we let them … they win.”
“We aren’t breaking up.” Bailey hated even hearing him talk like that. Still, he had a point. Moments like this made the paparazzi the winners. They were creating the drama they liked telling people about. Even now the paparazzi had given her no time to explain herself, no time to ease into the conversation. It wasn’t just the constant sense of being chased. The problem was with Hollywood itself, and the lack of projects she would even consider being a part of. And now CKT needed a director — at least while she thought about the big picture of her life. Like whether she should audition for Broadway shows again, among other possibilities.
Her head was spinning, so she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her knuckles. “Please, Brandon … can we go? Can we get out onto the water?” She paused, dizzy from the sadness and confusion fast dancing in her mind. “I can’t think in here.”
Brandon released a burst of air, in a way that filled the car with defeat. He stepped out, and before she could open her door he was there, opening it for her. “Thank you.” Her voice was weak, tired, because of how she dreaded the talk ahead. Maybe the struggle was all her fault, her fault she couldn’t handle the photographers and her fault she didn’t like LA.
He grabbed his bag from the backseat, shut the door, and locked the car. He started walking fast toward daylight, but then stopped and held his hand out to her. She hesitated, but only for a few seconds, then she caught up and let her fingers slip between his as they headed for the boat docks. Tears stung at her eyes, because everything about Brandon was still wonderful and amazing and full of the sort of love she’d never known before. And as they walked through the gated ramp and out to his yacht, she couldn’t think of a single reason why she would mess things up between them now.
The sun was even warmer than it had been at Will Rogers, and though they walked in silence, the tension between them eased. Bailey could feel her heart start to relax. That didn’t mean she should stay in LA, or that she could avoid the conversation ahead, but it made what she needed to say possible. After all, if she returned to Indiana, she wasn’t breaking up with him, right? Just taking a step back. So she could be sure she was headed in the right direction.
Before they reached the boat, the sound of screeching tires sounded from behind them. Bailey whipped around, but Brandon tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t look. The gates are locked.” He kept his gaze straight ahead. “They can’t reach us. We’ll be behind tinted glass before they can snap a picture.”
Bailey’s knees trembled, but she kept walking, following Brandon’s lead.
He forced a smile, ignoring the commotion behind them in the parking lot. “This is it.” Brandon led her onto the boat and toward a doorway to a living room on the main deck. He didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic, but he was trying. Even behind the privacy glass, she could hear the paparazzi shouting at them. But Brandon was right. They couldn’t get past the locked gate.
As if no one was shouting at them or snapping pictures of the yacht, Brandon motioned toward a small flight of stairs headed to the lowest deck. “The bedrooms are down there, and the top deck is sort of a covered observation area. The captain can pilot the boat from up there or here, on the main level.”
“Wow.” Bailey tried to put the paparazzi out of her mind. She sat on the built-in sofa. “It’s beautiful, Brandon. Do you get out on it much?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “The studio uses it to entertain producers and other actors. I’ve only been out once in the last year.” He stepped into the small kitchen. “I had them stock it with turkey and bread … fruit and avocados. Bottled water and iced green tea.” He smiled at her. His expression was still weary from the past hour, but clearly he was trying to start fresh. “I thought maybe we’d sail along the coast and eat out by Paradise Cove. Spend a few hours on the ocean together.”
Bailey felt her heart melt under his gaze and the sincerity of his words. He never would’ve taken her on his yacht to impress her. It had only come up now because she wanted to talk and he figured the ocean would give them time alone. Time away from the photographers. “I’m touched, Brandon … really.” She ran her hand over the leather seat beside her. “That you would think of this. Today.”
As they talked, the captain came down from the top deck and introduced himself. His name was Alex and he was a thirty-something guy from Ukraine. He turned to Brandon. “The paparazzi are aware of our trip.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Yes, sir.” Alex smiled. “Ready, then?”
Brandon nodded. “Definitely.”
The captain hurried up the stairs again and in no time they were backing out of the slip, headed through the marina toward open sea, leaving the photographers behind them. Motion didn’t usually bother Bailey, but between the craziness of the afternoon and the conversation she still needed to have with him, she quietly prayed she wouldn’t get sick.
They sat inside, across from each other on separate sofas watching the marina pass by behind them, not saying much. Brandon pointed out the boats belonging to a few other celebrities — yachts much larger than his. “I like getting out here when I want to.” His face looked relaxed, the way she was used to seeing him. “But I definitely couldn’t live on the water.”
“So you don’t need a floating mansion.” She understood him. The way she had always understood him since the day they met.
“Exactly.”
When they cleared the breakwater, the sea grew choppy and Bailey grabbed a handhold anchored to the wall near the sofa. “Is this … normal?” She’d never been on a yacht. Her parents had taken the family on a cruise years ago and she remembered the gentle feel of the ocean beneath her. But the way the boat pitched and yawed now made it feel like they might capsize.
“Yes.” He chuckled and moved carefully from his sofa to hers. “Come on … let’s go up. It’s a better view.”
She felt the doubt in her expression. “When it’s this rough?”
Brandon smiled. “You won’t fall.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”
“You’re crazy.” She took tight hold of his hand, but when they reached the stairs she kept a death grip on both sides of the railing the whole way up. He followed her, and as she stepped onto the top deck, she turned back to him. “We’re safe?”
“Yes. I promise.” He laughed, but she barely heard him over the sound of rushing wind and water and the yacht’s engine. Brandon yelled so he could be heard. “We’re fine. I promise.” When they reached the top deck, they fell together onto one of the cushioned bench seats.
The view from up top was stunning — they were alone, with sparkling deep blue water as far as she could see, the shoreline of Southern California far in the distance. Bailey held tight to the railing and relaxed a little. As she did, Brandon slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“I’ve got you, Bailey.” He spoke close to her ear. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “There.” His voice mixed with the wind, soft against her skin. “Now I can see your eyes.”
She waited, lingering in the moment. “What do you see?”
“Fear … walls.” He hesitated. “You’re ready to run.” He soothed his hand over her hair, still close to her. “What’s wrong, Bailey? What did I do?”
The boat was further out now, the water and wind less rough so she could hear him more easily. She didn’t look away, didn’t break the connection between them. “It isn’t you.” Still, Bailey held tighter to the handhold. How was she supposed to tell him she wante
d to leave, that she wanted time? “I’ve been thinking about everything.”
“About us?” Surprise and hurt shone in his eyes. “I thought this was because of the paparazzi, us being chased all the time.”
“It’s that. But it’s all of it, everything about living here.” Bailey put her hand alongside his face. “It feels so —”
Before she could finish her sentence, the rotating sound of helicopter blades broke the serenity of the early afternoon. “What in the —” Brandon stood, whirled around and caught himself on the frame of the canopy.
Bailey turned too, but she didn’t stand. She didn’t have to. The helicopter raced along the water straight for them and as it grew closer Bailey knew what was happening. There could be only one reason a helicopter would come after them. “Paparazzi.” Bailey grabbed Brandon’s hand and rushed to her feet. “Let’s go back down.”
“No!” Brandon stood straighter than before, glaring at the approaching chopper. “If they want pictures of us on my yacht, they can take them.” He turned to her, the anger from earlier blazing in his eyes again. “Right? I mean, so what? Why should we move for them?”
“Brandon.” Captain Alex hadn’t said anything until now, but he adjusted his sunglasses and stared at the helicopter, “She’s right. If you stay up here they’ll come pretty close. Could be dangerous.”
“It’s fine.” Brandon seethed, his body rigid, ready to fight.
She wanted to argue with him, but instead she sat down, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it through her whole body. He took the seat opposite her, so he could see the helicopter.
“Don’t run, baby. We have a right to sit here.” He clenched his teeth, his eyes locked on the chopper, which had almost caught up to them. Bailey shivered and crossed her arms, looking from the captain to Brandon. This was ridiculous, sitting out here like human targets.