Into Thin Air Page 10

  More connections emerge. I’ve been wanting to get away and be alone for a while; I finally got it with my own suite. I helped that woman with the mustard-colored luggage; she was wearing a cowboy hat. I didn’t wear glasses at the resort; I’ve often wished I didn’t have to wear them. I hate my hair here; it was perfect there. My biggest fear is to die in a plane crash; the helicopter crash came close enough. Not to mention Sam’s fear of how he was going to die—that was the worst way.

  My hand hurts from writing so fast. I wiggle my fingers and rotate my wrist, then remember something else. I sunburn easily. I was in the sun constantly, and I never got burnt. In fact, I got a little tanned. I run to my bedroom to look in the full-length mirror. I yank the collar to the side to check for a tan line from the bikini strap, and my shoulders droop. There’s nothing.

  I’m scrambling for any clue that this dream was real.

  Maybe Mom was right. There was a reason the people were blurred out and things looked fuzzy when I was with Sam. It’s because it was a head trip. I think everyone has dreams where things seem fuzzy on the sides. But why did I see clearly enough that I didn’t need my glasses?

  There were no distinct days or times. They all seemed to run into each other. I thought it was normal because I was in love. I never asked where I was. I’m sure the name of the hotel was on everything, but it never registered with me. The name on the brochure doesn’t ring a bell. This resort is in the Cayman Islands.

  The only time things were clear was when I was with Sam. I can still hear his voice in my ear, I can feel his stubble tickling my neck and the way his gaze burned me in the most intimate ways. Our warm, naked bodies fit together perfectly. He liked me exactly the way I was—pale, lanky, full of freckles… and no makeup.

  I miss him so much it hurts on a level I’ve never felt before. My heart is stuck in a vise that’s getting tighter every minute I know we’ll never be together again.

  I’ve written down every detail I can remember. The clock says it’s 4:00 p.m., which means I’ve been writing like a lunatic for the last two hours. My tea is next to me on the table, barely touched and cold. I took off my robe at some point, and the sun is out again. I’m sure my hair looks like I put a knife in a toaster.

  What do I do with all this information? Who can I talk to that won’t think I’m a total loon? I could call Gale, but I don’t want to bother him with more of this nonsense. He’s already done enough.

  I bow my head and massage my temples. And then one more memory pops up. I told Sam I like to write. He told me to write about us and the resort. It’s a brilliant idea. I need to capture every detail of him and our love.

  The story of us would make a great book.

  Chapter 18

  Sam

  Jenny slides the new suit jacket up my arms and smooths out the shoulders once it’s on. I adjust my shirt sleeves by the cuffs.

  “You look fabulous,” she says to me in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. “It’s a good thing we could buy you another suit yesterday. The explosion trashed the other one. But I wish they hadn’t cut off your sexy hair just because of a stupid bruise on your forehead. There was only a little cut. Thankfully you were able to get it corrected yesterday by a good hair stylist.”

  The tailored black suit does look good, but I only bought it so Jenny would stop talking. She was blatantly disappointed in me when I told her about the interview and wouldn’t lay off. I don’t feel 100 percent yet and can’t handle the constant chatter. And it’s worse when she’s with her mom.

  Was she always this annoying? I have no patience right now.

  “I don’t think a fancy suit and a haircut—good or bad—will get me the coaching job. I play soccer in shorts.” I try to step away from the mirror, but she won’t get out of my way.

  “I don’t know why you’re interviewing for this job. You have years left of playing soccer.” She shuffles through her giant makeup bag. “Should I put some cover-up on that horrible bruise? It’s turning a little orangey-brown. It doesn’t match your eye color or your suit.” She dabs a brush in beige powder, releasing a cloud of it to linger in the air. She lifts it to my face.

  I duck out of the way. “No way. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to wear makeup. They need a new coach, not a model. I think whoever I meet will understand why I have a bruise on my face. Also, they’re used to injured soccer players. They’ve seen it all. Back off a little.”

  I like my bruise. It reminds me of when Ellie threw the lemon at me. She had horrible aim. I’ll never look at a lemon the same again. I skim the bruise with my fingers and smile for a moment.

  “What are you smiling about? You never smile at me like that,” Jenny snaps and stomps out of the bathroom. I shake my head. Never a dull moment.

  She hasn’t brought up the fact that I was screaming Ellie’s name instead of hers when I woke up in the hospital. I’m assuming she snapped just now because of it. Well, I’m not going to bring it up. She’s acting like I was never even in an accident. Her main concern is a meeting at Carlotta’s divorce attorney’s office. A meeting she doesn’t even need to attend.

  Her mother’s going through her third divorce. This marriage only lasted three years. The soon to be ex-husband, obviously, is not Jenny’s birth father. She has no contact with him. I’m not quite sure what her mother thinks she’ll get out of this divorce. California’s a no-fault state. All assets are split in half.

  “Why exactly do I have to go with you and your mom to this law office today? I have nothing to do with her case.”

  She scowls at me. “I’ve told you several times. I gave my portfolio to one of the associates, hoping it would fall into the right hands. If they see me with you, the famous Samuel Moore, then maybe they’ll take more interest in me.”

  “So, you’re using me to gain attention. Again.” Just like Cass said… and I pretty much knew already. But it didn’t faze me before. So why does it now? “I might be a popular soccer player for LA Galaxy, but I’m not David Beckham.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist. “You know you’re more than popular. You’re my David Beckham, and I’m never going to let you go.”

  Unfortunately for her, I will let her go.

  “Let’s take a picture for Instagram.” She pulls me to her side and puckers her lips. I don’t smile on purpose. She checks the picture and says, “Look how good I look. You have your typical puss on your face and I can see your bruise. I’ll just cut you out of the picture.”

  Please!

  “What do you need me to do when we get to the law office? I want to arrive at SU earlier than necessary, so I need to leave pretty much right away.”

  “What does SU mean?” she says as she taps away on her phone.

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?” My jaw hurts because it’s clenched so tightly.

  She actually breaks away from her phone and says, “No.” The damn thing is attached to her hand twenty-four hours a day.

  “Seattle University. Do you ever listen to a word I say?” I tighten my gray tie.

  “I just need you to walk in holding hands with me. That way, maybe someone connected to my mom’s case or from Image Inc. will recognize you and realize we’re together. I’m sure we’ll see the associate Mom and I met in LA. I talked about you nonstop. She didn’t seem like the sporty type, though, so I’m not sure she recognized your name. When I first met her, I thought she was a model. Her suit looked like it was sewn on her. She had beautiful hair, perfect skin with freckles, and I’d kill for her long, slender legs. She should quit her day job as a lawyer and model instead.

  “Anyway, it takes more than beauty to become a model—you have to know the right people. Hopefully, they saw me on TV with you when the news channels tried to interview you when we left the hospital.”

  I grab my computer case and shove my wallet and phone into my pockets. I can’t believe I got any of them back. I would’ve thought they’d be broken or lost.

  “Don’t be disa
ppointed if your plan doesn’t work. It won’t be my fault. Go check on your mom in her room, and I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ll order us a taxi.”

  A few minutes later, I find myself in the lobby asking for another hotel room. I could’ve asked Jackson to do it, but I’m tired of relying on people. I was going to suggest Jenny stay in her mom’s suite, but I decided to take another room for me instead. I need some time alone to straighten out things in my head and think about my future. I thought Ellie was my future, but she was torn away from me.

  I can’t stand it when Jenny touches me. We already had some issues before I came to Seattle, but I didn’t pay much attention. What was I thinking? The doctor did say a near-death experience could change how I view my life, and I didn’t only survive one near-death experience. I’ve had two. There was the explosion and then the helicopter crash.

  He was right. I’m a different man, but it’s mostly because of Ellie.

  “Mr. Moore. Here is your new room number and key,” a young man says from behind the counter.

  “Please do not tell anyone the room number. Especially Jenny Parton or Carlotta Weis,” I say with a firm tone.

  “I understand, sir.”

  Another employee of the hotel approaches the counter. “Excuse me, Mr. Moore. Just so you are aware, paparazzi are parked outside.”

  I groan. “They’re here because of me?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “How did they know I was here”—I read his nametag—“Mr. Mack?” My biology teacher in high school had the same name.

  “I don’t know, sir. It’s strictly prohibited for hotel personnel to reveal who our clientele is. Maybe someone from outside knew you were staying here and told them?”

  Jenny.

  I see red right now. “Is there a back entrance where a taxi can pick us up?”

  “Yes. I’ll arrange a taxi for three. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be at the coffee bar.”

  Jenny knows how I hate it when reporters or paparazzi follow me around. Professional soccer has become more popular in the States, and I play for the same team that David Beckham did, but I never looked at myself as famous. Or maybe I did.

  Of course you did. You were a Class A peacock.

  I don’t mind when random people come up to me now and ask if I’m Samuel Moore. They aren’t paparazzi. They ask for an autograph or a picture. I’m happy to do it, because I appreciate that people recognize me or are soccer fans. I love soccer, and I want to play it as long as I can. I have ever since I was a little boy playing in my backyard. But paparazzi? No.

  I dial Diana’s number. She picks up after one ring.

  “Sam. What’s up? Ready for the interview?”

  “Did you tell someone where I’m staying? Paparazzi are parked outside the hotel.”

  “Hell no. I only spoke to Cass and Jackson about it. You know I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ll take care of it.”

  I massage my neck. “There’s only one other person who would.”

  “Jenny,” she snarls. “She can’t keep her mouth shut, can she? You’d think she would’ve learned from the last time she leaked something. I’ve always said she couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Well, she won’t be around for much longer. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you after the interview. Ciao.”

  I contemplate leaving without them, but I don’t want to make a scene right now. This interview is a life changer, and I don’t want to screw it up. Once I’m finished, I’m flying back to LA as soon as possible—hopefully to begin the process of leaving there for good. Relocating to Seattle would be a way for me to start over.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Moore, your taxi’s here. The two women you were waiting for have already gone to the car.”

  “Thank you.”

  ∞

  “Do I look pretty, Samuel? Would you turn your head if you saw me walking down the street?” Jenny asks me with desperate eyes.

  “You’re here with me, aren’t you? If I didn’t find you attractive, I wouldn’t have asked you for your number months ago.” A huge smile grows on her face.

  When I think about what I just said, I realize how very shallow it was, and it disgusts me. Am I really only with her because she’s beautiful? Is that the type of person I am? Or was? I don’t know who I was a week ago. What I do know is that I liked who I was when I was with Ellie. When I’m with Jenny, there’s no connection anymore. Yes, I liked her in the beginning, and the sex was great, but that’s all it was.

  The taxi stops in front of a modern building with shiny gold panels in the front. I ask the driver to wait for me and get out. Jenny and Carlotta don’t get out of the car. They’re waiting for me to help them out. Jenny reaches for my hand like she’s royalty. Then Carlotta does the same. What the fuck is this?

  This is my nightmare, and Ellie was my reality. Why am I doing this?

  Jenny loops her arm through mine and pulls me to the entrance of the building.

  “I’ll give you five minutes, and then I’m leaving. I’m not in Seattle to be your arm candy.”

  She glares at me briefly. “Fine. But you are for the next five minutes,” she snaps as she plasters on a fake smile.

  Stay calm. I should walk away, but I need to avoid any confrontation. My interview is my focus.

  Carlotta walks in first and then Jenny. I enter, and Jenny grabs my hand. Carlotta approaches the receptionist. The front door opens behind us, letting in a light breeze. My senses go into overdrive, and I drop Jenny’s hand. I smell her. Ellie!

  I hear Carlotta say, “Stella Crimson. How are you? We have an appointment today with Stephanie Stanten.”

  Crimson! But Stella?

  I spin in their direction. Ellie’s eyes spring open when they connect with mine, and she freezes in position. “You’re alive,” she exclaims. I almost say Ellie, but her face drains of color and her eyes roll back in her head. Her computer bag slides off her shoulder, and she faints.

  Chapter 19

  Ellie

  “Stella!” It’s Dora, the front receptionist. Her high-pitched voice would rouse a corpse. “Wake up. You fainted.” She shakes my arm gently. “I almost called 911.”

  I blink several times and force myself into a sitting position.

  “He’s alive!” I blurt out in confusion. Am I dreaming again? “Where is he?” Several people circle me, wondering what’s going on. The phone at the reception desk keeps ringing.

  “I think she fainted when she saw my boyfriend, Samuel Moore. He does that to women, you know. You could see the stars in her eyes.”

  “He sure got my attention. Yummy.” A woman I don’t recognize fans herself as she speaks. Another woman nods her head in agreement.

  Dora rubs my back. “I think you’re still under the weather after the airport accident. You shouldn’t be here today, honey.”

  “Are you talking about the explosion in the Seattle airport?” someone asks curiously.

  My focus becomes clearer. I recognize that voice. It’s Jenny Parton, with her mother standing behind her.

  I straighten my glasses and pat down my shirt. “Yes, I was there. I was released from the hospital yesterday.”

  “That’s so weird. So was my boyfriend, Samuel. Is that why you said, ‘you’re alive’? Samuel seemed confused when he saw you too. Do you know each other?”

  I can’t keep up with this. Sam’s girlfriend is Jenny Parton? I don’t believe it. She’s the complete opposite of me. Jealousy rages through my blood toward her, along with anger toward Samuel.

  “Your boyfriend is Sam? Your… boyfriend?” There’s an unfamiliar, vicious twang to my voice that surprises even me.

  Jenny glances at her mother, then at me. “Yes. His name is Samuel. We’ve been together for months. What’s the problem? And again, how do you know him?”

  Now look who’s jealous. I need to chill out before I act more irrationally. I have no claim on him. The Sam I know is not the Sam I just saw.
His hair isn’t even the same. I remind myself again that it was only a dream. I keep hoping that I’ll finally accept it. But why is he here, and was he surprised to see me too?

  “I think we met right before the explosion. I fell on his suitcase. At least, that’s what I remember.” I change my tone of voice so it isn’t so defensive. “Is he still here?”

  “He wanted to help you, but I told him to leave. He was late for an appointment.”

  “Was he injured by the explosion too?”

  “He had a slight concussion and was out for a couple of days, but he’s doing well now. He has an ugly-ass bruise on his forehead, though.”

  From the lemon I threw at him. But he doesn’t remember me. He can’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have run off. How much more disappointment or shock to my system can I handle? This is the nail in the coffin, proof that nothing I thought I knew about him is real. I made it all up in my stupid little mind. The man of my dreams. What a load of shit. It’s amazing how the brain can create its own version of reality.

  But it doesn’t make my heart hurt any less. If anything, it hurts more.

  I’m about to break down, but I can’t do that in front of these people. They’ll think I’m mental and weak after I just fainted. My coworkers know I’m tough as nails. Tears bang on the doors to get out, but I lock them in tightly.

  “I think I can stand up now.” Dora wraps her arm around me to help me up. “Thank you.” My legs are shaky, so I hold on to her in case I drop again.

  Suddenly, I remember what Jenny said. I turn and ask, “Why on earth would I faint because I saw your boyfriend? Who cares?” I do, but that’s irrelevant at this point.

  “Well, he’s Samuel Moore. The star player of LA Galaxy.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s swatting away a bug.

  I lift my eyebrows. “Am I supposed to know what LA Galaxy is? A helicopter company? Isn’t he a pilot? Or is it a video game?”

  A couple of women chuckle behind me. Jenny glowers at them.

  “What? I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it.”