Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  Tentatively, I opened the bathroom door, peeking around the wood. When the coast was clear, I pulled it open farther and glanced across the room to the bed.

  It was empty.

  A giant sigh of relief escaped me, and I moved out into the bedroom.

  “I made tea,” an abrupt, unexpected voice announced.

  I screamed, one of the crutches falling to the floor.

  “We really need to work on your jumpiness,” Nick said, appearing soundlessly to pick up the crutch.

  I turned sideways so he couldn’t see me. “I thought you left.”

  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t?”

  “No,” I told him. “Go home.”

  “I will after you pack your stuff.”

  “What?”

  “You said you couldn’t stay here anymore.”

  “That didn’t mean I wanted to go home with you!” I nearly choked on the words. What the hell was he thinking? “Are you on drugs?”

  “Despite ample opportunity, no,” he mused like this conversation was fun for him.

  I flung out my arm behind me. “Give me my crutch.”

  Instead of placing it in my outstretched hand, his own curled around mine. My stomach dipped and rolled unexpectedly, making me feel like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster.

  “What are you doing?” I said, sounding embarrassingly breathless.

  “Giving you this back,” he explained. His voice was close, and his body stepped closer. His heat brushed against me, his chest rubbing against my shoulder. The hand holding mine lifted my arm to gently place the crutch beneath it.

  Still holding my hand, he guided it down to the handle, where he showed my fingers how to grasp on.

  As if I didn’t already know.

  I couldn’t say that, though. Sarcasm just wasn’t something I was capable of in the moment. No words were. My heart somehow jumped into my throat, leaving my chest hollow but my neck unexpectedly full.

  My stomach wouldn’t stop flipping, and my skin was starting to tingle.

  “I need to get ready,” I said, hoping he didn’t hear the unsteadiness in my voice.

  Finally, his hand lifted off mine, and some of the tension relented. It didn’t last, though. More skyrocketed through me when that same hand smoothed over the side of my head, pressing against the red-hooded robe I was wearing.

  “I like my hoodie better,” he told me before turning and leaving the bedroom.

  The second he was gone, I deflated like a balloon with a sudden puncture. If it wasn’t for the crutches, I’d be in a puddle on the floor.

  I was so vulnerable to him in so many different ways. It frightened me so much that my fingers shook with it.

  “Why the hell don’t you have any coffee?” he yelled from the kitchen.

  A laugh bubbled up inside me.

  “I don’t drink it,” I yelled back, going to sit at my vanity. It was covered in everything I needed to disguise who I really was and make me into the woman I let everyone see. I’d gotten quite skilled at the process, and something that used to take me quite a while, I could do now in about an hour.

  Water dripped from the ends of my damp hair, sliding down my back beneath the robe. I squirmed uncomfortably, wanting to drop the hood so I could pull out the damp ends and let the robe soak up the drips.

  Just as I was about to pull it down, Nick appeared once more.

  Ducking, I stared at my lap so he couldn’t see me in the reflection of the mirror. “You should leave.”

  “There are reporters staking out the front.”

  I gasped. “Again?”

  “They were here yesterday?”

  “They’ve been here almost every day since Hollywood Access aired,” I replied, picking at a string on the robe.

  He cleared his throat. It sounded ominous to me.

  I sighed heavily. “What?”

  “Pretty sure they know that’s my SUV out front.”

  I buried my face in my hands.

  “I should have parked a couple blocks over. I wasn’t thinking too clearly last night.”

  I groaned.

  “Here,” he said. The clink of a mug against the top of my vanity made me glance between my fingers.

  “You made me tea.”

  “I told you that earlier,” he muttered. “I don’t know how you drink it.”

  “Black with honey,” I answered offhand. “What are we going to do about the press?”

  He left the bedroom, reappearing with a bear-shaped container of golden honey. Had he gone through all my kitchen cabinets? “Really made yourself at home,” I muttered, annoyed.

  He chuckled like he was proud of himself before uncapping the bear, holding it in front of me. I stared at how small that honey bear looked clutched in his large hand.

  Taking my inaction for something else, he cleared his throat. “I won’t look.”

  I added the correct amount of honey to my tea and used the spoon he also provided to stir it in. “Thank you.”

  “You really don’t have any coffee?” he asked, hopeful.

  I giggled. “Sorry.”

  “Savage,” he muttered. After a deep sigh, he said, “I’ll get rid of the press.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I have people.”

  “Shut the door,” I called as he walked out.

  “I won’t look.”

  “Shut it!”

  The latch shut with a definite click.

  Flipping the hood off my head, I picked up the tea for a sip. Just the way I liked it. Stealing a glance over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door, I couldn’t help but smile.

  The bedroom door opened soundlessly, and her dark head peeked out. “Are they gone?” she whispered as though I’d invited the press inside for a meal.

  A meal that did not include coffee. Seriously, who the fuck didn’t have coffee?

  Chuckling because she looked so cute peering at me, I rose from the sofa. “For now. But we should go before they come back.”

  Stepping into my full line of sight, I got my first good look at her since yesterday. She was dressed in a pair of distressed denim overalls and a snug white shirt with sleeves that went to her elbows. The hem of the jeans was frayed and nearly touched the floor.

  Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, the layers all styled to fall against her face. A curtain of bangs brought focus to her eyes, beautiful blue orbs that were hidden behind brown contacts.

  Why would she hide such beautiful eyes?

  “Don’t you think you’re going to get hot in that?” I asked.

  She glanced down the length of her body. “No. I like this outfit. It has lots of pockets for makeup brushes.” She grinned at the fact that her cute outfit was also functional.

  Suppressing a smile, I said, “Why not a tank top beneath it?”

  The sunny look on her face faded, and her hand lifted to rub lightly at her left bicep. Feeling guilty for something I wasn’t sure of, I closed the distance between us. Taking her hand from her arm and wrapping my fingers around hers, I tugged her gently toward the couch.

  When she was sitting, I lowered onto the coffee table in front of her and reached for her thigh.

  She gasped, lifting up her right knee defensively. “What are you doing?”

  “How’s your leg?” I asked, slowly pressing down the knee between us.

  “My leg?” she echoed.

  I liked having her eyes on me, even when she was staring at me with suspicion and wariness. I would like it if she looked at me a lot, no matter her expression.

  “The cramps.” I reminded her, focusing again on her left thigh.

  “Oh.” Her body was still tense. “I’m fine now.”

  The jeans were soft and worn beneath my fingers, and I began massaging the back of her leg. “Feel good?”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she said, shy.

  “It’s going to be another long day on set. I don’t want that happening again.”

>   “I can take care of myself.” Her hand covered mine, stopping the ministrations.

  Lightly, I lifted her hand, moving it back into her lap. “I know you can.” I went back to massaging, and her body relaxed.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes as she allowed me to work the tight muscles in the back of her leg, slowly moving down toward her knee.

  “That’s good.” Her voice was abrupt, as was her movement to sit up straight.

  Letting my hands fall away, I sat back to regard her. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  “The bag I told you to pack.”

  Her brow arched, disappearing beneath her bangs. “I don’t need to pack a bag.”

  “You can’t stay here, Zo. Not after last night. Not after the press got my plate numbers this morning.”

  “Zo-ey,” she enunciated, making me smirk. “And I know that. I’ll come back and get my stuff later.”

  “Just get it now. I’ll take it to my place.”

  “I’m not staying with you.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave her a squinty-eyed look, which she returned.

  Sighing heavily, I said, “Where you gonna stay, then? A hotel where press can come and go all night long?”

  Her eyes slid away as though she hadn’t considered that.

  “Do you have family in L.A.?” I pressed.

  “No.” Her chin stuck out stubbornly. “I’ll stay with Carson.”

  Mild surprise shot through me. “Carson knows about...” My words faded, but Zoey’s attention on me was opaque. Lifting my hand to her face, I said, “He’s seen your face?”

  Just before I could stroke her skin, she pulled back, eyes alarmed. Pulling up both knees between us like a shield, her sneakers rested on the cushions.

  She was wearing the shoe I had to go back into the water tank for.

  “He hasn’t. No one has,” she said quietly.

  “Does he know you cover it up?”

  “I’m sure he’s heard the rumors now.”

  “So you’re going to let him see?” I demanded, temper in my words.

  “That’s up to me!” she spat, jumping up from the couch. The narrow space unbalanced her as she tried to rush away, making her stumble back.

  I caught her around the waist just as she fell in my lap. The back of her head dropped against my shoulder, and she gazed up, surprised. “I’m sorry.”

  Linking my arms around her, I smiled. “You’re clumsy.”

  “Am not!” she argued. “I work really hard not to be!”

  “I like it,” I teased softly.

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “The clumsier you are, the more I get to touch you.”

  She tried to scramble up, but I wasn’t about to let her go. It was pure hell lying in that bed all night beside her. Knowing if I reached out, she would panic.

  She fell silent, and her struggle to get away ceased.

  “You’re better off with me, angel.” I spoke softly. “I live in a gated community with state-of-the-art security and a private piece of property. You’ll have your own bathroom, your own bedroom, and you won’t have to stress about trying to hide.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was weary.

  “The press wouldn’t be hounding you if it weren’t for me.”

  “I thought it was going to be okay. But now I’m not so confident.”

  Apprehension corded the muscles in the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”

  This time when she tried to get up, I let her go. Zoey went to the window, lifting the curtain to look at the window she’d covered in tape. Anger bunched inside me anew, making me wish I’d been there when that asshole broke in.

  “What did he take?” I asked.

  “Something personal,” she whispered, still gazing at the tape.

  “We need to call the cops.” I began.

  Her eyes slid toward the corner of the room, making mine follow. I got a funny feeling in my stomach, though the corner of the room was empty and we both stared at open space.

  “The cops can’t do anything.”

  “We can file a report. Maybe they can find whatever was taken. You can get it back.”

  “I can’t get back what he took from me.” Her voice sounded hollow, far away, and sort of strange.

  The hair on the back of my neck lifted, creating a chill around me that L.A. never had before.

  Moving across the room, I took the curtain out of her hands, letting it fall back into place, covering the broken glass. She was still staring into the corner of the room.

  Wrapping my hand around her thin wrist, I pulled her around toward me. “Zoey.”

  “He took my picture.”

  Confusion filled my head. “What?”

  “He had a camera. He took photos of me... of my face.”

  Rage burned my veins. My hand gripped her wrist, making her cry out.

  “I’m sorry.” I relented, letting go instantly. She didn’t move away, making me feel like she understood I’d been angry on her behalf. “What do you mean he took your photo?”

  “I mean right now, everyone is interested in me because of you. But if that man releases those photos, there will be an entirely new level of attention.”

  The definitive fear in her voice chilled me to the bone. Shifting closer, I said, “All the more reason for you to stay with me.”

  “Distance yourself now, Nick.” A staunch warning laced her words. “This isn’t something you should be involved in.”

  “Ange—”

  She spun at me, angry. “Stop!” She pulled back, disengaging the hold I didn’t even realize I had on her arm. “This isn’t some action movie. You aren’t the hero here. This is real life with no stunt doubles, fake sets, or scripts. You can’t even imagine the kind of hell this could unleash.”

  So she was supposed to walk through it alone?

  I didn’t realize I’d posed the question out loud until she answered, “I did it before. I’ll do it again.”

  “Girl, your face is whiter than the blow I saw those models doing in the club bathroom last night,” Carson drawled, waving his fork around in my general direction.

  I made a face. “You need to find a new club.”

  Pushing the hot-pink Ray Bans onto his head, he gave me a yeah right look. “Pssh, you know damn well every club around here has treats.”

  “Long as you aren’t doing tricks to get them.” I smirked.

  “Please, honey. This body is a temple, and I must treat it as such.”

  “Sprinkled donuts must do a temple good,” I quipped, putting down my chopsticks to sip the ice water in front of me.

  Carson and I had escaped set for lunch at our favorite ramen shop. At first, I’d been nervous we would be followed, but we rode in his car. Since the incident on set last night, security had been doubled, which meant we got away without issue.

  It was nice to be here, doing something normal like eating with a friend. I didn’t get out much, for obvious reasons, so when I had the chance to do something other than work and go home, it was always a treat.

  And by treat, I don’t mean cocaine.

  Did I mention the Hollywood scene was filled with money, beauty, and drugs?

  I probably didn’t need to mention that, right? It’s probably obvious.

  “I would have invited you out last night, but I don’t like rejection,” Carson said, dabbing the corners of his lips with a napkin. He was so extra. I really loved him for it.

  I loved that he could be whoever he was with no apologies. It was so cool to just see him be all in with himself and his own life. I envied that.

  He also looked better than me in pink.

  “I’m sure you had a ton of groupies without me,” I teased.

  Adjusting the collar of his electric-blue polo shirt so it was perfectly flipped up, he nodded. “You gonna tell me why you look like Casper and seem jumpier than a frog on a lily pad?”

  “Someone b
roke into my place last night.”

  His fork dropped into the ramen, splashing everything with broth. He squealed, making a few people turn around, but he didn’t notice. Pressing his hand to his lips, his eyes doubled in size, and then he began fanning himself with a fresh napkin. “Tell me everything.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. He broke in, and I chased him out.”

  “Did you call those sexy men in blue?”

  He meant the police.

  “No. He didn’t take anything before he ran off, so I didn’t bother.”

  He made a tsking sound. “The press sure isn’t making it easy. You almost drowned, and they’re acting like it’s the hottest scoop since Brendan Marx got caught with his pants down!”

  “I saw that headline,” I noted, using a spoon to sip some broth.

  “Poor guy. Did you see his underwear? If he’s going to be going around dropping his pants, he should at least let his stylist choose something photograph worthy.”

  I laughed. “Maybe you should slide into his DMs and offer your shopping expertise.”

  “Girl, you know I already did.”

  I laughed some more. He gave me a level look. “I wasn’t joking.”

  “That’s why I’m laughing.”

  Shaking his head, he sighed. Carefully unfolding a large white cloth napkin, he draped it over the top of his bowl, signaling he was done.

  “Well, you’ll just have to come stay with me,” he offered. “We can carpool to the set every day.”

  I hesitated, thinking back to my conversation with Nick this morning. I told him I would stay with Carson, but now that the offer was truly out there, I faltered.

  “What’s the look on your face?” Carson asked, instantly smelling gossip.

  Setting aside my food, I answered, “Nick asked me to stay at his place.”

  “I’m schvitzing,” he announced, reaching into his fanny pack (blue to match his shirt) to pull out a portable fan and switch it on.

  “I said no, of course.” I continued.

  “What?” he shrieked, the fan landing on the table, blowing all the napkins and straw papers all over the floor.

  I reached over and switched off the fan, then brushed my bangs back down where they belonged. “Keep your schvitzing to a minimum,” I muttered.

  “Call him up right now and tell him you had a brain fart and you do want to stay with him.”