Finding Haven

by Foster, T. A.

  “Listen, Haven. I have another call coming in. I hate to cut this short, but I’ll have my assistant email over the contracts. Take a few days, look everything over, and then we can set up a time to talk again. Sound good?”

  She nodded, forgetting he needed audibles on the phone.

  “Tell Evan I said howdy, and I’m looking forward to grabbing a beer with him when he gets back from vacation. Son of a bitch has been gone all summer.”

  Before she could put together a reasonable response or even better, a question, Bruce hung up. She looked at the phone, now dark.

  There had to be an explanation. There was some sort of mix-up or funny coincidence. Jay would probably laugh at her when she told him Bruce thought they played football together.

  Then she remembered when Jay told her about his concussions. About how he stopped playing, because he was worried it would do more harm to his body as he got older. Her mouth went dry.

  The beer? Jay loved his Texas beer, but any guy from Texas loved that stuff, right? It didn’t mean anything. Just because she went to Carolina didn’t mean she was the only girl who loved Moscato. That was a ridiculous assumption.

  Flashes of Jay scattered through her mind. He used to wear a hat pulled over his eyes and dark sunglasses, and he went through a scruffy bearded phase, which didn’t seem to match the guy she knew now. Little by little his Texas accent appeared, and he called her darlin’—something she didn’t hear him say in the beginning. At that time, she dismissed it. However, could she dismiss all those things together?

  It hurt to breathe. Her breaths were shallower. Even with the AC running, the air in the car felt stagnate. Oh my God, she might throw up right in the car. She reached for the handle, not knowing if she needed the humid August air or just something to keep her from falling into the blackness that engulfed the space around her. She staggered to her feet and pointed her body in the direction of the rental stand. Jay would be there. He could fix this. He could explain. She took a step forward when, out of nowhere, the flashes started and someone shoved a microphone in her face.

  “Are you responsible for the breakup of Emmy Harper and Evan Carlson?”

  “Did you know he and Emmy were still dating when you hit on him?”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “Would you like to make an official statement?”

  “What’s your favorite thing about Evan?”

  She couldn’t catch her bearings. Everything heaved and rocked as if she was clinging to a raft in the middle of a sea storm. She tried to push past them, but the circle was tight and she didn’t know which way was the best escape.

  “Tell us what it feels like to stab America’s sweetheart in the back.”

  “Do your parents live here?”

  “Is it true you used to date a surfer?”

  Haven grabbed the sides of her head, begging the questions to stop. It was like being swarmed by angry bees. Some stings hurt worse than others, but they were all public and all intensely confusing, leaving open wounds for the world to see.

  NELL HAD called him inside to help her unload a box of Frisbees and a few cases of sunscreen. Sometimes he thought the woman just didn’t like being alone in the store. Haven had barely been gone thirty seconds before he got paged for manual labor.

  “Only these four boxes?” he called to Nell, but she didn’t answer. He ripped open the tape and lined them on the floor so she wouldn’t have to strain with the awkward sizes.

  “Jay! Jay! You’ve got to come see this. Hurry up.” He heard her shrill voice at the front of the store.

  “What is going on, Nell?” He dropped the last box and headed to the register.

  There weren’t words. There weren’t thoughts, just complete panic and nausea. Climbing the steps of Owen’s General Store was Emmy, her long blond hair cascading around her shoulders, followed by her entourage and a slew of reporters.

  Shit. Dammit. Fuck. If the curse word didn’t exist, he was making it up as he went along.

  “Jay, I think it’s a celebrity. Wait, I know her. It’s Emmy Harper,” Nell squealed. “What do you think she’s doing here? Oh my Lord, how does my hair look?” She patted the white curls above her ears.

  How in the hell did she find him? Evan scanned the porch. Emmy hadn’t spotted him. If he ran out of the back, he could probably avoid her. But then what? Was he going to keep running? Keep pretending that he wasn’t a star? Pretend that if he went anywhere else on the planet he wouldn’t be besieged by fans?

  He inhaled sharply and did the only thing he could do—meet Emmy head on.

  He pulled on the glass door, inviting a blast of hot air into the store.

  “Evan. Oh my God, Evan.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and buried her head against his chest. He heard the camera clicks before he had a chance to catch his balance from the Emmy embrace. The scent of her familiar French perfume invaded his nostrils.

  “Emmy, what are you doing here?” He pushed her off and away. The few reporters who were observing the exchange crowded closer. “Wait, don’t say anything. Let’s go somewhere private.”

  He put an arm around her shoulder to shuttle her inside, but she dug her designer heels into the floorboards.

  “No, Evan. I’ve been searching for you for weeks. Please don’t make me move a single inch. I need to just look at you—make sure it’s really you.” She advanced toward him again. “I missed you so much.”

  “Evan, is it true you dumped Emmy?”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Does this mean you two are back together?”

  The questions came in rapid succession. Emmy spun toward the cameras, smiling sweetly. “I’m sure you can all understand how special and precious this moment is to us. We’ll take just a few questions, ok?”

  Stepping onto that porch, he had stepped onto a landmine of red flags. Flags that exploded with each question, with each bat of Emmy’s eyelashes. This entire reunion was an orchestrated ambush. He slid his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor.

  “I’m sorry, everyone. Emmy can take questions, but I’m not making any statements right now.” He smiled widely. “But, I know a great little seafood restaurant y’all might want to try—”

  Before he could finish his attempt to derail the media inquiries, another reporter ran from the employee parking lot. “She’s over here! We found the other woman!”

  The photographers scurried down the stairs, and Evan froze, trying to sort through what that even meant. Other woman? Son of a bitch. He jumped the railing and sprinted to the parking lot.

  What he saw tore his heart in two.

  “Back off!” he roared as he ran into the center of the circle, pushing bodies out of the way. He had to get there; he had to control it. Haven was hunched next to her car, her hands over her head.

  He scooped her up. She didn’t protest, or if she did, he couldn’t hear over the crowd. His Jeep was at the edge of the lot. He placed her in the passenger seat, hopped into the driver’s side, and sped onto the island road. If he thought he was in a fishbowl before, he was wrong. This was a fishbowl. There was nowhere to go on the island where they wouldn’t be found. It was too small. There weren’t enough roads or exits. There were no gated security systems, and no rock-solid bodyguards. Dammit.

  He drove a mile, trying to put some distance between them and the paparazzi nightmare that had invaded their perfect summer dream. He clutched Haven’s hand, squeezing it tightly into his palm, but she stared straight ahead as if he wasn’t there.

  What had he done? He looked at her, terrified and pale. Right now, he just had to protect her—do what he should have done in the first place. He reached for his phone and scrolled until he found Travis’s number.

  “Hey, man. I have an emergency.” He spoke quickly.

  “Yeah, yeah. What is it? Waves?”

  “Do you think you could call Ben? Meet us at his place?”

  Travis paused. “Sure, but what’s going on?”


  “Don’t talk to anyone. Meet me there in five minutes and come alone. Understand?” He glanced at Haven, her blue eyes closed off from him. “This is serious.”

  “Got it, man. See ya.” Travis hung up.

  Evan steered straight and turned at the next road. Ben Jordan had the only house on the island that he knew of with gates. It might be the only place where he could keep Haven guarded against the press. They would find her, but she would be safe.

  He pulled into the driveway and parked behind a large oleander bush. Until he talked to Ben, he wouldn’t be able to close the gates. He would have to wait for Travis too.

  “Haven, I’m going to fix this,” he whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  She turned toward him; her hands steady in her lap. Her eyes looked at him, but the light was gone. Like a knife twisting between his ribs, he felt the pain of what he had done. He was the man who had put out the glow. There was nothing there but cold.

  EVERYTHING FELT numb, like when your hand falls asleep, and it hurts when you attempt to shift it. If she tried to move at all, her body seized with the pain of waking up, one piercing, burning twist at a time.

  “Here you go. Ben made you one of those fruity drinks you like so much.” Travis shoved a cup into her hand. “Just drink.”

  She sipped, but her eyes wouldn’t break with the ocean. There were five boats on the horizon, zipping by on their way into the marina before the sun went down. No, there were six.

  “So, this seems like a lot to take in.” Travis sat next to her. “Who would have thought all this time that we were hanging out with a movie star? Wild, huh?” He tipped his drink back, and looked over his shoulder and into the massive Jordan residence.

  Ben and Jay were inside talking, presumably about security measures that needed to be taken. Her stomach twisted. He wasn’t Jay. He was Evan Carlson.

  “Did he tell you anything? Did you seriously have no idea who he was?” Travis asked. “No clue?”

  She tilted her head toward him, feeling the sting of the motion.

  “Ok. I’m going to guess that means no.” Travis slid his hand along her back. It was an attempt to comfort her, but she didn’t want anyone to touch her. She shirked from the contact.

  “Please don’t, Trav.”

  She kicked the cup back and let the coconut mixture slide down her throat. She didn’t want to get lost in the bottom of a cup. She didn’t want the pina colada to be the relief that quieted the pain. That was for people who drowned their sorrows in alcohol. That was for people who had been dumped or were left broken-hearted. She wasn’t one of those people. Her heart wasn’t broken. No, it just wasn’t beating.

  “I know I’ve been a real dick this summer, Haven. But I am here for you. I don’t really have any clue what’s going on, no clue, but I’m here if you need me.” He stood as Ben and Evan walked on the deck.

  Evan strolled to the chaise lounge where she was propped against a pile of tropical-colored pillows. He had deposited her there before gathering the guys for a talk. “Travis, man, thanks for everything.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help.” He slapped Evan on the back.

  Evan crouched down, eye-level with Haven. “I have to go back into town. If I don’t make some kind of statement, they’ll never leave.”

  She refused to look at him—whoever he was.

  “Ben said you can stay here as long as we need, and Travis is going to stay too while I’m gone.” He moved to kiss her forehead, but she flinched at the gesture.

  “Go.”

  “I’ll be back tonight and we can talk.” His voice was soft.

  Travis and Ben made a beeline for the living room.

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  Evan sighed. “I did this. I did all of it. I know I did.”

  “Stop.”

  The pain in his eyes caught her breath for a second, but she powered through, turning her attention back to how many boats she could count on the horizon. “Go. And do not come back here.”

  He pushed against the chair and stood next to her.

  “I swear, Haven, I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  The pain turned to something more intense and more physical. She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here!”

  Evan turned on his heels and walked down the side steps.

  Her body lunged backward into the pillows. Seven, no maybe that was the eighth boat. She was going to have to start all over again. Damn, him.

  THIS MIGHT be the first time she had turned on the TV all summer. Other than a little hurricane coverage, she didn’t have time and not a whole lot of interest. She read. She wrote music. She loved Jay all summer. Who had time for TV?

  She tapped the volume control so she could hear what was being said about him, about her.

  It was all surreal. Ever since yesterday afternoon, her life had been sucked into a paparazzi vortex. They had dug up dirt on her she didn’t even know she had. It didn’t help that Emmy Harper was determined to stick around and spin her story. She realized though that Emmy might be telling the truth; Haven might actually be the other woman in this twisted scenario. How could she tell what was right and true anymore when the compass she had had been smashed into a million pieces?

  Travis walked into the living room and slumped into the open space on the couch next to her. He had spent the night in one of the many bedrooms.

  “You don’t want to watch this trash, do you?” He tried to take the remote from her.

  “Actually, I do. Did you know that I slept with a married professor?” Her eyes hardened.

  “None of the things they are saying about you or J—Evan are true. The people who know and love you know the truth. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

  Haven laughed at the irony. If she had watched more movies, maybe none of this would have happened. What dingbat doesn’t know she’s sleeping with the World’s Sexiest Bachelor? That’s what the headline said—he was the most wanted and adored man on the planet. She clutched the remote.

  “Hey, easy tiger. Ben’s parents are pretty generous, but we don’t need to buy a new remote.” He took it from her grasp and turned the TV off before she could get the daily entertainment rundown.

  “Trav, I want to watch it.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re sitting in here, beating yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. None of us knew who he was.” He turned her to face him. “He didn’t want us to know, Haven. Look at what happened? It’s a circus at the store, all the local press is here, people are camped out at The Windsheer. It’s crazy. He was right. There was no reason to subject anyone to this. I have a whole new appreciation for celebrities.” Travis whistled.

  “Did you just say he was right?” She had hit Travis once before and that was a moment she regretted, but the urge was itching in her palm.

  “I know you’re pissed. I’m not telling you it isn’t justified. But, he’s doing everything he can to fix it.”

  “How do you fix something like this, Trav? He lied. He fucking lied to me all damn summer!” She felt her hands tremble. “Everything, the record label was him pulling strings with friends, the book—he’s not a fucking writer! Did he just say that to get in my pants? Is that all guys care about?” She picked up a pillow and threw it against the sliding glass door.

  “I’m glad that wasn’t something breakable.” Travis looked at the pillow and then at Haven. “What Evan did was shitty, but he’s not a bad guy. It doesn’t take five minutes around him to know that.” He stood. “And no, guys care about more than getting in a girl’s pants.” He winked. “Sometimes.”

  Haven grabbed the other pillow and threw it at his chest. “Not funny.”

  “Oh, I’m hilarious. You’ve just forgotten.”

  There was quite possibly a smile forming at the corners of her mouth, but she was reluctant to give in to it. It felt better to let the misery and hurt consume her. It kept the memories of Evan farther aw
ay. The memories of his mouth, the way he growled in her ear, the way his skin felt pressed against hers, how he could calm her down with his arms around her. No, those memories weren’t welcome here and neither was Evan Carlson.

  “ALLAN, MAN where have you been? I’ve been calling you for twenty-four hours.” Evan breathed into the phone. If there was ever a time he needed Allan, it was now.

  “Hey. I’ve been doing a little traveling.”

  “Traveling? Ok. Well, have you seen the news? I don’t know how, but Emmy found me. Everything has gone to hell. What can you do about her?” Evan waited anxiously for Allan to give him good news.

  “Evan, Evan, I think we have a bad connection. Let me try you back.”

  “Allan—” Evan huffed as the call ended.

  Dammit. He threw the phone across the table, and it skidded into the red vinyl cushion.

  Nothing was working out. Damage control was not his strong suit. He was the charmer. He had tried smiling and joking his way through the questions, but the reporters were after more than his usual one-liners.

  He slid into the booth. What he couldn’t figure out was how Emmy tracked him down. He had been careful. None of the locals seemed to notice him anymore. He had blended in like one of them. It didn’t make any sense. What was a bigger puzzle was why. Why was she after him like this?

  His reflection looked rough. He didn’t sleep much last night, and he hadn’t shaved or taken a shower. He reached for the hot water knob and grimaced, thinking that just yesterday he had been in here with Haven. The water falling over her smooth skin, her body wet and warm under his. He punched the wall.

  What kind of an asshole does what he did? He had more than one chance to tell her his name, what he did for a living, that he was trying to run from it and chase a new life. The excuses he had created were stupid, so stupid. Why couldn’t he have seen that before it blew up like this?

  If anyone could have understood, it would have been her. It should have been her if he had just given her the chance.