Waiting for Prince Harry

by Aven Ellis

  Or confirming his death . . .

  I burst into tears just as an officer comes up to my vehicle.

  I lower my window. “O . . . O . . . fficer, I’m . . . I’m . . . a friend of H . . . H . . . Harrison Flynn’s—”

  “Miss, nobody is being allowed access to this area right now,” he says firmly.

  “But I’m—” I struggle for a second, as I’m not officially his girlfriend.

  “No exceptions. I have to ask you to leave.”

  I do as I am told. I follow rules. I obey authority.

  But not this time.

  Not when it involves Harrison.

  I turn my car around and park several blocks away. Then I get out of my car and cut between the mansions, making my way back toward Harrison’s street. It is too hard to run in the manicured grass with my heels, so I take them off and run with them in my hand.

  I come to the scene. People are out with their cell phones, talking and videotaping Harrison’s home, snapping pictures—

  And I’m filled with disgust and rage.

  How dare these people do this? I want to scream at everyone to stop it. Harrison could be—he could be badly injured and they want to film this? Tweet this? Post it up for the world to see? This isn’t something for social media. Rage fills me at this violation of his privacy, at a time when he could be hurt or worse—

  Worse. Fresh tears well in my eyes at the thought.

  I push through the crowd of gawkers, who are now being held back by police tape. I finally get to the front of the line. I fight to breathe as my eyes frantically look for any sign of hope, that he has been found—

  And then I see him.

  My heart stops beating as I stare. Harrison is wearing workout type clothing—T-shirt and shorts, running shoes, baseball cap. Cooper and Lola are at his side, and I see Harrison staring at his destroyed home with his hands interlocked over his head.

  He’s okay, I think, my heart beating rapidly. It’s really Harrison, and he’s okay. Relief sweeps through me as I look at him. Harrison is here, unscathed, alive and well.

  I have to get to him. I have to touch him. I have to tell him how grateful I am that he is okay.

  I push my way toward an officer.

  “Officer, I am a friend of Harrison’s,” I say urgently. “Please—please tell him Kylie is here,” I cry, unable to keep the rising hysteria out of my voice. “I’m here for him. Please tell him, he’ll verify who I am.”

  The officer must see the desperation in my eyes. “All right. Stay here.”

  I nod, and over and over I pray, Thank you God. Thank you for keeping him safe. I am so, so, so grateful.

  I hold my breath as the officer approaches Harrison. I watch as Harrison turns around, looks to where the officer is pointing, and sees me. He nods and tells the officer something, and the officer comes back to where I’m waiting. He lifts the tape up.

  “Go ahead, Miss,” he says.

  “Thank you, Officer,” I cry.

  As I go under the tape, I hear comments from the crowd.

  “Who is that?”

  “Why is she getting to go up there?

  “Is that his girlfriend?”

  But I don’t care what anyone thinks right now. Nothing matters except getting to Harrison.

  I run up the driveway, avoiding people assessing the scene and all the emergency equipment, and make my way directly to Harrison.

  He comes down the driveway to meet me. The second I’m in front of him, I drop my shoes on the pavement and burst into tears.

  “I . . . I thought . . .” I can’t speak. Harrison’s gorgeous face dissolves through my tears.

  Harrison’s hands are instantly on my face, comforting me. “Shhhh,” he whispers, staring at me. “I’m okay, you’re okay, the dogs are okay. That’s all that matters to me.”

  I bury my head against his broad chest, needing to hear his heartbeat. “I . . . I thought you . . . you . . . could have—”

  “But I didn’t,” Harrison says firmly, running his fingers through my hair. “I’m fine.”

  I step back from him, but I’m still holding on to his arms because I’m shaking so badly. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life, Harrison.”

  Harrison’s eyes flicker. “Please don’t be upset, Kylie. I can’t stand the look in your eyes right now,” he says softly. He reaches up and brushes his fingertips across my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “Luckily I had planned to take the Rover in for service first thing this morning, so I was out early. Then I took the dogs for a run around White Rock. I had no idea this accident had happened until a few minutes ago.”

  He turns and looks over his shoulder at his destroyed house. “I still can’t believe this. How the fuck did this happen?”

  “How did you not know?” I ask, confused. “You must have had a million voicemails on your phone! Everyone has been looking for you!”

  “Um, I couldn’t find where I put my phone this morning. I didn’t have it on me.” Then he exhales. “Fuck, look at my house, Kylie. I don’t have a house anymore. My house is just . . . totaled.”

  Fresh tears fill my eyes as I think of his books, his jerseys, of the home he worked so hard to make his own little part of the Basque country in Dallas. How disturbing and life-changing this event is for him—

  “I’ll help you,” I say firmly, putting my hand on his face to comfort him. “I’ll help you with insurance filings, rebuilding, getting some clothes—everything. I’m here for you, Harrison.”

  I notice his green eyes have grown watery. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” a voice says from behind.

  I turn around and find a man standing in front of me. “Harrison, you’re going to need to make some statements to the media.” Then he turns to me. “Hi, I’m Lucas Boden, the Director of Media Relations for the Dallas Demons.”

  “Lucas, this is Kylie Reed,” Harrison says. “And I’m really not in the frame of mind to talk to the media right now because, oh, I don’t know, I just found out my house has a fucking crane in it about fifteen minutes ago?”

  Anger fills me once again. Suddenly I’m aware of something. Cameras and cell phones are being pointed directly at us. Recording us. Putting our images up on TV and Connectivity and Twitter. Of us embracing and touching and, oh God—

  Harrison must realize the same thing because he quickly releases me and takes a step back, a panicked look on his face.

  “Too late for that, Flynn,” Lucas says. “The media wants to get your reaction to the accident. And they want an ID on your new girlfriend.”

  Chapter 14

  The Pop Quiz Question: If you were ever lucky enough to date Prince Harry, what would be your biggest concern?

  A) Nothing. I’m dating a hot ginger prince.

  B) Being in the public eye. Saying goodbye to any sense of normal would be hard.

  C) Having to be perfect at all times. You’re going to be judged on what you wear, how your hair looks, your makeup, what is in your shopping cart . . . and you will be compared to past loves. All. The. Time.

  D) B&C would terrify me. And would that pressure change what we have?

  Harrison looks as though he’s been punched the second he takes in Lucas’ words. I feel an utter sense of panic sweep over me as I realize what’s happened.

  We’ve been outed.

  Everyone now knows I’m the girl in Harrison’s life.

  I swallow hard and look across the yard to the media frenzy taking place behind police lines. I see cameras flashing, TV crews rolling, people holding up cell phones and taking pictures that are going to be distributed around the world in seconds.

  I take a sharp breath of air. My God, it’s a feeding frenzy, I realize wit
h a sick feeling in my stomach. They are sharks circling the water for a gossipy story.

  And I just became their prey.

  Harrison immediately takes my hand and we move behind a fire truck so nobody can see us. Then Harrison turns on Lucas.

  “No,” Harrison snaps angrily, and I quickly refocus my attention on him. “I’m not speaking to the media. You are the PR Director. You make up some bullshit politically correct comment, and you fucking deal with them, Lucas.”

  Lucas sets his jaw. “Okay. Fine. But what do you want to tell them about Kylie?”

  “That she’s not my girlfriend,” Harrison yells, his eyes flashing with fury.

  What? My heart stops the second the angry words spill from his mouth. I mean, I know it’s crazy to consider him my boyfriend after a week, but in my heart he is. Doesn’t he feel the same way?

  “Flynn, come on—”

  “No. You come on,” Harrison interrupts. “It’s nobody’s damn business who I’m seeing right now. So you tell them she’s a concerned friend who was consoling me.”

  My heart resumes functioning. Okay, he’s trying to protect me. And by the way Harrison is reacting, I know his heart is feeling the same thing mine is right now.

  “Pictures are going to tell a different story,” Lucas says directly.

  “I don’t give a fuck!” Harrison rants, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he begins pacing. I watch him and he is unraveling, just unraveling in front of my eyes right now.

  “Harrison—” Lucas tries to talk, but Harrison talks right over him.

  “I’m a fucking hockey player. That’s what I’m paid to do. To give them 110 percent on the ice and that’s what I do night after night, no matter how beat up my body is. I’m accessible to the media. I stop down and sign autographs, even when I’m exhausted and just want to go home. I do a ton of fan events. I give back to the community through my foundation . . .

  “. . . And you know what?” Harrison continues, his voice rising. “I’m not giving them Kylie. I will not. Kylie is fucking off limits. Off limits do I make myself clear? I’m not putting her through today’s media cycle. So I don’t care what you have to tell them, but you’re to protect her. That’s your job.”

  I flinch as I see how upset he is. Not only does Harrison have to deal with losing his house, but now he has to worry about me. This is too much for him. It’s undoing him and no matter how terrified I am of being in the media eye, I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him worry about me.

  “You can tell them who I am, Lucas,” I blurt out.

  Harrison’s head snaps toward me. “Kylie, no. Absolutely not. You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “I understand completely,” I say with all my heart. I turn to Lucas. “My name is Kylie Reed, spelled K-y-l-i-e R-e-e-d. I’m 24 and I live in Dallas.”

  “No!” Harrison yells angrily. “Do not release that, Lucas!”

  I see nothing but panic in Harrison’s eyes.

  I wrap my hands over his and squeeze them in an effort to calm him down. “I can do this, Harrison. I can, and I will.”

  “No,” Harrison says, shaking his head. “This . . . this can change everything. You don’t know what this means.”

  “Harrison,” I say, my voice reassuring and strong at the same time, “I do know what it means. I do. And . . . I can do this for you. For us.”

  And for the first time in my life, I realize I can. Normally fear takes over every decision I make—fear of not being good enough, fear of the unknown, fear of failure—and that has always guided my actions. Always. No exceptions.

  Until now.

  Because when I look at Harrison and how torn apart he is because of his feelings for me, I suddenly find courage I have never known. Strength. I’m willing to face this public scrutiny because of the amazing man he is to me.

  I know the road I’m about to take is going to be hard and unknown and very public, but when I look at Harrison, I know I can do it.

  I want to do it, I think, meeting his worried eyes. I want to do it because of you.

  “Kylie, we can’t undo this once Lucas says it. It’ll be all over the media, Kylie. Are you certain you are okay with this?”

  “I am,” I say firmly.

  Harrison closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Then turns to Lucas and simply nods.

  “I’ll address them shortly,” Lucas says, going off to prepare his comments.

  As soon as he leaves, Harrison turns back toward me. He steps closer and puts his hands on my face, his eyes locked onto mine. “What you just did,” Harrison says slowly, “is completely crazy, you know that, right? To throw yourself to the wolves like that?”

  I can’t help it. I begin to smile. “I think crazy is coming home to find a crane in your house, Harrison.”

  Then I see it. For the first time since I have been with him this morning, I see a smile pass over his gorgeous face.

  “Shit,” he says, beginning to laugh. “I have a crane in my house. My girlfriend no longer has a secret identity. And I haven’t even had a fucking cup of coffee yet.”

  I feel my face flood with warmth the second he calls me his girlfriend. I really am, I think with a sense of amazement. My boyfriend is Hockey God Harrison Flynn. He’s dated models and actresses but I’m the one he calls his girlfriend.

  “Do you want me to go get some coffee for you?” I offer, reaching up and touching his face.

  Harrison shakes his head. “No, I’ll have someone from the Demons go to Dunkin’ Donuts.” Then he pulls me into his arms. “I need you here with me, Kylie. Please just stay here.”

  I close my eyes and listen to his heart beat underneath his T-shirt. I feel his hands over my hair, caressing it, and then he wraps his hands around my back and just holds me tightly to his strong chest.

  I’ll stay here, Harrison, I vow as I listen to his heartbeat. I don’t want to leave. Not now. Not ever.

  As crazy as this whole situation is—a destroyed house in front of me, a professional multi-millionaire hockey player holding me in his arms, a media frenzy going on around us—for the first time in my life, I know I’ve found where I’m meant to be.

  I can go through an entire pop quiz of answers reflecting how I’m insane here: I’ve only known him nine days. We haven’t slept together. We have been out exactly three times. I haven’t learned all his faults . . .

  But my heart tells me this is the beginning of something really good.

  Of something I want to last forever.

  And I just hope with all my heart that Harrison’s feelings are growing just as strong as mine are right now.

  “I think that’s everything,” I say, finishing up the checklist I have put into place for Harrison on my iPad. “I’ve logged what your immediate needs are, the appointments that are set up with lawyers, the architect—one tomorrow for the renovation; one consultation for re-construction on your house, your temporary accommodations at the hotel—”

  I stop talking as I realize Harrison hasn’t said anything. We’re back at my apartment, sitting on my couch. Today had been a horrifically long one, filled with being yelled at by the media with questions as we left his home, retrieving his car from the dealer, replacing his iPhone, buying an emergency wardrobe at Boutique Dallas, phone calls with lawyers and the company that owned the crane, arranging for the pet sitter to keep Cooper and Lola. All of this happened in one day.

  And after living through the most emotional day I have ever gone through—from absolute terror that something had happened to Harrison to overwhelming joy that he was fine; from a sickening violation of our privacy by the media to finding the courage to deal with it because of my growing feelings for Harrison—we have sought refuge at my apartment—just to be alone, to think, to sort out what needs to be done.


  I’m organizing everything for Harrison as I know he needs this, but as I glance at him right now he just looks drained.

  “I think that’s a good start,” I say, closing the document. “Maybe you should head over to the hotel and get some rest,” I say gently. “I can do the rest of this by myself and email it to you when I’m done.”

  Harrison stares at me. “I wouldn’t have survived today without you,” he says softly. “Thank you for being there for me.”

  “I wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” I say honestly. “But you look worn out, Harrison. I really think you should go over to the hotel.”

  Harrison lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to stay in a hotel. I stay in them all the time during the season. I want to be home.” He leans back on my sofa and closes his eyes, and I see he’s just exhausted as he rubs his hands over his face. “I want to be in my house, but I don’t have a fucking house anymore.”

  As I take in his words, an idea hits me.

  “Harrison,” I say, reaching over and stroking his hair in a comforting way, “why don’t you just stay at the hotel for a few days? You can live in the house you are renovating.”

  Harrison removes his hands from his face. “What?”

  “I mean, it would be a challenge, I know, to live in a house undergoing renovation, but you could get some furniture to put in that little guest house out by the pool. Make that your apartment while you do the renovation.”

  I watch as Harrison furrows his brow.

  “I had a different idea for that guest house.”

  “What?”

  Harrison is quiet for a moment. “I wanted to give it to you as a temporary sewing studio.”

  My heart absolutely stops beating. “W-what?”

  “I see where you have to sew, Kylie,” Harrison says softly. He reaches for my hand and wraps his around it. Then he brings it to his lips and kisses it gently. “You deserve more than that. A real space for your vision boards, your supplies, your sewing machine. I thought . . . Well, I was going to have that space remade as your own studio, where you could come and go as you pleased.”