Loving the Bodyguard

by Noelle Adams

  “To the contrary, man, my phone has been ringing nonstop for the past two days. Of course some of it’s assholes trying to get some dirt on you, but I’m getting a lot of requests for our services—and you in particular. Earlier today I had Katy Perry’s people calling, willing to pay triple your usual rate to head up security for her upcoming tour.”

  Deck shook his head. “I will never understand this fucking place.” Before he hung up, he asked Malcolm to have someone look into a few things on his—and Jane’s—behalf. He didn’t owe her anymore favors, but something in him couldn’t rest until he figured out who was really behind the leaks.

  As the miles blew by, he barely registered as the scenery changed from urban sprawl to stark desert, the snarl of traffic dissipating until he felt like he was the only car on the road. Somewhere outside of Mojave, after his phone rang for the fiftieth time, he threw it out the window. He didn’t want to talk to a goddamn soul. Not reporters, not friends, and especially not Jane, whose name had popped up on his caller ID over a dozen times since he’d left her house.

  He drove through the night as the desert gave way to plains. By the time the noonday sun was beating down on the asphalt, he was in the mountains, the air crisp and pine-scented as it whipped in through the windows.

  Though he tried to shove Jane out of his thoughts, it was impossible not to think about her. The week and a half they’d spent together in at the Shack played back in excruciating detail. From that first kiss to her whispered “I love you,” like a highly emotional, erotic, movie featuring him as the star.

  Unfortunately his movie didn’t end in a happily ever after as they faded into the perfect Caribbean sunset. Instead it ended in heartbreak as brutal reality hit him in the face and he realized he never should have expected anything real from someone who made her fortune from pretending to be people she wasn’t.

  To his never-ending regret, it wasn’t just him that was suffering. The ugliness had stained his family too.

  As he pulled up in front of the house he grew up in he wondered if he was doing more harm than good by coming here. His appearance would no doubt stir up even more interest. But hiding out until it all died down didn’t sit well with him, especially when it was his fault his family had been dragged into it in the first place.

  If nothing else, maybe the parasitic photographers would turn their attention on him and take the heat off his folks.

  He parked his jeep across the street and went around the back to get his bag, unnoticed for the moment as the reporters littering his parents’ driveway were distracted by something at the front of the house. Mouth pulled tight, he set off across the street at a jog, his stomach clenching at the thought of them swarming around one of his parents.

  When he got across the street he saw that it was indeed his mother who’d captured their attention, she wasn’t fighting the reporters off to make her way to the mailbox or yelling at them to get off her lawn.

  No, his mother, he realized, his mouth pulling into a reluctant smile, was smiling widely at the crowd as she offered up a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies. Of course she was. His dad had told him that though the onslaught of attention had caught her off guard, she was taking it all in stride. Deck had refused to believe it, convinced she was telling his dad to say that so he wouldn’t worry.

  He should have known better. His mom was tough, tougher than most women he knew, and it was going to take more than some magazine dredging up her past to get her down.

  Still, even seeing his mom’s cheery demeanor didn’t do much to ease his guilt. She shouldn’t have to deal with any of this, no matter how good a sport she was about it.

  One portly reporter scooped up a half dozen cookies in his meaty paw. He heard his mother admonish, “You don’t want to eat too many. Based on what you all are saying about me, how do you know I didn’t lace them with arsenic?”

  A few let out uncomfortable chuckles while others look shamefaced. Deck ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he imagined tomorrow’s headlines. “Mom, you know that’s not going to help anything,” he said as he pushed through the crowd.

  With a gasp of delight, his mother shoved the platter at the closest person and flung herself at him. He caught her in a huge bear hug. As he felt her smooth cheek against his and smelled her familiar laundry detergent and hairspray scent, he closed his eyes and momentarily forgot about all of the chaos surrounding him.

  For a second he was just a small town kid from a normal family with a normal life that didn’t include sex with movie stars and the frenzy of media attention that came with it.

  “Honey, it’s so good to so see you,” his mom said as the din of the reporters gradually came back into focus.

  “It’s good to see you too, Mom.”

  He elbowed his way past the reporters, ignoring their shouted questions until one stopped him dead. “What’s your take on reports that Jane’s on suicide watch?”

  His response spewed from his lips before he could stop himself. “Jane cares too much about what people think of her to kill herself over a nobody like me.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” his mom admonished as he shut the door tightly behind him.

  Deck set his bag on the floor of the entryway, bracing himself for a lecture about how, although he might not be a famous movie star, he was hardly a “nobody.”

  Once again his mother veered left when he expected her to go right. “You shouldn’t be so cruel about someone who’s clearly in so much pain.”

  “What are you talking about?” he stepped through the tiny entryway into the main room of the house, a combo kitchen and sitting room that could have easily fit in Jane’s walk-in closet. The house was empty. At three-thirty on a Thursday, his dad was no doubt still at the shop.

  “Jane. You shouldn’t make cracks like that when she’s obviously having such a hard time.”

  “Did something happen?” Even as he told himself the press was no doubt exaggerating, his stomach clenched at the thought she might seriously hurt herself.

  His mother shook her head as she moved efficiently around her small kitchen. “No, nothing specific anyway, but it’s obvious from all the news that whatever happened between the two of you has her torn up pretty badly.”

  “I’m sure she’s just playing it up for sympathy. She’ll get over it.” He didn’t want to think about Jane being torn up. Not when he himself was walking around feeling like he’d been smashed to bits and put back together all wrong.

  He grabbed his bag and took it back to the room he used to share with his brothers. His parents had turned it into an office. Deck grimaced as he spied the couch that lined one wall, which hid a fold out couch that was inches too short for his tall frame and had a bar running across the middle that dug into him no matter what position he slept in.

  Hell of a long way from thousand thread count sheets and specialty made mattresses.

  But a hell of a lot more in keeping with who he was and where he belonged, he thought bitterly.

  As he walked back down the short hall he could smell the scent of cooking onions and browning meat emanating from the kitchen. Judging from the array of spices lining the narrow counter it looked like they were having chili tonight.

  Usually the mere thought of Mom’s homemade chili had his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling, but right now he couldn’t imagine fitting any food around the bowling ball sized lump in his stomach.

  “Honey, can you grab me the beans from the pantry? I forgot to get them out.”

  Deck retrieved the cans and detoured to the fridge to grab himself a beer.

  “How about you?” his mom said as he settled into a chair at the kitchen table and took a long swallow.

  His mom had always had a way of starting a conversation as though she’d been having it in her head awhile before she brought you in, and it sometimes took people a few moments to catch up to her.

  Right now Deck was pretty sure where she was coming from. “How abou
t me what?” he replied playing dumb.

  She gave an impatient sniff. “Are you doing all right? After what’s happened?”

  “You’re the one I’m worried about, you and Dad, with them bringing all that shit up again—”

  “I’m not talking about the press, Daniel, I want to know if you’re okay with the break up.”

  “I’m fine,” he said tightly. Sure, if fine feels like you’re walking around with a rhino sitting on your chest. “Besides it was never going to be anything serious.”

  “That’s not what Jane’s saying,” his mother said in a sing-song voice.

  “Jane will say whatever she needs to say to make herself look good.”

  Another sniff. “She didn’t look so good last night on TMZ. No makeup, eyes all swollen, looking like she hadn’t seen the sun in an age. At one point she started crying, nose running and everything. Poor thing was a mess.”

  Deck’s memory flashed on an image of Jane after she and Ryan had split. Even in the immediate aftermath of the split, she’d never left the house looking anything less than perfect. Any tears she’d shed had been deliberate, delicate. Jane would never let her nose run on camera.

  He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

  “No offense, sweetie, but you don’t look like you’re doing much better.”

  He didn’t want to talk about how he was doing, how shitty he felt, with anyone yet. Especially not his mom. He gritted his teeth against an angry retort. Mom was just being her nosily concerned self.

  “Maybe it wasn’t serious for you,” his mother continued blithely as she stirred the cooking onions and meat, “but Jane is telling anyone who will listen how much she loves you and how sorry she is to put you and your family through all of this.”

  Deck’s hand tightened around his bottle. He didn’t want to know this, didn’t want to think about it. “She really said that?” He wanted to kick his own ass into next week for letting the pathetic words slip through.

  “Here, you can see yourself. I DVR’d it because they said some stuff at the end about me and I wanted to show your father.”

  She darted into the family room and grabbed the remote from the coffee table.

  “No Mom, really I don’t want to see—” He was cut off by the sound of Jane’s voice filling the small room.

  “You all need to leave Deck and his family alone. What happened to him and his mother was a horrific tragedy and the fact that you’re using it to get ratings is disgusting.”

  He didn’t want to look, but his eyes were drawn to the screen as if by a magnet. He swallowed hard, instantly regretting his decision to buy his parents—well, mostly his dad—a fifty-two inch hi-def flat screen for Christmas.

  It made it impossible for him not to notice the tight, downcast set to her mouth, her red-rimmed, swollen eyes, the ashen cast to her skin as she addressed the group of reporters gathered outside her gate. “I understand that as a celebrity, I’ve had to sacrifice a lot of my privacy. But Deck, and especially his family, didn’t choose this life, and they don’t deserve to be treated like this You can write or say whatever you want about me. I’ve finally realized that worrying about my own press has only made me miserable. But please don’t do this to the man I love. Please leave him and his family alone.”

  He watched as Jane ended the press conference, brushing off the questions shouted at her retreating back He felt a strange sensation under his feet, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, tempted to jump into the abyss as Jane’s words echoed through his brain.

  You can write or say whatever you want about me. I’ve finally realized that worrying about my own press has only made me miserable.

  Don’t do this to the man I love.

  The man I love.

  She loved him. And damn it to hell, he loved her—no amount of anger or hurt was going to kill that.

  But was it enough? Was it enough for him to trust that when the shit came down, she would really choose him—them—over everything else?

  Ten

  “Jerry, I understand how much it’s costing me, and I don’t care,” Jane said as she pulled her rented sedan up in front of the small single story house painted a cheery shade of blue “You have access to my accounts. Just wire the money over, and tell them I’ll be there in three days, max.”

  She hung up, her palms going damp with sweat as she took a deep, shaky breath. Her business manager wasn’t the only one wondering if this was a horrible idea.

  But when she’d boarded the private jet this morning bound for Vancouver, it was like a sort of madness had overtaken her. The next thing she knew, she’d offered the pilot a hefty bonus if he’d change his course to fly her to Montana instead.

  It was crazy. She was crazy. There was no other explanation for this feeling that she had to see Deck one last time and tell him—and his family—once again how sorry she was.

  You realize you’re just going to get your heart crushed again? she told herself as she climbed slowly out of the car. He’s not going to forgive you. You can’t expect him to take you back.

  She didn’t. Which made this all the more insane. As she walked up the flagstone path that skirted the house’s tidy front yard, she felt another wave of panic was over her. You should have called. You don’t even know if anyone’s home. You don’t even know for sure Deck is still here!

  She forced herself up to the front door. As she raised her hand to knock, she heard a male voice call her name. Startled, she turned just as he snapped her picture. She was so distracted she hadn’t even spotted him leaning against a car across the street, or the other one lurking in the bushes around the side of the house.

  Anger swelled in her chest. Not for herself, but for Deck and his family—especially his mother—who’d had to suffer their presence for the past three days. Along with the anger came a crushing guilt. The enormity of her mistake hit her with such force it made her knees wobble.

  She shouldn’t have come here. All she was doing was bringing more unwanted attention to the Deckers.

  She started to turn and walk back to her car, but it was too late.

  The front door of the house opened to reveal a slender woman of medium height with a few gray streaks in her dark hair. Jane immediately recognized the curve of her mouth and the whisky-colored eyes that looked so much like her son’s.

  Whatever she was expecting from the woman whose name she’d inadvertently dragged through the mud, it wasn’t for Deck’s mother to squeal, “Jane? Is that you?” with a wide smile stretching across her face. “Come in, come in,” she beckoned. “Frank, get that camera out of her face!” she scolded the photographer who had planted himself between Jane and the front door.

  “Oh my gosh, this is so exciting.” Vivian took both of Jane’s hands in hers pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. “I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Deck started working for you. I’m such a huge fan.”

  “Thank you.” Jane followed Vivian and drank in every detail of the house Deck grew up in. Though small, it boasted shiny hardwood floors and sturdy, quality pieces of furniture. Though neat, it had a comfortably lived in feel. Especially the kitchen, where a huge mixing bowl sat next to a countertop dusted with flour.

  Everything was so warm and homey it made Jane’s house in Brentwood seem like a mausoleum.

  “You have a lovely home,” Jane said.

  “Thank you. It’s not much for size, but there are a lot of good memories. I’ll be right back - I’m just going to get Harlan.”

  She was gone before Jane could ask if Deck was still even here. leaving Jane alone in the house, slightly dazed by the unexpected warmth of her welcome. She paced slowly around the living room. Framed pictures covered nearly every inch of wall space and Jane’s heart squeezed in her chest at the sight of Deck, gap-toothed and grinning with two other dark-haired boys that had to be his brothers. The Deck as a teenager, his lean body just starting to fill out while his brothers were still gangly, growing up faster than the
y could keep the weight on.

  There was a more recent picture of all three sons, white teeth flashing in their tanned faces, muscular arms slung over each other’s broad shoulders. Though she only had eyes for Deck, she had to admit his brothers weren’t lacking in the looks department.

  As she started back to the kitchen her gaze snagged on another photo sitting on an end table next to the couch. She couldn’t stop herself from picking up the picture of Vivian, looking beautiful and way too young to be the mother of the dark-haired, chubby-thighed baby boy on her lap. Though the baby was smiling a wide, gummy grin at the camera, Vivian’s own smile looked strained, with none of the joy and contentment that seemed to emanate from her pores.

  “Daniel was just eight months old in that picture.”

  Jane turned at the sound of Vivian’s voice and saw the same haunted look from the photo flicker in her eyes. “Life was very different then.”

  Next to Vivian was a man with a thick head of salt and pepper hair, his rangy build clad in a plaid shirt and faded jeans. He put a rough, callused hand on Vivian’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m Harlan, Deck’s father,” he said offering his hand to Jane.

  “I’m so sorry for everything you and your family have had to go through,” Jane blurted out. “Dredging up everything that’s happened, it can’t be easy—”

  “Life was very different then,” Vivian said again, and this time Jane detected an undercurrent of steel in her voice. “They can say whatever they want about that night, but we know the truth of what happened, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat to save one of my boys.” There was no mistaking the mama bear lurking under Vivian’s happy, friendly exterior.

  “Besides,” Vivian said with a sly smile, “it’s good every once in awhile to remind everybody what I’m capable of.”

  Jane watched, bemused as Harlan rolled his eyes and gave his wife a pat on the behind. Were they really as unaffected as they seemed, she wondered, marveling at Vivian’s seeming utter lack of self-consciousness regardless of what the press said.

  Jane knew whose example she was going to follow from now on.