ANOTHER SKY

by Jayne Frost

  “Come on. You need to sit down.”

  I squeezed his fingers, afraid he might let go. But he only walked us a few feet to the rear bumper of his truck. With his free hand he released the liftgate.

  “Up you go.” Banding an arm around my waist, he hoisted me onto the cool metal. “Now what about your dad?”

  When I didn’t say anything, he lifted my chin. And it was like he’d broken the seal. Everything poured out in a rush. Things I hadn’t even told Shannon yet. And the whole time, Miles nodded, his thumb sweeping back and forth over mine.

  When I finished, I looked over at my broken-down car, everything I owned crammed into the back seat.

  “It’s really pathetic,” I whispered. “This is all I have to show for my life.”

  “So far,” Miles corrected, and I blinked up at him. He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “This is all you have to show for your life so far.”

  He hopped beside me on the liftgate, still holding my hand. “How about we do this? Daryl can work on your car a few hours a day. Lord knows, he needs something to do. And you can stay in the pool house and drive one of my cars until he’s finished.”

  His grip tightened when I tried to pull away. “Miles… No. I can’t do that. You don’t even know me.”

  He sighed. “Your name is Gelsey Howard. You’re a ballet dancer with good taste in music. Sort of. You weigh about…” he looked down his nose at me, “a hundred pounds. You’re really strong for a tiny thing. You’ve got blue eyes. And you look like an angry mouse when you get mad. Am I missing anything?”

  “You’re missing everything.”

  “Name one thing.”

  For the life of me, I couldn’t. Besides the fact that he didn’t know me, like at all. Which I’d already mentioned.

  “Come on,” he said, bumping shoulders with me. “It’s not a big deal. The pool house is completely self-contained. You won’t even have to see me if you don’t want to. And I know for a fact it’s really close to your new job.”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to think of one good reason I shouldn’t do this. Think. There had to be at least a hundred.

  “Just until my car’s fixed,” I said, peering up at him. “And I want to pay you rent.”

  Shrugging, he helped me to my feet. “Fine by me.”

  “Wait…how much rent?”

  He threw his head back, laughing. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Miles

  The son-of-a-bitch was going to make me say it. I didn’t think for one minute that Daryl didn’t understand exactly what I was trying not to put into words. He was just torturing me. And it was working.

  Hip propped against the workbench in my garage, he treated me to one of his bland stares.

  Heaving a sigh, I rubbed the back of my neck. “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be a tragedy if you couldn’t fix the damn thing.”

  Swinging my gaze to Gelsey’s Civic, I glowered at the piece of shit.

  “So,” Daryl drew the word out slowly, “you just want me to act like I’m trying to fix it? But you don’t want me to actually fix it?”

  I got the urge to pat the fucker down and see if he was wearing a wire. Because, yeah, it sounded all kinds of shady; me telling him not to repair the damn car since Gelsey had agreed to live here until it was fixed. But honestly, I’d only thrown in the suggestion that she should move into the pool house on a whim. Picturing her sleeping on the couch at her friend’s place didn’t sit well with me. Not when I had a seven thousand square foot house.

  “Yes,” I bit out. “She’s leaving for New York in a few months. I’d like to see her make it there in one piece.”

  That much was true. I knew better than most that Fate was a fickle bitch with bad timing. And tempting her never turned out well for anyone involved.

  Daryl surveyed me for a moment. “I can do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  I paused on my way to the door. “You know that title loan place off Guadeloupe? Ez Pawn?” He nodded, and I turned around. “What do you think they give for a car like this? Loan wise?”

  I had no clue, but it seemed like Daryl was a man who knew a little about a lot of things.

  He shrugged. “No more than a few hundred.”

  Dipping into my pocket, I pulled out a wad of cash, chuckling to myself. Apparently, I had more money than sense. A given, since I was worth about a half a billion dollars. Peeling off eight one-hundred-dollar bills, I said, “If you happen to run by there, can you pay off the title loan?”

  His brow arched as he took the cash. “Sure. The loan’s in her name?”

  Shit.

  The look on Gelsey’s face when she’d told me about her father left no doubt that she loved the man. And that she’d protect him. So she probably wouldn’t appreciate me outing him to my bodyguard.

  “No. It’s under Christopher Howard,” I said offhandedly. “But she’ll need a clear title to haul the car to the junkyard. I don’t want this thing in my garage for any longer than it has to be. She can pay me back whatever they give her for scrap.”

  A smile ticked up one corner of Daryl’s lips. We both knew I was full of shit, and I’d never take a dime from Gelsey. It wasn’t about money, though. If Gelsey ever had reason to call the pawn shop, she’d think her prick father paid off the loan. And I was fine with that if it led her to believe that he actually cared a tiny bit.

  I took a giant step away from my partner in crime when Gelsey walked in.

  Her baby blues jumped from Daryl to me, and she frowned. Shit. She’d probably heard something.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said hesitantly. “I was just going to get some of my clothes out of the car. And see if you have a key for the pool house. I asked your assistant. But she told me to ask you. She seemed a little…put off.”

  I glanced at the house and found Emily peering out the window with a scowl. Shooting her an “I’ll deal-with-you-later” glare, I shoved my hands into my pockets. “There’s a code on the door. Grab your stuff and I’ll let you in.”

  Daryl pushed off his spot. “See y’all in the morning.”

  Gelsey watched him go, then pulled open the back door to the death trap. “Does he live with you?”

  I barked out a laugh. “Please, God, don’t even joke like that. He’s only staying here until Tori gets back.”

  “Who’s that?” Her gaze shot to mine, and she smiled tightly. “Sorry. Is that too personal?”

  Amazed, I looked down at the polished concrete and shook my head. “Tori Grayson is probably one of the most well-known celebrities in the world. The fact that you live in the same town and don’t recognize her name…that’s just weird.”

  “Oh, right. Tori was your bandmate. But don’t most people call her Belle?”

  “Yep.”

  My one-word answer did the trick, and she dropped the subject and went back to sorting through her stuff.

  A second later when she crawled out of the back seat with only a handful of items clutched to her chest, I said, “You’re going to be here at least a week. Don’t you need more than that?”

  She frowned. “I guess I was in a hurry this morning. My stuff is spread over all those bags. I’ll come out here and sort through it tomorrow.”

  I scratched the back of my head. “Why not just take them all into the pool house and sort through them there?”

  “I thought it might freak you out if I took everything I own inside your house.”

  “Pool house,” I corrected brushing past her. “And I don’t get freaked out.” Emerging from her back seat with four bags, I inclined my head toward the other two. “Grab those, will you?”

  For once she didn’t give me a weird-ass look and did as she was told. After showing her how to work the lock, I pushed the door open to the pool house.

  “Okay, so you got your kitchen over there,” I said, walking toward the bedroom. “The fireplace works, though I
don’t think you’ll need it. Oh, and the shower doesn’t have knobs. Just set the temperature on the control panel and it does what it does. Some kind of water conservation deal.” I dropped the bags next to the king-sized bed, then retraced my steps. “I’m not sure where all the remotes are for the televisions, but I’m sure you can find them.”

  Frozen in her spot, Gelsey looked around.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Miles…” She blinked up at me. “I don’t know if I can stay here. It’s too much.” Letting the bags fall to the floor, she dropped onto the couch. “I feel like I’m taking advantage. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

  I raked a hand through my hair, watching her as she looked around again. Easing down next to her, I left an adequate amount of space between us. An explanation coiled around my tongue, but I trapped it behind tight lips. Until she brought her gaze to mine.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “Before the accident, I was rich. After the first three albums, I had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life.” My hand slid to my thigh, and my fingers dug in. “But the thing is, we sold even more albums because of the tragedy. There were bigger licensing agreements. And then…”

  Scooting a little closer, she dipped her head to catch my eyes. “Then?”

  I’d already told her more than most people knew. But I pushed on.

  “The company the band used to modify our bus cut corners. One of the two gas tanks was in the wrong place. The rivets were faulty. And the metal they used was substandard. Even the windows weren’t the right kind of glass. Their insurance company paid an astronomical settlement. And because of that, I now have more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. But here’s the thing. I’d give it all away if I could go back in time and get what I lost that day. The two people who aren’t here anymore. So this,” I waved my hand around, “all of this…it means nothing to me.”

  Gelsey’s eyes were like fingers on my skin, too personal. Too probing. So I shoved to my feet.

  “It’s just a room, Gelsey. Use it or don’t.” I headed for the door. “But there’s no reason to thank me. And I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

  Gelsey

  “What are you doing?”

  I spun toward Miles’s voice, eyes wide like he’d caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.

  Looking me over like he had a bad case of buyer’s remorse, he sauntered toward me, bare feet soundless on the polished concrete floor.

  I inched toward my car. Or what was left of her. Yes, she was old. But more importantly, she was the only thing on these grounds that was all mine. Not that I could beat a hasty retreat with her parts spread all over the tarp.

  “You’re up early,” I said brightly.

  I’d seen Miles shirtless on several occasions now. But something about his tousled hair and low riding sweatpants made my cheeks heat. He really was a beautiful man. But apparently, he wasn’t a morning person, because my cheery greeting did nothing to wipe the frown from his face.

  “What’s in your hand?” he asked, serious brown eyes glancing me over with suspicion.

  “Oh…” I looked down at the key fob with the Ford logo. “You told me I could drive one of your cars. But…no worries. I can get an Uber.” He stepped toward me, and my mouth went dry. “Or a cab.”

  Gaze locked on mine, he gently pried the key from my hand. “Not the truck.” He seemed to relax once he had the fob in his possession. “You can drive anything here, but never the truck.”

  Lack of sleep and nerves about this morning’s MRI conspired, and the filter between my brain and mouth didn’t engage. “Why not the truck?”

  The minute the question slipped over my tongue, I regretted it. Miles blinked at me, then stowed the key in his pocket. “No reason.”

  In the short time I’d known him, I’d never seen him drive anything but the Ford Lightning. Which seemed odd now that I’d seen his fleet. But I had bigger things to worry about than my new landlord’s eccentricities. Like how I was ever going to drive any of the vehicles in this garage. Glancing over the exotic sports cars, I swallowed hard.

  “I think I’ll just get an Uber.”

  He smiled then, and as usual, it changed his whole face. “Why would you do that?”

  Recalling what he’d said last night about his wealth, I didn’t want to bring up the fact that most of his cars probably cost more than I’d make in five years.

  “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.”

  I was reaching. Playing the odds. Miles seemed like a purist. The kind of guy who wouldn’t settle for an automatic.

  He brushed past me and plucked a key fob from the pegboard.

  “Problem solved,” he said, pressing a Mercedes key in my hand.

  I chewed my bottom lip. “Which one is this for?”

  “The SL 600.” When I blinked at him with what must have been a deer in the headlights expression, he treated me to another easy smile. And this time his dimple made an appearance. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Lacing our fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world, he ushered me to the third bay, and tipped his chin to a beautiful cherry red two-seater.

  “It’s a hard-top convertible,” he said, his lips turning down at the corners. “It’s really safer if you keep the top up. At least in the city. Around here it’s fine. Let me show you how it works.”

  He took a step, then looked down at our joined hands when I held my ground.

  “You don’t need to show me.” A nervous laugh tripped from my lips. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable if I took the truck? I’m an excellent driver, and I have insurance.” I looked over at the Lightning. “It would cover the cost of that. But not any of these.”

  Miles dropped his gaze, tension lines forming around his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to push.”

  “It belonged to Rhenn.” He smiled softly, and it looked so out of place. “My bandmate. You know…the one who…”

  The thought stalled on his lips, and his brow pinched. I knew that expression. Had seen it on my own face. Sometimes when I spoke about my mom, the finality of it would hit me. She was gone. I’d never see her again. My thumb found the vacant spot on my finger where her ring had been. My touchstone. That’s what the truck was for Miles. Just a lot bigger.

  “I understand,” I said, and he looked at me like maybe I did. Like I was part of the club and this was a secret we shared.

  Sighing, I glanced over the convertible, dipping my head to look in the window. “I guess you’d better show me how to work this thing so I can get out of here.”

  I stepped out of the small bathroom wearing the requisite blue paper dress, my clothes in a ball under my arm.

  The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, and my stomach turned. It was in a place exactly like this that my whole life had changed. Dreams were re-aligned. Expectations lowered. And it all started with the faint smell of antiseptic.

  The nurse looked up from my chart and smiled. “You’re a tiny little thing. That gown is four sizes too big.”

  I nodded, too nervous to respond.

  She didn’t seem to notice. Or more likely, she chose to ignore my pale skin and wide eyes. Because there was no reason for it. I was getting an MRI, not having a kidney transplant.

  “Ah, well,” she said, her tone light. “Good things come in small packages. Hop up on the table and we’ll get you fixed up. It should only take a few minutes to scan the knee and then I’ll be along to start your IV.”

  I froze, one foot on the plastic step stool. “IV? I thought you were only scanning my knee. Why would I need an IV?”

  She glanced down at the chart. “Your doctor ordered a contrast MRI of the lower spine. To check your spondylolisthesis. You weren’t aware of that?”

  Goose bumps rose on my arms. “No.”

  When I didn’t move, she tucked the pen behind her ear. “Let me check the order. Maybe there was
a mistake.”

  She slipped out the door, and I took a seat on a plastic chair as far away from the hulking machine as I could get. I’d always been superstitious about my condition. No news was good news. Why would Dr. Reber order another scan?

  When the nurse returned long moments later with Shannon on her heels, I sucked in a breath. My best friend was only supposed to be here so we could grab some lunch after my scan.

  “What is it?” I asked, my gaze jumping back and forth between the two.

  Shannon gave me a smile as she eased into the seat beside me. “Maxine asked me to call the office to see why Reber ordered the additional test. They faxed this over.”

  Request for supplemental medical records. New York City Ballet Company

  “I don’t understand.”

  Shannon pointed to the small print at the bottom of the page.

  All records, including diagnostic tests for previous conditions, must be current.

  “Your last contrast MRI was five years ago,” Shannon explained. “So, not current.”

  “But I’m fine,” I said, my voice shaky and reed thin.

  “You can always refuse,” the nurse piped up, eyeing me over the top of her glasses.

  But I couldn’t. These were the terms of the offer.

  “No. I’ll go ahead and do it.” I shrugged at my best friend. “What choice do I have, right?”

  I wanted her to tell me there was another option. That we could fix this. But she only nodded in agreement.

  While I sat there, hoping the ground would swallow me whole, the nurse rifled through some more paperwork. “It says here the doctor ordered a push of Benadryl. It’ll keep you from getting hives in case you’re sensitive to the contrast agent.” She flicked her gaze to Shannon. “Will you be driving her home?”

  “No,” I interjected. “I have a car.”

  The two exchanged a knowing look.

  “It’s going to make you really sleepy,” Shannon said, patting my hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll drive you. But I need to get to the office, since this is going to take longer than I thought.” Leaning in, she pressed a swift kiss to my cheek. “You got this, right?”