Out of the Blue: Reed Security: Book Two

by Robin Leaf

  “I’m sorry,” I offer. “Normally I’m not with the invading of personal space, but I’ve had a day.”

  And because he didn’t ask, I feel the need to explain further.

  “I just got released from the hospital after getting thrown around in the back of a moving, moving truck, like an actual moving truck that happened to be moving with me in it, where the guy drove like a maniac while he was kidnapping me, and I dislocated my shoulder and am bruised from my head to my toes, but now, I’m going after my boyfriend, who probably thinks he’s not my boyfriend because he blames himself for my kidnapping, and because of that, he ran away to his best friend’s sister’s house, which I know because the guy that owns the company he works for told me he bought a plane ticket to Houston, so I assume he’s going there, since his best friend is there for some reason I can’t remember, and my mom took me home so I could change and insisted I change my underwear, which she had to help me change, complete with a flashback to my four-year-old self because of her praise to my ‘cute tushy,’ and a hella awkward ‘landing strip’ conversation. Anyway, she suggested I go there, find him, and tough love the shit out of him, which is going to be hard to do since I’m high as fuck on pain meds right now, and oh my God, I’m telling a complete stranger my life’s story.”

  “Holy shit, ma’am. You were kidnapped today?” he asks, turning toward me. The genuine concern in his cute southern accent touches my soul.

  I focus on his face, and I swear I know him from somewhere.

  “Have we met?” I ask, distracted by his familiarity.

  His mouth gets all scrunched up, and his brows come together, making the tiniest, cutest little baby butt between his eyes. I lift my hand to touch it but stop myself, thank God. At least I have enough snap to realize most strangers don’t really like you stroking their foreheads.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  His face is now expectant, so I have to replay what happened a minute ago so that I can figure out why. Oh, yeah, he asked me… kidnapped. Probably should answer so I don’t appear too loopy.

  “Yes, I was kidnapped by my stalker who broke in to my apartment, cleaned it, and stole my vibrator, but I know I know you.”

  I see him hold in a laugh. “He stole your vibrator?”

  I nod. “He swears he didn’t, but can you really trust the word of a kidnapper?”

  “I suppose not.” His eyes widen. “I hope he was arrested.”

  “Oh, yes. And he is getting a psych eval tomorrow.”

  He smiles, patting my hand. It feels a little condescendy, but I probably shouldn’t point it out, and since I am a little out of it right now, I might be reading too much into pats by strangers.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks. “You look a bit pale.”

  This guy… now he’s dad-ing me. Weird.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, which feels all swirly. “Not since brunch at my mom’s house.”

  He bends over, taking out a chewy granola bar and some cheese crackers.

  “Here,” he offers.

  I open the granola bar and take a huge bite.

  “Ohmigod, thank you! But please, I know that I know you from somewhere.” I take a second to swallow, since I want to appear to have some manners; I mean, he called me ma’am and all despite his dad-ish ways, so I need to reciprocate. “Have you ever been to the Memorial Hospital ER in Malibu?”

  His smile grows. “No.”

  “Hmm,” I chew another bite, racking my brain for any bit of connection to this guy.

  He’s cute, kind of that nerdy cute that’s all the rage now. This guy is my former type of cute, not my current deceptive-bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold type of cute, better known as the-one-who-currently-left-me-but-has-another-thing-coming cute.

  Maybe if I ask him some questions, I’ll make the connection.

  “You’re obviously not from L.A. Why were you there?”

  “I was talking with LuckJoy Games about plans for a sequel to the video game I released last month.”

  I blink. “Wow, that’s impressive.”

  He nods, blushing. “Thanks.”

  Well, that was no help.

  “So, where are you headed now?”

  Smiling, he adds, “Home to my girlfriend.” He leans toward me. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I take another bite and nod, leaning closer.

  “While I was in L.A.,” he says, lowering his voice, “I also talked to an associate of mine about helping me with a proposal. His fiancée is a dancer, and she is going to help me do this flash mob thing.”

  “That’s fucking awesome,” I say, a little too loudly.

  He shushes me, and I nod.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “You wanna know something funny?”

  I swallow. “Always. Funny is my thing.”

  “I met my girl on a flight home when I was going to propose to my former girlfriend. It was right after I signed my deal on my first game.” He chuckles. “Actually, our conversation started out quite similar to this one.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I tease, pushing the air with my hands. “Watch the lines, dude. That’ll not be happening this time. I know I’m smokin’ hot and all,” I indicate my whole self, which is, I’m sure, a vision with my unshowered, braless, bruised body, worn-off makeup, shaggy-bun, sweatpants, and a zipped-up hoodie, which I had to wear since my sore shoulder prevented me from putting on an actual t-shirt. “But I’m all drugged up and spoken for, so don’t get any ideas, Mister.”

  His smile grows. “Nah, my girl texted me before I got on the plane warning me not to fall for any girls on this flight, especially drugged-up, spoken-for ones.” He shrugs. “You’re safe.”

  The giggles overtake me, complete with snorting.

  “You’re hilarious.”

  He laughs, but I’m not sure if it’s with me or at me. “Not really, you’re just high.”

  “Valid point.”

  I start in on the cheese crackers, feeling a little of the swirliness in my head vanishing. While I’m snacking, the flight attendants go through their spiel. I’m hoping my seat mate pays better attention than I do. I’ve been on exactly one flight in my lifetime before this one, and all I remember from that speech is that my seat cushion can act as a floatation device. Since we’re not flying over any large bodies of water, I doubt any floating devices will be necessary, so the knowledge I have is kind of useless. Go figure.

  The flight takes off without incident, and I’ve finished all the snacks he provided. The full belly I now have just increases my sleepiness. I feel myself sinking, but I fight to stay awake, not wanting to make an idiot of myself by snoring or trying to snuggle with my new stranger dad.

  “If you need to sleep off the drugs, I can wake you right before we land.”

  “But won’t you be bored without all my high conversation and drugged shenanigans?”

  “I’ll manage,” he says, holding up his phone. “I have Flow to keep me company.”

  I nod, and since dad gave me permission, I try to get comfortable, which is difficult with all the bruises on my left side and my quasi-frozen butt cheek. I attempt to adjust my cold pack, but it’s proving quite difficult with my sore muscles in these cramped quarters.

  “Hey. My left hip is pretty bruised, so I can’t really sit on it comfortably. I’m telling you this now, just in case, in my sleepened state, I end up leaning on you. Just know I’m not trying to snuggle with you in an attempt to make you fall in love with me, but if I do, forgive me and feel free to just push me back over.”

  He smiles. “You’re fine.”

  Ten seconds later, I’m out.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Earthquake!” I bellow, after being shaken. I try to stand but seem to be tethered to something. Panic over takes, until the blinding pain registers. “Ow, oh fuck.”

  “Oh shit,” I hear from next to me. “I forgot. I’m sorry, but we’re about fifteen minutes away.”

  I gingerly sit back, glancing
at the guy next to me while I gain my bearings and realize I’m on a plane. The fuzzy conversation with this dude before I passed out begins to puzzle together.

  “Yeah, I guess the pain meds are wearing off,” I say, trying not to whine.

  “Do you have more?”

  I’d nod, but I’m afraid it’ll hurt. “In my purse. But I really shouldn’t take my next dose until after we land.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “it does.”

  “I’ll find you some water right when we land.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nods. “By the way, your phone has been going off a lot. I normally wouldn’t notice, but you have that bright-ass flashing thing illuminating your feet, and since they darkened the plane for the sleepers, it’s really noticeable.”

  God, hope fills my chest. Maybe it’s Douglass admitting he’s a dick. The hope is quickly replaced by dread, because maybe something bad happened to him or any one of the other people in my life. Or, for door number three, it could be my mother wondering what the hell is going on and bugging the shit out of me because I didn’t answer the twenty other texts, phone calls, and probable smoke signals she’s put up in the past hour. Sigh.

  I make a move to bend to get my purse, but I stop to grab my side, gasping and hissing through the sharp throb of pain.

  He chuckles. “May I?”

  “Please, God, yes. I’ll name my first born after you if you do.”

  “Let’s hope your first born is a boy.” He bends, trying hard not to rub his cheek against my knee in search of my purse. “I wouldn’t wish my name on a poor, helpless baby girl.”

  My bag is laid gently in my lap, and I grab the phone. The stupid button is reluctant to recognize my thumb, probably because I’m shaking so badly. I’m not really a nervous shaker, so it must be a side effect from coming down off the drugs. Finally after the third try, it just gives up and asks for my password. Dammit, it’s so not the time to forget what that is. I set it up five years ago, and I know it’s something I thought I would have no trouble remembering at the time. Apparently drugs and pain don’t help the memory when I feel the urgent need to unlock this stupid piece of shit technology. It’s a date, that’s all I remember.

  I type in my birthday. Denied. Good, my birthday is a stupid password anyway.

  I type in my ex’s birthday. Denied.

  Fuck. One more try before I’m locked out for a few minutes. That thought raises my blood pressure.

  My wedding date. 070707. Bingo. Whew.

  Yeah, Walker and I thought we were being clever getting married on the seventh of July in 2007, like the date was blessed or something. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.

  Note to self, change pass code for phone.

  I have five texts, three from a number I don’t recognize, one from Kelly, and one from Mom. I decide to check those from the people I know first. With all the stuff that’s happened in the last few days, I will save the unknown one until last.

  Kelly: How’s things? Do you need some soup or something?

  She’s my bestie for a reason, but she doesn’t know I’m somewhere over south Texas about to land in Houston. I didn’t tell her because she probably would have been rational and told me to wait until tomorrow to leave. Kelly has always been my Jiminy Cricket of sorts, so when I’m going to do something I don’t want to be talked out of, I generally leave her out of the loop.

  Me: Sorry, I was sleeping. Thanks, but I’m not home. I’ll call you in the morning.

  Kelly: Okay, tell your mom hi for me. You know she loves me best.

  Good, I didn’t lie. She assumed. I mean, yeah, I didn’t correct her, but she’ll forgive me. She always does.

  I open the next one.

  Mom: Let me know what happens. Good luck, Ember. Love you.

  Aww. I will take the time to reevaluate my relationship with my mother, but for now, I’m just going to ignore that for the last twenty years, she’s not the woman I assumed she was. Admitting it would require me to face the fact that I was wrong, and I can’t right now. It’s going to take some working up to. Like years maybe.

  Me: Thanks. Love you, too, Mom. About to land. If you don’t hear from me, it’s going well. And Kelly says to tell you hi.

  I include the last part so I can honestly tell Kelly I did what she asked.

  Before I hit send, I add a winky face and a kissy face. She sends back a thumbs up and a heart. My mother figured out how to use emojis. It’s too adorable for words.

  I consider not opening the last text, since opening the unknown sender shit is really not quite working out for me lately, but I bite the bullet and do it. I mean after what I went through today, I can do any fucking thing, right? Look at me now, going after the man I… whoa, too soon. We’ll just call him the man I really, really, really like a way whole lot.

  I look down at my phone and open the text.

  Unknown: Hey, my name is Kaelyn, and there’s someone here who has something to tell you.

  Someone? Does she mean my someone? It has to be my someone. No one else she knows that I know has my number. Great, so the fucker went running to the girl he once loved, and maybe still does love, after leaving me. Nice.

  The second thing texted is a video. I am intrigued, so I push play. I see Douglass, but I can’t hear him because my stupid ears are clogged with the airplane pressure shit. He looks sad. Emily is there in the frame and pushes him back, and with his hooded, unfocused eyes and is his leaning to the side, he looks a little out of it. Oh shit, is he… drunk?

  Hell, who am I to judge? Up until a few minutes ago, I was hanging all over the dude next to me because of my medicine, so judging the antics of a drunk Doug really isn’t fair.

  “Jesus, is that Dugger?” the dude asks.

  I take a second to blink at the guy. “You know him?” I wonder if Douglass is how I know my seat mate. Maybe in the last few days, there’s been a chance meeting, a picture on Douglass’s wall, or –

  “Yeah, he is kind of like a brother to my girlfriend, although he was supposedly in love with her once…”

  Holy shit. That’s where I’ve seen this guy. In the pictures on Kaelyn’s Instagram feed. This guy next to me is the computer nerd she picked over Douglass.

  “Wait… You’re Kaelyn’s boyfriend?”

  This is too unreal. How the hell did I luck out to get to sit next to him on this fucking plane?

  “Dude, Douglass is at your house right now, and he might be drunk. KaeKae sent me this video telling me to listen to what he has to say, but I can’t hear it.” I exit out of the video, quickly scanning the next few lines. “She sent me your address just in case I felt up to coming for him.” I have to stop myself from bouncing.

  Me: I’m already about to land in Houston.

  I lift my phone and take a selfie of the two of us, sending it to Kaelyn.

  Me: And look who just happens to be sitting next to me on this plane.

  Kaelyn: OMFG!

  Almost immediately, his phone buzzes. When he reads the text, he smiles.

  “With the promise of, um, special favors, I’m supposed to ask if you would like a ride to my house?”

  I nod, despite the soreness it brings. “As long as you tell me what hideous name I’ll be giving my future daughter.”

  He sticks out his hand. “I’m Brody.”

  “Ember.” I let go of his hand and close my eyes tightly. “Jesus, lying in your manger, please make my first kid a boy and hope that Douglass will have no issue with naming his kid after the guy Kaelyn is gonna marry. Amen.”

  His smile when I turn to face him is ridiculously large. “Ricky Bobby prayer?”

  I shrug, wincing a little. “It worked for me earlier today when I used it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I thought the potholes and bumps were bad in the back of that moving truck? They got nothing on going over seventeen, yes seventeen, speed bumps in this long-term parking lot before the pain meds have kicked in. We make it
to the pay station and have to wait in a line of three cars. I never knew this many people flew at night. It probably takes less than three minutes for us to leave, but dammit, I’m in kind of on a time crunch here. Patience is not really my forte when I’m in pain apparently.

  We’re free, so I can only hope it’s a short drive.

  But this man, sweet, sweet Brody, drives like the grandma who’s afraid the cops will pull her over and discover the pound of weed in her trunk. Yeesh.

  Just get me to my man, Bro.

  When he goes over a bumpy intersection, he notices me wince. “Sorry, I’ll try to go slower over those.”

  It’s dark, so it hides my eye roll. “So, how long is the drive to your house?”

  “We’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  I check my phone for the time. It’s already 11:45 p.m. here, which means it’s 9:45 in L.A. I shoot off a quick text to my mom that I landed safely. She sends back a thumbs up, a kissy face, a rocket, water droplets, an umbrella, a taco, and the peace sign. I have no clue what she’s trying to tell me. They seem dirty, but the mother I know would not mean them that way. However, I got a big clue this morning that my mother is not exactly the prude I thought she was. I kind of liked thinking she is a prude. But… I’m curious about the emojis.

  Dammit, Ember, don’t ask. She’ll just explain, and if it is dirty, I don’t need that in my head.

  Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, Brody jams on the brakes and swerves, making me forget about the would-be quasi-sex-related texty shit.

  “Shit, Bro,” I hiss, and then feel guilty for it. This guy is doing me a favor. He doesn’t need me cursing him for his inability to navigate the drive he ought to have memorized by now since he makes it at least once a month.

  “Sorry. Would you rather me hit the guy on the bike?”

  “Maybe.” Who rides a fucking bike at midnight anyway?

  “Once we hit Pearland, things will settle down.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “No, just past it in Alvin.” He slows carefully for a red light. “We’ll be there in no time.”