Second Time Around (39 page)

Toby couldn’t see out of his left eye. He suspected some bones in his hand were broken. It was hard to breathe. Did he have a cracked rib?

He managed to drive away from his beating and knew he should go to an ER. But that would mean more publicity. He could imagine seeing a shot of himself all swollen and bloody on the front page and as the lead story of every network:
“Lane Holloway’s Ex Bloodied in Brawl. News at eleven.
”

He couldn’t go home. Not with the piranhas lurking. He couldn’t go to any public place. Even if people didn’t recognize him, his current appearance would freak them out. Someone would call the police.

Every moment led him deeper. Deeper into the dark.

He needed somewhere to hide out. If only he knew someone who had a place in the mountains or by the ocean. Somewhere he could crash for a few days.

Then he laughed. He
did
know someone who had a place at the ocean.

And at the moment no one was home.

Malibu

Toby parked two blocks away and walked. Once outside Lane’s house, he hesitated. There were no cars in the driveway. It was his for the asking. And oh, was he asking. Begging. He was out of options. The gun in his pocket was proof of that. He’d bought it ages ago and kept it under the seat in his truck. He’d never used it and didn’t want to use it now, but…

Then, just as he was about to cup his hand against a window, his mind cleared and found logic. This was a fancy house, and fancy houses had alarm systems. He looked around for a sign from a security company and found one near a bush by the walk.
Great.
He had to assume it was on. Meaning there was no way he could break in without bringing down the cops. Not an option. Gun or no gun.

But neither was leaving—and the reasons went beyond his desperate need for rest. As he’d driven over, he’d gotten a funny feeling that his destiny was here. At Lane’s home. Everything that had happened the past few weeks was leading him to this place, to this point. She would be back in two days and he would be here to meet her. Greet her. Beg her to give him another chance. If not as a boyfriend, as a fellow human being whose entire life had gotten messed up because of her. She owed him.

He cautiously walked around the side of the house, glancing at the neighbor’s windows. The sound of the waves got louder. Even though he’d lived in LA. for years, he’d never spent much time at the ocean. It held a force that scared him. He’d only had to feel the undertow once to make him stay away.

He felt an undertow now, threatening to drown him. But it would pass. He just needed rest. Sleep. Everything would be all right in a couple of days. When his Laney came back to him.

He slipped behind a bush, waiting for a jogger to pass. As soon as it was safe, he made a beeline for the stairs leading to her deck. That would be an acceptable place to wait—as if he had a choice. With each step he took, his ribs screamed, and he had to lean on the railing. When he spotted a cushioned lounger…

He fell into it and slept.

Santa Monica

Randy Lopez got himself a bowl of what Brandy called his Law and Order ice cream—Randy always liked a bowl of butter pecan while he watched his favorite program. He licked the spoon. “Are you sure you don’t want a bowl?”

Brandy rifled through her purse.
Where is my list? I just had it.
“No thanks. I really want to go to Lane’s and get things perfect for her return.” She swung at him with a pointed finger. “And don’t remind me she might not be coming back.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be gone long.”

She found the list and was on the way out when she had the oddest feeling of unease. She’d been out alone at night before. She’d been at Lane’s alone at night before.
What gives?

She backtracked and hugged Randy from behind. “Wait up for me?”

“As always, doll-face. As always.”

Malibu

As Brandy put the key into the door, she was assailed by the scent of the bouquet in her arms. Pink roses. She drew the flowers closer, drinking them in. The pink against the newly painted yellow walls of Lane’s bedroom would be lovely.

It would be a grand homecoming. This evening, Brandy planned to make a batch of brownies with extra-thick frosting, and earlier today she’d stocked the fridge with all Lane’s favorites. She’d even tied a half dozen Mylar balloons to her bar stools.
Welcome Home! We Missed You!

She got the door open and heard the high-pitched tone of the security system. She flipped on the foyer light, punched the proper buttons into the key pad, and the house returned to silence.

She moved into the kitchen and got a vase for the roses. She arranged them nicely and took them into the bedroom. The room still smelled of fresh paint. A good smell. And the roses made it perfect.

Speaking of plants, she really should water Lane’s. In two days, things would be crazy busy.

Brandy got a pitcher and filled it with water. She’d get the ones on the deck first.

A light woke him. It took a moment for Toby to remember where he was. But as soon as the thought
I’m on Laney’s deck
took hold, a door from the house came open. A woman came out, carrying a pitcher.

He didn’t know what to—

She saw him and squealed. Then she threw the water at him and ran for the door.

He wiped his wet face with one hand and fumbled for the gun in the other. “Hold it right there!”

He was surprised when she followed his direction. She froze in the doorway and raised her hands. “Don’t hurt me! I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He stumbled to his feet and held the gun on her. He didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t want to hurt her and he didn’t want any
thing.

“My purse is inside. Take it. There’s a stereo, a TV… have at it. Just don’t—”

“Shut up, just shut up!”

Then, to his surprise, he saw a shift in her eyes, almost a softening. Her body actually relaxed as if the fear had left her. What was going on?

She studied him a moment, then began shaking her head. “Toby? Toby Bjornson? Is that you?”

All words left him. Surely he wasn’t
that
famous?

She took a step toward him as if the gun wasn’t even there. “Oh my... Toby, it’s me, Brandy. Brandy Mayer from Dawson—though it’s Brandy Lopez now.” She made a face. “You look terrible. What happened?”

No. This wasn’t happening. He waved the gun at her. “Get inside. Now!”

He followed her inside, closed the door, locked it, and adjusted the blinds.

Brandy started walking toward a hallway. “Let me get something for your cuts and—”

“No! Stay right here!” He shook the gun toward the floor and had to remind himself to be more careful; it was not an extension of his finger.

She dug a fist into her hip. “Fine. You want to call the shots, you call the shots. I was just trying to help.”

He had no idea what to do next. His ribs really hurt. He needed to sit, which meant he needed her to… “Sit.”

She hesitated, then pointed to the kitchen. “You want something to eat?”

He did. He hadn’t eaten anything since his Big Mac. But he shook his head. “I’m not going to let you go to the kitchen and use the phone to call someone.”

“Then come with me. Want a cup of tea?”

He snickered.

She motioned for him to follow her. “Not a tea man, eh? How about a Coke?”

Her banter was absurd. He had the gun. He was holding her hostage and she was offering him a Coke like an old friend visiting? And yet, that’s exactly what they were. Old, old friends.

She pulled out a bar stool and patted it, making a bunch of
Welcome Home
balloons gyrate. She got him a Coke, popped the tab, and set it on the counter in front of the chair. “Crackers and cheese sound good?”

“Sure.” He half sat, half leaned against the stool and downed the Coke. He rested the gun on the counter.

“So, Tobe. What are you doing here, sleeping on Lane’s deck, all beat up?”

The brick of cheese she was slicing looked good. “I’m waiting for Laney.”

“She may not be back.”

He bonked the nearest balloon, making them all dance. “You obviously think she will.”

“Well, yeah. Wishful thinking. She’s still my best friend.” She placed the plate of food in front of him. “And I’m her personal assistant. Have been since we left Dawson.”

He popped a slice of cheese in his mouth. “You’re a mooch. The pretty one gets famous and the dumpy one hangs on.”

“You’re one to talk about looks. What happened?”

He lifted his chin, trying to find some dignity. “I was defending my honor.” He wiped a cracker crumb off his chin.

She laughed, then stopped herself. “I don’t really blame you for coming forward, you know.”

“Laney started it when she mentioned me. When she lied.”

“Yeah, I saw your interview. Bummer.”

He sat on the stool. “I’ll never live it down.”

Brandy stopped with a cheese-topped cracker halfway to her mouth. “So that’s what caused…?” She nodded to his injuries.

“Becoming a somebody then being thrown back to being a nobody. It’s cruel, man. Real cruel.”

“Yes, it is. The media is. Lane has to deal with them all the time. She can’t even go to the store without one of them hounding her, trying to get a picture of her without makeup, or so they can critique her clothes. Who dresses up to get a gallon of milk? That’s why she has me.”

“You’re a gofer. An errand girl.”

She got herself a Diet Coke. “Part of the time, sure. But I don’t mind.” She traced the top of the can. “I owe her. She saved me.”

Toby remembered now. A drunken mom. Bruises. “Your mom still in Dawson?”

“She died five years ago.”

“Sorry.”

Brandy shrugged. “You still got family there?”

Toby didn’t answer as a wave of dizziness hit him. He grabbed for the edge of the counter, toppling his can of Coke.

“You okay?”

He shook his head, making it hurt worse. “I gotta lie down.” He got off the stool and headed for the couch, then backtracked and grabbed the gun.

“Here, let me help—”

He pushed her away—into an end table. The lamp toppled. They reached for it. He tripped.