Closely Guarded Secret (4 page)

I
awaken with a jolt, thinking I’ve fallen out of my seat. As usual, when I fly, I end up scrunched all the way down on the seat as far as I can go. If I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt, I’d be on the floor. Did we hit something? Confused, I sit up, trying to assess the situation only to notice we’re in some awful turbulence. Angry, dark, purple to black rain clouds surround us. My heart starts pounding in my chest. The plane rocks side to side, bouncing us all over the sky. I pull out my earbuds hoping to hear the Captain’s voice saying everything’s okay.

Bryce pries my hand off the armrest and interlocks our fingers. I look over at him, my eyes wide with terror. He’s talking to me, trying to give me reassurance. The only thing going through my mind right now is how afraid I am.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, Ali.” He has such a soothing voice when he’s not being an ass. I try to say something, but I can’t speak. Nothing will come out of my mouth.

“Focus on me.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. It’s serene and has an instant calming effect on me until we hit another pocket of air. Images of the Captain fighting for dominance over the weather and control of the plane against the storm flash through my mind. I know he’s doing all he can so we don’t spiral downward.

Other passengers cry out in panic. My head jerks back toward the window. I can barely breathe. I don’t want him to see me like this - raw emotions, so vulnerable. Weak.

He places his hand on my face, turning it towards him. “Don’t cry. I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me, okay?” He’s trying to calm me but the only thing I can do is nod. I tighten my grip on his hand and he lets me know it’s all right.

My heart is beating so fast, so hard, I can feel it in my ears and can hear each beat. Tears roll down my face and he gently wipes them away with his thumb. In this moment, as much as I despise him, I’m glad he’s here with me.

“I need you to take deep breaths. Can you do that? Do what I do, okay?” I watch his mouth and listen. We hit another pocket of air, but not as violent as the others. My eyes grow wider as more tears stream down my face.

“I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Keep looking at me. Ali, I need you to focus on me and listen. Breathe with me.” All the while, he’s still stroking my hand.

When my breathing gets under control, he leans over the armrest wrapping me in a blanket of calm in the comfort of his arms. I collapse into him. My cries are silent as he holds me and strokes my hair. He inhales deeply, gripping me tighter.

After a few moments, the Captain’s voice comes over the PA, telling us we’re through the worst of it and we’ll be making a slight turn to the North to go around the storm.

Bryce still holds me and I don’t mind. After a while, he leans back and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay now?” The concern etched in his features is evident.

My voice cracks, “Yes, I think so.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” is all I can manage but it comes out in a low whisper. I retrieve my hand from his grip and notice my palms are sweaty. He looks at his palms and we both have the same idea as we wipe our hands against our pants.

Leaning back in his seat, head against the headrest, his eyes close for a while, looking as though he’s decompressing from his own fear, which he hid very well. I suppose dealing with a hysterical woman forces you to put your own fear on the back burner for a while.

Exhausted, I drift off again, until I’m awakened by the flight attendant to prepare for our “final approach.” I try not to grab the armrests again, but it’s an involuntary movement. Landings are right up there with taking off. I hate them both equally. He looks over at me and gives me a reassuring smile and takes my hand and doesn’t let go for the rest of the flight. The warmth of his hand holding mine brings a small sense of calm to my jangled nerves. He tightens his grip and again, for some reason, I let him.

Holding on to the other armrest with one hand, I squeeze my other hand around his and grip as tightly as I can, not knowing, or caring, if I’m hurting him or not. As the wheels hit the runway, a round of applause and cheers erupts from the cabin. I guess I’m not the only one who is thankful we’ve landed safely, rather than the alternative we faced, not even an hour ago. I soften my grip on his hand, but this time, he removes his hand immediately. When he does, a sense of emptiness lingers.

“Mr. Steede. I want to thank you - for earlier.” I try to find words to convey my appreciation to him for comforting me, and for talking me off the ledge when I though we were going to crash, but my mind’s blank.

“It was my pleasure. I’m glad I was here to help you through that ordeal,” he says in the most understanding tone.

“This flight is, by far, the worst I’ve ever experienced.”

“You know, there are several types of anti-anxiety medicines out there. Maybe you should talk with your doctor about it?”

“Yes, I’m well aware of what is available. Thank you for your interest in my well being.” I can’t believe I just snapped at him and he looks surprised by my reply. I’m surprised by my reply. The rows ahead of us are getting off. He stands in the aisle and steps back to let me go ahead of him.

“Thank you, Mr. Steede. Since we won’t be seeing each other again, I wish you the best.” Once off the plane and as fast as I can, I make my way up the jetway.

As I walk towards baggage claim, I try to figure out why I’m upset with him. I don’t understand why I get agitated around him. He was being kind and gentle earlier. Is it maybe because, deep down, he brings something to the surface in me, a longing I’m not ready to face?

I’m a mixed bag of emotions. I know he’s walking behind me. His stride seems shorter than it normally is. He’s keeping my pace, not his. Part of me wants to stop and let him catch up. The other part wants to run as fast as I can away from him.

I see Steven standing near the baggage carousel and immediately feel better. He gives me one of the biggest bear hugs he’s ever given. Something’s going on.

Steven says, “I’m glad you’re back. How was the flight?”

“Hey. You have no idea how glad I am to be back, and on solid ground too. The flight was horrible, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. How are things with you?” I ask cautiously as I search his face for a clue.

He shrugs, “Things are okay. Just been busy. I have another business trip coming up in a few weeks.” I can tell by his tone that something is wrong.

“Oh? Where you off to next?”

“LA. I’m hoping it will be a quick turn around.”

I venture, “Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m great. So, how was the shoot?” his voice is completely flat. I know he doesn’t want to talk now, so I give him the short version.

“Bryce Steede said those things? You didn’t meet him for a drink, did you?”

“Of course not. You think I’d have a drink with a man I just met, at his hotel? Besides, Mr. Steede is too cocky for his own good.” I conveniently leave out the events that took place on the plane earlier. I don’t need or want his lecture right now.

As we stand there waiting for the bags to come, I feel someone’s eyes on me. Looking around, I meet his gaze. He’s with a leggy brunette, and when she faces the crowd, I see it’s Mara Sharp and she’s draped on him like a coat. He looks irritated. She keeps putting her arms around him and he keeps pushing her away. He gives her a stern look and walks toward me with her following behind, keeping his pace.

I tell Steven, “Let’s move to the opposite side. It’s less crowded over there.” I catch a glimpse of Bryce’s eyes as we walk away and he looks confused.

The bags finally start coming down the conveyor belt. I notice Bryce has already gotten his, but he lingers awhile until my bag comes down. Steven grabs it and we head out. We all reach the doors at the same time.

“Ms. Quinn, after you.” Bryce gestures with his outstretched arm while eyeing Steven.

“Thank you, Mr. Steede.” I walk outside followed by Mara, Steven and then Bryce.

He extends his hand to Steven. “Bryce Steede. And you are?” he asks, taking both Steven and me by surprise.

“Steven. Steven Hart. Ali’s roommate.” They shake with the usual pleasantries.

Bryce doesn’t bother introducing Mara, and frankly, I’m glad. For a moment we all stand in awkward silence.

“Well, we’d better get going if we are to make our dinner reservation. Mr. Steede, it was interesting meeting you and I look forward to reading the article.”

“Ms. Quinn, it’s been a pleasure.” He smiles that beautiful smile.

I look at Steven and widen my eyes to let him know it’s time to go and we all go our separate ways. When we get to Steven’s car, he stares at me.

“What was that?” His tone is accusatory and clipped.

“What was what?”

“Don’t be sly with me. Steede was being territorial and there was something definitely going on between the two of you.”

Breathing out a heavy sigh, I tell Steven about the flight - from when we were in the first-class lounge in New York, all the way to landing in San Francisco. I recount how Bryce put his hand on mine, but I leave out the part where every time he touched me, I thought we would short circuit the plane from the electric charge flowing between us. I also leave out how safe I felt as he held me close and calmed the state of panic I was experiencing. I’m still processing those emotions myself and I can’t handle Steven trying to overanalyze right now.

“You’re kidding,” he questions with disbelief written over his face.

“Is it so unbelievable someone would want to comfort me while I’m having a panic attack?” I’m sure he can sense the annoyance and hurt in my voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, I can’t believe you would let a stranger, let alone a man, touch you.”

I start thinking about what he just said. Would I let him do it again? Was it really that bad? The truth is, yes I would and, no it wasn’t. The fact is, I liked it.

“I know what you meant. I’m sorry I snapped at you. Him touching me is what calmed me down and I’m surprised by it myself, though I have read stories of people coming together in moments of terrifying crisis. I don’t know. First thing on my ‘to-do’ list for tomorrow is to call Dr. Hunter.”

The dark mood has lifted from Steven’s face. Momentarily.

#

Once home, I jump in the shower to rinse off the day’s events and am ready in fifteen minutes, which is record time for me. I decide to wear my black and white wrap-around dress and black-heeled sandals. Steven also changes. He’s in dark slacks, with a lavender shirt and a tie with lavender, pink and purple hues.

“Well, look at you, handsome. Where are we going? I feel as though I’m underdressed.”

“You look fabulous,” Steven praises as he picks up the keys and ushers me out the door.

The drive is quiet and I can tell he’s mulling something over as we pull up to the Fairmont Hotel. “I’ve always wanted to come here.” I squeal, not able to contain my excitement. “I’ve heard lots of great things about the restaurant.”

“I’ve made reservations at The Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar. It’s good. Sampson and I have eaten here a few times.” Steven’s voice is as monotone as I’ve ever heard. At that moment, it’s as though all the sadness of the world is etched across his face.

Oh, shit. Something bad has happened.

There’s a swimming pool with a floating boat in the middle of the room with band equipment. We’re seated at a table for two next to the pool. From here, we have a view of most of the room.

“Welcome to The Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar. Would you like to start your evening with a cocktail?” Our waiter asks. Since their Mai Tais are supposed to be the best in the city, that’s what I order. Steven asks for a glass of Chardonnay. Before I can ask if they’ll have a band tonight the waiter informs us the lead singer is sick so no live music.

I decide to cut to the chase and force him to say whatever it is he’s holding in. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bugging you or are you going to stew about it the rest of the night?” From the look on his face, I think I already know.

“Sampson and I broke up.” His face turns ashen when he says it.

“What? What happened? You two are the perfect match,” I reply softly. I know I need to tread lightly.

“I don’t know. While I was away this time, every time we talked, he was distant. Our phone calls were shorter and the conversations became stagnant and forced,” Steven trails off and I can see he’s deep in thought.

“Our last meal together was here, the day I got back from my trip. He thought a public breakup would be less ‘messy.’ He couldn’t have been more wrong.” The tears are welling up in his eyes.

“Then why of all places did you pick this restaurant tonight?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to feel close to him since this is the last place we ate together. I had met him here, so I had to endure the drive home alone. I was crushed.”

“I’m sorry, Steven. I’m so sorry.”

“I asked if it was someone else and he assured me it wasn’t.” He mirrors my thoughts as he answered the question I dare not ask.

“Did you believe him?”

“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know what to believe.” His world is crumbling down around him and I’m sitting here, bearing witness to it. “I mean we’ve been going out for three years. How could he do this to me? To us? How could he throw our life away? How could he throw me away?”