Devoted to the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 3) (4 page)

The problem was, I couldn’t find the words to say all that, not even to my therapist. I deflected the seriousness of the conversation, another fine talent of mine. “Fine. I’ll pack. Okay? You happy?”

“I’m happy when you’re happy,” he said, leaning back on his elbow. He rested his hand on my stomach, threatening to tickle me. “Are you happy?”

“Of course I am. But there is one thing I’m worried about.” I figured now would be as good a time as any to bring it up. We were already in the midst of a serious conversation. I met his gaze and ran a finger along the line of his jaw. “Are you sure you’re okay with postponing the wedding?”

He half laughed. “Yeah, of course. I totally understand.”

“You know I still want to get married, right? That I’m not using this as some excuse to avoid commitment or some shit. You aren’t worried about me running off or anything, right?”

“Well, I wasn’t until you brought it up,” he frowned.

“Oh, come on. I’m trying to be—”

His lips pressed against mine, softly, tenderly. It felt like we’d known each other our whole lives, but his touch still managed to take my breath away.

“I want you to be my wife almost more than anything in this world. It’s second only to my desire to make you happy, and I think exploring this new chapter in your life could do that.”

Tears actually welled up in my eyes. “Okay, as long as you’re sure.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Croyden,” he finished with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now, come on. Our plane leaves in less than eighteen hours.”

“Why are you rushing so much? We have another hour before the flight takes off,” I grumbled as I raced to keep up with Bryan’s long strides.

“Yes, but it’s on the opposite side of the airport because you insisted on booking the absolute cheapest flights and used two different airlines.”

Well, screw me for wanting to save a buck
, I thought, but bit my tongue. “Whatever. I did what I could. Can’t we take the shuttle?”

He peered at me over the top of his sunglasses, his cocked eyebrow matching the half smirk. “You’re about to sit on a plane for over twenty hours. You’re an athlete. You run countless miles per week and you’re telling me you want to wheel your ass so you don’t have to walk for ten minutes?”

“I’m also extremely lazy,” I said, thrusting out my chin proudly. “And my bag is really heavy.”

“Oh yeah, it’s well over the weight limit.” Bryan grinned over his shoulder as he strode away, leaving me no choice but to follow. Weaving through the crowds of LAX towards the center of the airport, I began to second guess my packing choices. I’d finally declared defeat at 2 a.m., only six hours before we had to be in Denver to make our connection. Janet had gone ahead a few days before to make sure that my equipment was all set up by the time we landed, but I’d still managed to cram my bag full. So. Much. Stuff.

“I think it’s this way,” he directed, heading towards a bank of doors.

It was a gorgeous summer day in California. I pulled my sunglasses on to shield my eyes from the sudden bright light. Wearing a pair of denim shorts and plain tank top, it was so hard to believe that in a little over a day, I’d be bundled up and flying down the slopes. A flutter of nerves tickled my stomach at the thought. After all the preparation and planning, I was actually going to race! Standing in the warm sun, the idea of winter was so far away… well, only a day’s flight apparently.

Because I stopped to bask in the sunlight, I spotted the gaggle of paparazzi before Bryan did, and tried to warn him. He had his head down, and was swiftly marching towards Terminal 2, leaving me in his wake. By stopping to take in the beautiful weather, I was greeted with one of my worst nightmares.

“Bry, look out,” I tried to call out, but it was too late.

LAX is one of the busiest airports in the country, and a spot where so many celebrities fly in and out. It’s common for photographers to set up camp, hoping to nab a shot of someone particularly famous or, better yet infamous, so they could sell it to the highest bidder. Bryan and I weren’t exactly A-list celebrities, but our fame had gotten big enough that we were certainly recognizable.

Like vultures, they descended on us, pressing in on all sides. You can’t tell until you’re in the middle of it, but they actually do bump and hit you with those cameras a lot. They don’t care. If anything, they want you to lose your temper because it makes for a better story to sell. With the flashing bulbs and shouting, even a handful of photographers feel threatening. Bryan cursed and reached back for me, pulling me bodily through the crowd, almost like I was another piece of luggage.

“Liz! Liz! Are you nervous about crashing like your boyfriend?” A voice shouted.

“Hey! When are you and Nicole going to lez it out finally? You know you want to.” The others laughed.

I ignored their comments, designed only to rile me up. Strangely enough, they were one of the few things in the world that wouldn’t make me angry. I was too disgusted with their profession to even give in to their cheap tricks. They were the mosquitoes of the human world. They served no purpose, were by and large an annoyance, and would eventually fly to someone else if you didn’t feed them.

With Bryan’s help, we practically ran through the center of the airport, through the terminal, and entered the check-in line with cameras flashing at our heels. I didn’t stop to look until we reached the line, gasping for breath and seriously disheveled. Other passengers waiting to get through looked at us agape, some recognizing us, others wondering who we were and what the fuss was about.

I looked up to Bryan, pushing my hair back with my sunglasses. “Well, that was embarrassing. I don’t want to say I told you so but…”

“How did they even know we were going to be here?” he snapped. “Leaches, the bunch of ‘em.”

Resting a hand on his bicep, I gave his arm a little squeeze. “I know. Thank you for saving me from them.”

A security guard had arrived, and began ushering them away from the entrance. “I shouldn’t have to,” he glared to the main terminal where a few stragglers still called our names.

“At least we got here in record time, right?” I poked his side. “There’s a real motivator. Just put some of them on skis behind me and I’ll go faster than ever.”

After going through security and regaining our composure, we headed towards our gate. Thankfully, the attention faded away and we were allowed to be normal passengers again. Just as we got two seats at the gate and dropped our bags, my stomach grumbled loud enough that Bryan looked at me.

“You hiding a gremlin in that carry on? Surprised TSA let it through,” he said with a dimpled smile.

“Must’ve been all the running we just did. I know they’ll feed us on the plane, but I’m just gonna get some snacks over there,” I nodded towards a kiosk thirty feet away. “Do you want anything?”

He settled into the seat and pulled my bright, fluffy pink neck pillow around his shoulders. “Jerky if they’ve got it, thanks.” He flashed me that winning smile I’d fallen head over heels for. I bent to kiss him quickly before heading off to pick out my treats.
I seriously am the luckiest girl in the world
, I thought.

I was in my own little universe making some seriously hard decisions.
Gummies or liquorice? Trail mix or potato chips? Is there such a thing as too much chocolate?
Without declaring it to Janet or Bryan, I’d decided that calories consumed at 30,000 feet didn’t count and definitely didn’t break my diet. Unfortunately, I was pulled from my gluttony by a catty voice.

“You better be careful with all that junk, or the mighty Winter Storm might not fit into her suit,” a voice called out behind me. I turned to see Nicole Drexel standing just outside the kiosk with a shit-eating grin on her face. We’d only met twice before, but we’d exchanged words online and through interviews for months.
Of course she’s on this flight,
I thought cynically. I set two sodas, a can of Pringles, a bag of chocolates, another bag of gummies, and Bryan’s jerky on the counter and glared back.

“It’s so nice of you to be concerned about me,” I said in a sickly sweet voice. “I must not be like you, though. Never really had to worry about my weight.”

Nicole’s expression didn’t budge. Streaks of green and yellow popped through her long black hair, perfectly matching her black hoodie and yellow high tops. Dubbed downhill’s punk princess, she spent a great deal of effort to maintain her edgy, alternative appearance. It was a good schtick for the media to cling to, but it screamed of desperation to me.

I smiled at the cashier, and tried to ignore Nicole’s presence. She snorted, rocked back on one leg, and looked around the terminal. “Oh, there he is. I was worried for a second,” she exclaimed as the cashier handed me the bag.

I approached, casually taking a sip of my soda. “Sorry, I missed that. As usual, I wasn’t paying attention to you.”

She gave me a sarcastic smirk, and nodded towards Bryan. “Good to see The Blizzard made it. It’s always sad to see a puppet try to move without someone controlling the strings. It just sort of… hangs there.”

Have you ever met someone you hate on a pure, base level? Like, there’s just something about their face that rubs your nerves like rough sandpaper. They might not have ever done anything huge to warrant your loathing, but you could easily list a hundred offenses that add up to a substantial amount of contempt. At least it was a mutual hatred, an emotion we shared from the very beginning. Probably the only thing we agreed on.

Paparazzi were one thing, but this girl was something else entirely. She had a sixth sense for wiggling under my skin. Right off the bat, she irritated me better than an ill-fitted thong. Even from thousands of miles away and confined to cyberspace, she could expertly manipulate my emotions. I could ignore the Internet. Now, face to face, I had little control.

I aggressively closed the distance between us. She moved back, despite her badass attitude. “You want to talk about pulling strings? My daddy doesn’t own half the media channels in the country. One whine from Princess Piercing that she isn’t getting enough attention, and Daddy swoops in to make it all better. Must be nice.”

Nicole recovered quickly, standing on her toes to meet me eye to eye. “At least I didn’t have to flash my mangled up tits to get the country to pay attention to me.” My jaw dropped.
Bitch went straight to the jugular
. She obviously saw she’d gotten through because she cocked her head and continued, a nasty curl on her lips. “I’ve always wondered. What does it feel like to have millions of people pity you?”

“It’s not like I did that on purpose,” I growled. Once our story started to pick up steam, we were being hassled left and right. One particularly ambitious photographer, along with his gigantic lens, had managed to grab a shot of me laying out topless in the sun. The story exploded and my whole life came under scrutiny. My mother dying of breast cancer, my elective surgery, the implants… all of it.

The bag of food dropped from my hand before I balled my fist. I took a step back, centered my shoulders, and licked my bottom lip. There was no controlling this rage. It was coming out, full speed ahead, directly at this chick’s face. “Jealousy is such an ugly color on you,” I said quietly.

“You think
I’m
jealous? Of what?” she scoffed.

“My life.” I shoved her, full force, both hands connecting directly with her shoulders. She stumbled back, and an audible gasp from the crowd echoed through the terminal. “My strength.”
Shove
. She looked at me in shock, then glanced around to see if anyone was going to step in. “My skill.”
Shove
. “Pick one, or maybe it’s all of the above.”

I expected her to fight, to back up all her talk with action. Instead, she held up her hands and jumped far out of my reach. I forgot that this girl hadn’t grown up the way I had, scrapping with boys twice my age, fighting for respect in a macho, military world. Before I completely lost my temper and ripped those crayon colored extensions from her head, Bryan had hold of my arm.

At first, I pulled away, wanting nothing more than to knock Nicole down another peg or two. “Stop it! They’re recording you,” he hissed in my ear.

As if coming out of a fog, I glanced to my left and saw three people with their phones up. All around the concourse, people were recording the confrontation, vying for the best angle. With a sickening feeling, I realized I’d played right into her hand. She’d wanted to get a rise out of me the entire time.