“I need to go. My ride’s here.”
Rob said, “You won’t be able to get a flight just by walking up to a counter, you know. Stick around. We can make the arrangements together if you really want to leave.”
“What’s this kid doing here?” Eloise piped up. “Boy toy?”
Rob turned to look at her. “Will you please shut up?”
And that moment was all Jasper needed to hurry out the door and down the path to the street.
Even though Rob was calling him, and even though he was most likely right about Jasper not being able to get on a flight, he’d take his chances.
Without looking back, he opened the car door, flung his bag inside and himself after it. “The airport,” he told the driver in a strangled voice.
“Which one, dude? Palm Springs? Ontario?”
Jasper couldn’t understand the question, but he knew the right answer. “Palm Springs, of course.”Why would I want to go to Canada?
“Sure.” The driver put the car in gear and sped away.
Jasper could still hear Rob calling his name, even over the hum of the car’s air conditioner. He closed his eyes, wishing he could do the same with his ears. He thought he’d hear Rob’s plaintive cry long after he was out of earshot.
Chapter 9
JASPER HADnine hours to kill before getting on his flight back home to Chicago. Nine hours! He comforted himself that he was lucky he’d gotten anything at all in terms of an immediate flight even if his return was coach and involved two stops—Seattle, then back down to LA—before taking him home to O’Hare. The first layover would last six hours, the second one, two.
He wouldn’t land in the Windy City until the next afternoon.
But at least he was going home—and relatively soon. The time was roughly equal to a shift at work, and this was, at least, way better. He wasn’t folding clothes that he’d folded five minutes before. He wasn’t trying to deal with returns of shoes that were three years old. He looked on the bright side—he could relax.
And about what had happened? The soap opera weirdness of it? He’d be okay. At least he’d extricated himself from what had to be one of the most potentially explosive and just plain odd circumstances he’d ever experienced in his young life.
Seriously, he couldn’t imagine a more pleasant airport in which to wait out the majority of the time. He calmed himself sitting under a bright sky, warm sun, and palm trees. In the distance, he could see the majestic rise of the mountains. Every once in a while, a hummingbird would float by, its rapidly beating wings invisible. He had a latte from Starbucks and the latest Stephen King novel on his phone.
It could’ve been worse.
Later, he’d have a nice lunch at the outdoor café opposite and maybe treat himself to a couple of cosmopolitans, in honor of Lacy. He could do the same again for dinner. Then maybe he’d sleep or sleepwalk through all of this red-eye business.
What the hell had happened to Lacy, anyway?
Whowas she?
He felt he knew who she was at her core—a sweet, kind, and loving young woman who’d been hurt somewhere along the way, so much so that she couldn’t bear the chafing real life brings to us as an almost constant condition of use. She was afraid of people in general, and he was her shelter in the storm.
But what had made her that way? Underneath the goth trappings, she was beautiful, a voluptuous and earthy woman. Smart. Kind. Sensitive. At her best, Lacy had the power to charm and seduce anyone. Except she never wanted to. Staying home with Jasper, or acting as his wingperson, always seemed to be enough.
Until one tragic night, it wasn’t.
Jasper would never understand. His own life was marred by serious tragedy, neglect, heartbreak, and pain. Most people’s lives were, maybe not as severely as his own, but most people, like him, had one thing that kept them moving forward through life’s darkest times—hope. They continued to know that nothing in this life, good, bad, or in between, was destined to last forever.
Everything changed.
He’d read somewhere once that everything in our lives was only given on loan, so what was the point in getting too attached or too wrapped up in, well,anything?
And now had come the news that Rob Burroughs, akaNew York Timesbestselling author Michael Blake, was not her uncle, which was surprising enough in itself because Lacy had never once deigned to mention the man, even when Jasper sat next to her on their couch reading one of his books, but herfather. Her father? Who were the people claiming to be her parents, then? Was she adopted? Why the ruse?
This trail of thought was vicious and cyclical and only made Jasper’s head hurt.
One of the great things about booze, Jasper thought as he stood up from his sun-warmed bench,is that it has the power to bestow oblivion, right when I need it the most.
