The girl running up the steps towards us has an American accent, and a phone held out in front of her, which she’s using to film as she runs. Within seconds, at least five more people are following her, and, before I know quite what’s happening, Jett and I are surrounded, cameras thrust into our faces, and blood pounding in my ears as people jostle for space, some of them blatantly trying to push me out of the way in their determination to get to Jett.
It takes less than five seconds for the lonely monument on the hill to be transformed into the scene of a battle. It’s Jett against the tourists — or the female tourists, anyway, who seem absolutely determined to take a piece of him home with them. I’m totally forgotten as they push and shove towards him, and my heart contracts with pity as I see him surrounded by cameras, his green eyes filled with fear as he looks frantically around for a way out of the melee.
“This is a memorial, you know,” I yell above the sound of screaming. “Have a bit of respect, would you?”
My words, however, fall on deaf ears. Everything is forgotten in the rush to get close to Jett Carter, and my indignation quickly turns to fear as I see hands reaching out to him, pulling at his jacket, while lipsticked mouths smile hysterically into phone cameras.
There might not be three witches standing waiting for us on the road to Heather Bay, but we’ve certainly found our toil and trouble. And I can’t help feeling like it’s all my fault.
“Hey, let him go! Leave him alone!”
The crowd of women has completely forgotten about me now, but as I try to push my way through them, Jett’s eyes find me and his hand reaches out towards me.
“Are you okay?” he mouths, still reaching for me. “Lexie, are you okay?”
That’s all it takes.
“Get off him,” I yell, finally finding my voice and grabbing the woman closest to me by the back of the jacket. “Leave him alone, all of you!”
Or I will fight every last one of you. All 5’4” of me.
Anger briefly gives me strength, and I somehow manage to pull the woman to one side, before plowing determinedly forward to tackle the next one — who spins around in fright, whacking me hard on the side of the face with her elbow in the process.
“Ow!” Stars explode in my peripheral vision, and the horizon lurches awkwardly in front of me before settling back into place.
“Whoops!” the woman giggles, not sounding remotely sorry. “Didn’t see you there.”
Then she turns back towards Jett and I lean forward, putting my hands on my knees to steady myself as my cheek throbs in pain.
“Hey!” Jett roars, his voice cutting across the babble. “That’s enough. Let me through.”
I glance up just in time to see him push his way towards me, his hands held in front of his face to protect it — whether from the women, or from their cameras, I’m not sure.
“Lexie, are you okay? Here, let me look at you,” he says as he takes my chin in his hand to angle it up towards him.
“Hmmm, that’s going to be one hell of a black eye,” he says, ignoring the cameras which have started to click around us again, and speaking as if we’re the only two people on this hill. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the car.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder and turns me around, steering me firmly towards the car, whose driver looks up from his phone as we approach.
“Sorry, Mr. Carter,” he says sheepishly, jumping out to hold the door for us. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“It’s fine,” Jett mutters through gritted teeth. “Let’s just get out of here.”
In the middle of the crowd, he was as steady and as brave as any other Hollywood hero coming to the rescue of his girl. As soon as the door closes behind him, though, he collapses back on the seat, looking pale.
He hates this. He really, really hates it.
I watch him silently as the car pulls out of its parking spot and back onto the road north. Jett’s eyes are closed now, as if to avoid the conversation he knows is coming.
I don’t know why I didn’t realize before, back in L.A., but although Jett might put on a convincing act, I’m starting to be able to see through it. Or I think I am. The beard, the baseball hat, the agitation outside the event we went to together, and the way he talked about hiding in plain sight…
His life scares him. All of this terrifies him.
I guess it’s not surprising, really. It scares me, too. But I’m the lucky one here. I can walk away whenever I feel like it. He’s kind of stuck with it. It’s not like you can un-famous yourself, after all. Even if he never made another movie — or, well, dated another model — he’d still be Jett Carter. He’d still be the famous son of an equally famous father, and he still wouldn’t be able to spend two minutes looking at the view without a crowd of witches appearing to ruin it for him.
“Sorry,” I whisper, reaching out and touching the hand that lies next to mine on the leather car seat. “I’m really sorry.”
Jett’s eyes snap open, and when he turns them on me, I’m relieved to see there’s no trace of fear in them any more. He’s back to being himself. Whoever that is.
