Exp1re Page 4
I don’t want to look over at him, mainly because I’m so used to never wanting to look at anyone. It’s my MO. But with him, I can’t help myself. It’s the weirdest sensation, and I can only attribute it to some sort of temporary insanity. After what we experienced together today, the sheer awfulness we witnessed and the adrenaline surge from helping each other escape, I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise to feel some sort of connection with him. Even if he is a stranger.
But I don’t do connections. They always lead to hurt and heartache, because no matter how strong and resilient the relationship is, no one lives forever.
Forcing an awkward smile in return, I subtly shift my weight toward the door and scoot out from under his touch when he starts talking to his mom again. “We were near each other in the airport when the attacks first started and we escaped together in my rental car. Thankfully, I’d already picked up the keys. Turns out we were both supposed to stay at the same hotel, so we went there first, and once we found out what was going on, we decided it was best to leave. Now here we are, halfway across Spain.”
More seconds of silence. More unease.
“Yes, I realize she shouldn’t have gotten in a car with a strange man, Ma, but considering her other option was to stay alone in a city under the threat of terrorist attacks, I guess she just took her chances that I wasn’t a crazy psychopath. Though, now, after listening to this conversation, she may be questioning the crazy part and rethinking her decision,” he chides dryly, glancing over at me again.
His mom’s high-pitched shrill carries through the line as she scolds him for making a joke at a time like this. My lips tilt upward in a genuine smile this time, and a choked giggle escapes when he rolls his eyes and circles his pointer finger by his ear, the universal hand gesture for crazy.
“I realize this isn’t funny. I’m sorry. But we’re gonna be fine, I promise. I’ll call you in the morning. We’re gonna grab a quick bite to eat here, and then we’ve got another two to three hours on the road. We won’t get into Barcelona until pretty late, and then hopefully we can get some sleep and figure things out,” Tavian assures her, the humor leaving his voice. “Can you let Annie know I’m safe? She tried calling right after everything went down, but I couldn’t answer. Tell her I’ll call her in the morning, too. Right now, I’ve gotta make sure we’ve got a room when we get there, and I want to conserve as much phone battery as possible.”
Annie? My eyes dart over to his ring finger and find it naked. Girlfriend? Why does the possibility of that make my chest constrict?
He nods his head at whatever she says, a wave of sadness briefly washing over his face. “I know, I know. I love you, too, Ma. I still got a lot of living to do. It ain’t my time yet.”
As Tavian disconnects the call and pulls up the number to the hotel, the word “yet” hangs heavy in the air of the confined space, thick and stifling. His numbers flash in my brain—042316—and I swallow hard past the razor-sharp dread. He has no idea of how soon yet will be.
A little over nine months…
I listen as he speaks broken Spanish to the hotel representative in Barcelona, doing his best to explain the situation we’re in. Thankfully, it sounds like they’ve got a room for us, and the knot of anxiety in my stomach loosens a tiny bit. At least we’ve got a place to sleep tonight.
After thanking the person at the hotel several times, Tavian hangs up and offers the phone to me. His hand brushes against my thigh again and the tingle thing returns. I do my best to ignore it and wonder if he’s always this invasive of personal space.
“Call whoever you need to let them know you’re okay. I’ve got unlimited international minutes, and I’m not sure if we’ll get a signal again before we make it to the hotel. It might be a little late for this, but if you’re worried about your safety with me or anything, I’m more than happy to give your family all my info—address, driver’s license, social security number, whatever. I only want to keep you safe, Lyra, not hurt you.”
There’s something about the deep, throaty way he says my name that makes my pulse speed up and my breath hitch. Like he’s talking to me and not at me like most people do.
Snapping out of my momentary trance, I shake my head and push the phone back into his large palm. “I’m good. Plus, I’ve got my own phone in my backpack if I need to make a call. We should hurry and get back on the road and take advantage of the daylight we’ve got left.”
I open the car door and move to stand up, ready to go inside so I can use the bathroom and grab a burger, but Tavian’s fingers catch me around the wrist and he pulls me back onto the seat. A mountain range of goose bumps along my right arm pop up in response.
“Seriously, sweetheart, someone’s gotta be worried about you. At least call them and let them know you’re alive. Your parents, a sibling, friend, or significant other, someone who—”
“Stop,” I cut him off, tearing my hand free from his grasp. “Stop calling me sweetheart. Stop assuming that just because you have all those people in your life that other people do, too. And for the love of God, stop touching me.”
Scurrying out of the car, across the parking lot, I’m surprised—and secretly a little disappointed—when I make it all the way to the building without him catching up. Truth be told, I already feel like an asshole for my little outburst; he was just being considerate. I should be thanking my lucky stars I smacked into someone as selfless and standup as Tavian at the airport, because otherwise, there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be here right now.
But I’m not good at apologies or really showing emotions at all, so I don’t turn around to see where he is, hoping he’ll forgive me for being sleep-deprived and still on edge from everything. It’s bad enough that I almost died, but being reminded that there’s not a soul on the planet who would’ve cared either way is a bit depressing.
You only have yourself to blame, Lyra. That’s not his fault.
I reach out to open the glass door, but Tavian’s thick-corded forearm juts out in front of me and he grabs the handle, holding it closed. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lyra. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” he says, voice sincere. I stare straight ahead, expressionless. Hating that he’s the one apologizing. Wishing I was better at this people thing.
“Right now,” he continues, “I need us to keep working together, stay on the same page. I get that just five hours ago we were complete strangers, but after what we’ve been through, I feel this overwhelming need to keep you safe. I can’t explain it. It’s just… what I’m supposed to do. Please let me. Don’t shut me out.”
My eyes snap up to meet his and, looking past the numbers, I get lost in the raw vulnerability I find, his utter genuineness. Tavian West is as rare as an O-type star—intense, brilliant, and an explosive force to be reckoned with. If I get too close, there’s a real possibility I could get burned, but after living the last twelve years with the frostbite of loneliness, maybe I’m ready to feel a little warmth.
LYRA
07.07.15
Due to a conference they’re hosting, the only room available at the hotel is a luxury suite, and even though I would’ve preferred my own room, it’s nothing short of spectacular. Contemporary yet cozy, the crisp, straight lines and modern décor remind me quite a bit of my apartment back home. A plush burgundy sofa and a matching oversized loveseat are cozily situated in front of a giant flat screen TV in the living room area. It flows openly into the full-size kitchen that’s decked out with top-of-the-line appliances and a stocked fridge.
Off the main living area is a sprawling bedroom fitted with a four-poster king-size bed and an en-suite bathroom decked out for a princess, showcasing a giant Jacuzzi tub big enough for at least four people. If the reason for my being here was anything other than being a refugee, I’d be more than impressed with the place and would probably be taking pictures of everything for decorating notes to use back home.
But instead, it’s almost 1:00 in the morning and we just spent the last th
irty minutes on the phone with the American Embassy, as instructed to do so by the hotel staff, confirming our identity, answering questions about the attack, and letting them know we’ll check in before returning to the States. Now, as we stand here with dark half-moons under our eyes and slumped shoulders, the realization that neither Tavian nor I have any clothes to change into after we shower, as our suitcases were left behind in the airport, just sets in.
All I have with me besides what I’m wearing is what’s in my backpack—my camera and two lenses, laptop, passport, wallet, a hairbrush, phone, earbuds, and the wooden box. Tavian has even less since he didn’t have a carry-on bag, leaving him with only his passport and wallet that were stuffed in the back pockets of his jeans.
“There’s soap and shampoo and stuff, some lotion, and a little bottle of mouthwash, but that’s about it,” Tavian reports as he emerges from a scavenger hunt for supplies in the bathroom. “You would think, in a fancy place like this, they’d at least have robes.”
“Not in here either. Only extra pillows and blankets that I can use on the couch tonight.” I shrug my sagging shoulders, close the slatted closet door, and then turn to face him. “I guess we’ll just have to wear these clothes until we can go get something in the morning when the stores open.”
“You aren’t sleeping on the couch tonight, and you aren’t wearing that shirt any longer,” he growls, then proceeds to haul his own T-shirt over his head and toss it at me.
Snagging it out of midair, I crinkle my forehead up in confusion. “Wh-what? Why? What do you mean?” I sputter, unable to stop my gaze from roaming over his broad, powerful shoulders and chest, down to the lean chiseled muscles of his lower abdomen.
This seriously has to be the strangest twenty-four hours of my life. A transatlantic flight, a terrorist attack, a daredevil escape, a road trip with a stranger, and now a sexy half-dressed man standing within reaching distance. Five firsts for me.
“I mean there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you sleep on that couch, because I’m a man who was raised with manners and respect. So as long as you’re traveling with me, you will always have the bed. And as far as the shirt”—he tips his chin and points at my left hip—“I just noticed there’s blood splattered all over the back of yours, and there’s no way I’m letting you sleep in that bad memory.”
I blink hard but say nothing. Damn, he’s bossy sometimes, but as much as I want it to irritate me, it doesn’t. And I can’t decide if the fact I’m not irritated is irritating in itself.
I really need some sleep. The exhaustion is killing my brain cells.
Tavian interprets my silence as a lack of objection and continues with his instructions. “Put my shirt on after your shower, and I’ll be fine in my jeans. In the morning, you can run down and grab me something from the hotel gift shop that’ll work until we can get to a store.”
“And then?” I blurt out, finally ripping my eyes away from his bare chest up to his pursed lips. “Do you have a plan? Don’t you think we need to try to go home?”
It only takes one long stride from his over-six-foot frame for him to be well within my personal bubble yet again, his mesmerizing blue stare demanding my full attention. Our bodies are as close as they can be and not be touching, and the room suddenly seems much smaller than it did five seconds ago.
And much warmer.
“Every summer since I was eighteen, I’ve taken a bucket-list trip, crossing off items in my never-ending notebook of things I want to do before I die. They started close to home when I was younger, things I could afford, like hiking Niagara Falls, partying on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, catching a Red Sox game from the Green Monster in Fenway. Those couple weeks, where I get to explore and wander and learn shit I never knew about myself and this crazy ass world we live in, are the highlight of my year. They’re my reminder to live life to the fullest, to not take anything for granted.” He pauses for a rough swallow, as if he’s suppressing an unpleasant memory. “Not a single fucking day.
“What we lived through today only reinforces the importance of my trips. Those hateful cowards stole the running of the bulls from me, but I’ll be damned if I let them take anything else.” His nostrils flare with indignation and disgust before he adds, “And if you had other destinations planned on this trip, then you shouldn’t let them take those either.”
“I was here to photograph the San Fermin Festival for the magazine I work for,” I admit, while absentmindedly wrapping and unwrapping his T-shirt around my hand, “but my next assignment isn’t until the first week of August, so I was thinking about catching a train or something over to Florence for a few days. I had some family stuff I wanted to do, but nothing set in stone.”
“You need to go!” he urges, face animated. “Look, Florence is right in the middle of all my stops through southern France and northern Italy. I was only planning on passing through there, but I could definitely rearrange some things and we could stay there a couple of nights. That is… if you’d like to tag along with me. I can even pay you to take pictures, documenting my excursions and the trip in general. I have a GoPro camera, but I rarely get photos of me doing stuff, so this would be perfect.”
Not sure I heard him correctly, I give him my best maybe-your-mom-had-a-reason-to-question-why-I-got-in-the-car-with-your-crazy-ass look. “Did you just ask me to go on a road trip with you? Like it’s completely normal to suggest two people who barely know each other hopping in a car together and perusing the European countryside for a couple of weeks?”
“Yeah, and…? You were planning on going to Florence anyway, so just ride with me there. It’s not like the trains or buses will be running for at least a day or two until everything calms down. If you can’t stand me by the time we get there, I’ll take you to the airport and we can go our separate ways. You already trust me enough to stay with me here tonight.” He motions around the hotel room. “What’s a few more cities on the way, all on my dime?”
I hate how much his argument makes sense. Almost as much as I hate how badly I want to go with him. I tell myself it’s because I know this is the last summer trip he’ll ever take and I want to capture these memories for his family when he’s gone. But ultimately, I know it’s something more. Something deeper… scarier… unknown. Something cosmic.
He smirks as he sees the fight leave my face. “You never know, Lyra Jennings who lives in Brooklyn. You just might enjoy yourself with me.”
Yeah, Tavian West from Philadelphia, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
LYRA
07.07.15
I stare curiously at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, head cocked slightly to the right, pupils shrunk to the size of a pinhead in the bright Hollywood lighting. Even if I could see my own date—which is impossible, since I can’t look myself directly in the eye—the digits would be so tiny right now I doubt they’d be detectable. My enlarged irises are the lightest shade I ever remember seeing them, more deep-water blue than stormy gray, and I search through the wavy cerulean depths, trying to come to terms with my current reality.
The long, straight brown hair, the splatter of matching freckles painted across the nose, and every other physical feature I can currently see, all look just like me, but something has shifted. I feel different. Not fixed or normal by any stretch of the imagination… just different.
When I boarded that plane yesterday, I was a bona fide hermit, only leaving my apartment when absolutely necessary, and certainly never doing anything unplanned or impulsive. Today, I’m standing in a fancy hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, wearing a T-shirt that belongs to a man I’m about join on a European road trip.
A man who saved my life.
A man who makes me tingle in places I didn’t know I could tingle.
A man who is probably talking to his girlfriend on the other side of that door.
The thought causes me to give pause in my self-evaluation and tiptoe over to press my ear against the white wood, hoping to get lucky
and overhear Tavian’s phone conversation. I need all the information I can get about my new traveling partner, and confirming that he is indeed involved in a relationship will allow me to forget all about these silly belly somersaults and heart palpitations that seem to have developed since I met him.
“It’s not an option, Annie. There’s nothing you can say. My mom already tried guilting me into coming home, and I’ll tell you just like I told her. I’m. Staying. Here. I have to do this.”
There’s a long pause where I assume Annie makes another attempt to persuade him to come home, and my shoulders deflate a little. I’d been holding out a little bit of hope that maybe she was his sister, but if they don’t share a mom, it’s pretty doubtful.
“This conversation is over. I’m going to reroute my trip this morning and I’ll send you my return flight information if it changes. Other than that, you know the rules—no calls, no texts. If it’s an emergency, you can email me. I’ll see you in about a week and a half or so.”
A shorter break follows and I discover I’m holding my breath… waiting for it… silently wishing it doesn’t come.
“I love you, too. Bye.”
But then it does. And it stings like a shot from an unsympathetic nurse, jabbing a prickly six-inch needle in my chest, the syringe filled with a dose of reality-check.
I sigh at my over-dramatics and roll my eyes, shuffling back to the vanity. Shit, Lyra, get a grip. So he’s got a girlfriend. Just try being friendly with him. Don’t be weird and self-sabotage this trip. You need this, and Dr. Rose is going to be so proud.
Using the mouthwash provided by the hotel and a little water, I finger-brush my teeth and tongue, hoping it’s good enough to cover my morning breath until I can get downstairs and buy the real thing. I’m also hoping the minty smell of the foamy green liquid will be strong enough to overpower the warm, spicy scent of Tavian that has been lingering in my nose since I put his shirt on after my shower in the wee hours of the morning. Now, after sleeping in it, I think it’s permanently imbedded in my memory.