#Superfan (15 page)

“Only by a couple days.” Evie’s voice sounds tiny. Scared.

Sister mode kicks in. “Are you at the hospital? The one where you work?”

“I’m having a home birth, remember?”

“Of course you are.” Perfect Evie, having an all-natural birth at home. I imagine my sister soundlessly pushing out the baby by candlelight, relaxing music playing in the background. Namaste and ish.

“Can you come?”

“Like I’d let that little girl or boy miss seeing this face first when he or she shoots out of your vagina.” Snorting, I give Cally the bird and grab my bags. “Who all is there? Mom? Dad? Your … what’s it called? Your medulla oblongata?”

Evie laughs through her pain. “You mean my doula? No, she’s not here. She’s got the flu, and I didn’t call Mom or Dad.”

“Why not?” In my rush to leave, I head out of the apartment with the phone still tucked between my shoulder and ear. When the static starts, I turn around, unlock the apartment door, and stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“They’ll make me more nervous than I already am.”

“But your midwife is there? And Russ?”

Evie’s soft moans drift away, leaving the line swathed in silence until she speaks. “Russ is gone.”

“Gone where?” The door across the hall squeaks open. Ayden peeks out. Although I know it’s him, the real Ayden Vaughn, the sight of him still leaves me a little dumbfounded.

“Who knows?” Evie sniffs. “He hasn’t been home for a while.”

Ayden’s face fades away in a blur as I narrow my eyes in thought. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What part don’t you get, Alexa? Russ is gone. Said the pressure of being a father was too much and he needed some space to think. That was three months ago.”

I lean against the door jamb and slide down to the floor, dumbfounded. Russ and Evie were the perfect couple. They met in college. He was pre-med, she was working on her master’s in nursing. The doctor and the nurse; it couldn’t have been more cliché, but it’d worked, or so we all thought.

“What kind of guy leaves his pregnant wife? Has he called? Stopped by?”

“Alex, please.” Evie releases a hiccupping gasp. “Can we talk about this later? I really need you right now.”

“Will I make it on time? It’s a two hour drive.”

Evie chuckles. “This is my first kid. This could last for hours.”

“Okay, I’m on my way, but call our folks, sis. They deserve to know their grandchild is coming.”

Ending the call, I scramble to my feet. With my hands shaking, I place the phone on its base and head for the door. Ayden stands in Eight’s doorway, his face drawn in concern.

“I was headed over so we could finish our earlier conversation, but, uh, I couldn’t help but overhear … Are you okay?”

“
I’m
a hot mess, but my sister? My sister’s life is falling apart at a time when she should be celebrating.” Locking my door is a fail. I drop the keys three times before Ayden retrieves them for me and locks the door.

“You’re not driving in this condition, are you?” Ayden withholds my keys, jerking them from my reach when I try to snatch them back. “BJ’d kill me—”

“If I hear that unfortunate nickname one more time.” I wag a finger at the guy and grab my bags from the floor. “If you’re not gonna let me drive, you might as well grab yourself some clothes and meet me outside.”

“Wait, what?”

Without a second look back, I lug my bags down the hallway and holler over one shoulder. “Pack an overnight bag and get your ass moving. You’re driving me to Augusta, superstar.”

***

Ayden climbs into the car beside me and adjusts the settings on the seat. His super-long legs are practically shoved into the steering wheel as the seat slowly moves back.

Someone walks past the car. Ayden burrows himself inside his hoodie, fumbling in one pocket until he finds his shades. He shoves them on his face and eyeballs the passerby over the lenses.

“I gotta say, you’re pretty inconspicuous, man.” I dig around inside my purse, searching for my cell. “I don’t think that man even noticed you wrestling with your hoodie and slumping down in your seat. You know, I’m not a celebrity or anything, but wouldn’t you be more discreet if you stopped trying to hide your face so much? I mean, folks aren’t gonna believe Ayden Vaughn’s driving around the suburbs of Atlanta in a nineties-model Hyundai Accent.”

Ayden straightens in his seat, pulls his hood back, and relaxes his shoulders. He removes the dumb shades and gives me an easy nod. His blond curls bob on his forehead, and he sweeps them back with a swipe of his hand. For a second I see Eight in his eyes, but when he turns them to me, they're the wrong shade of blue. The lashes aren’t as thick. And his smile isn’t as cocky.

“He’s called me a dozen times.” I bounce my cell in my hand and chuck my purse to the floorboard. “And texted about a hundred.”

Ayden cranks the car. “He’s been blowing up my phone too. What the hell am I supposed to tell him when he calls again?”

Ignoring his question, I ask, “You know your way to Augusta?”

“Yeah, we’ve ridden through there a few times.”

“We?”

Ayden pulls out of the complex and onto the road. “Me and BJ, er, Eight. Sorry.”

“Let me guess, on your bikes?”

It’s a well known fact that in his downtime, Ayden loves riding his motorcycle around the South with his friends. A few photos of him doing so have been leaked online in the past, but they’re always photos of him posing with lucky girls or guys he’s met in passing. Very few show a clear picture of his cohorts.

“Yeah, how’d you know? Eight tell ya?”

“No, Eight didn’t tell me.” I scroll through my messages, reading the desperate pleas from my kinda boyfriend. “I know because I’m a fan.”

Ayden’s face falls. “Oh, yeah.”

For some reason that two-letter word irks me. “Oh? Why do you say it like that?”

We approach a red light and he flips on the blinker. “Like what?”

“Like you’re disappointed I know that little tidbit of information because of my fan status.”

He strokes the steering wheel with his thumb and peers at me from the corner of his eye. “Guess I am. You hollered at me in the hallway and forced me to drive you two hours to Augusta. For a minute there I felt like a normal person instead of a celebrity.”

“Let’s not forget about this morning. How many celebrities can say they’ve been attacked by some random woman’s cat?”

Ayden points at me. “Exactly.”

Laughing, I throw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, fine. I’ll continue treating you like a regular human being. It’s actually surprisingly easy.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. Miss that upcoming turn and I’ll slap you on the back of your head. Is that normal enough for ya?”

Eyes widening, he flips on the blinker and makes a hard left. The phone in my hand dings, scaring me. It falls to my lap but I pick it up, reading the message.

this was a stupid idea. omw home.

Pettiness rears its head inside me. My fingers move of their own accord.

no, it’s fine. check on isabeth. i’m not home anyway. gone out of town with your friend ayden. now i know why u kept him a secret. <3 <3 <3

I’ve barely pressed the send button when my phone rings. Eight’s name flashes on the screen. Biting my lip, I contemplate answering, but decline the call instead. Seconds later, Ayden’s phone rings with an incoming call.

“It’s him. What am I supposed to do?” Eyes wide, Ayden waves his phone around.

“Ignore it? Answer it? I don’t care.” I sniff. “S’not like I’m acting like a jealous girlfriend or anything.”

Truth is, I am a jealous girlfriend, and guilt’s beginning to seep in. I can’t blame the guy for checking on Isabeth now that he knows she’s out there somewhere on her own.

But it does feel good to get a little dig in on him.

Cutting his eyes at me, Ayden answers the phone. “Hey, man. What’s up? Wait, what? She said what?” His already narrowed eyes taper on me even more. “I found her in the hallway shaking so hard she couldn't even hold her keys. You think I was gonna let her drive anywhere? You’d have killed me … No, she’s fine. It’s her sister. She’s in labor … Yeah, Augusta … Yeah, okay. I’ll text you when we get there.”

Ending the call, Ayden drops his cell in the cupholder. “Really? You really told him we were on a trip together? And didn’t elaborate? You’ve got him thinking you’ve got a thing for me or something.”

Cheeks burning, all I can do is deny, deny, deny. “A thing for you? Puh-lease. You’re not even that attractive.”

Ayden’s face brightens. “Really?”

“Really. You’re one level above Quasimoto. Maybe not even a full level. Like one-tenth of a level.”

He smirks. “Good to know you find me so hideous.”

I crumble under pressure. “Okay, fine. I possibly had a teenie, tiny little crush on you back before I knew Eight, but since meeting him, I’ve barely thought about you at all.”

“You’d Tweet about guys, comparing them to me.”

My jaw falls open. “You read those Tweets?”

“Only after BJ, um, Eight pointed them out. He was stalking you on my Twitter account. I thought you were funny as hell, so I started following you.”

Ayden side-eyes me, a twinkle in his eyes. “If the whole BJ thing doesn’t work out … you know I’m recently single.”

I ignore his comment, too pissed at Eight to acknowledge the potential flirtation from a guy I’ve been obsessed with entirely too long to be considered healthy. “The guy doesn’t know anything about boundaries. He moved into the apartment next door, stalks me on his friend’s Twitter account …”

“Because he’s in love with you.” Ayden pulls onto the highway. “I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when he was with that soul-sucking bitch. And here you are jealous because he’s checking up on an old friend from his past.”

“I don’t know about you, but I never banged any of my old ‘friends’ as you call her.”

“They grew up together on a freaking farm. It was a one-time thing. Two curious kids.”

The sun peeks over the clouds in the distance. For a moment, it feels like spring. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Quirking a brow, he cups one hand around his ear. “What was that? I think I misunderstood.”

“Hey, I said
maybe
,” I say, hiding a smile. “I’m being a little silly, but he isn’t completely innocent. I deserve an apology for him being so evasive, and the rest of that truth you said was coming.”

“And you’ll get it. Soon.” Ayden’s smile is way too smug. “After I drop you off at your sister’s house, I’m heading to the airport. Eight’s flight arrives in a few hours, so get your shit together, girl.”

#chaptertwelve

Grumbling, I stand on Evie’s porch and shoot Ayden the bird. He waves merrily from my car and backs out the drive. The door opens behind me, and I catch a glimpse of my sister’s pink-painted toes as I bend down to grab my bags.

“Who’s that?” Evie cradles her belly with one hand and gives Ayden a three-finger wave with the other. “And why is he driving away in your car?”

There’s no sense in telling Evie there’s a superstar leaving her drive. The girl doesn’t even own a television. None of that troublesome, mind-numbing modern technology’s allowed inside her house. “That’s a friend of Eight’s, and he’s leaving to pick Eight up at the airport.”

Evie holds the door open for me. I toe off my shoes once I’m inside, per Evie’s asinine rules, and head for the stairs. The door clicks shut behind me.

“Which spare room you want me to crash in? And why aren’t you in bed? Shouldn’t you be resting? Biting down on a leather strap to help numb the pain?”

“First one on the left.” Evie worries with her fingers. “And no, I shouldn’t be in bed. I’m walking to help move things along.”

“Uh, gross. Why would you do that? Lie down. You don’t want the kid sliding out and ruining your white carpet. Where’s your midwife? Shouldn’t she be following you around with a mop and bucket?”

“Shut up and go put your bags away.”

“Fine, fine.”

I walk upstairs, toss my bags in one corner of a pristine room, and rejoin my sister downstairs. She’s still standing near the banister where I left her, now leaning on it and moaning her way through a contraction.

“You sure you don’t want to live like the other ninety-eight percent and head for the hospital?”

“It’s more like ninety-nine percent. And no, I don’t want to go to the freaking hospital. Do you know how many germs are floating around inside hospitals? A lot. I know, because I work in one.”

“Why they hired a germaphobe like you I’ll never know. And how does someone with a fear of germs become a nurse anesthetist? You’re exposed to germs on a routine basis. It’s freaking insane.”

“Alexa, will you please—” Evie doubles over again, and I grab her clammy hand.

“Squeeze whenever you have a contraction, okay?” I say, raising my voice. “Midwife? Midwife!”

“His name is Lecter.”

My hand goes limp in hers. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve got a male midwife named Lecter? As in Hannibal?”

“Alexa—”

“Okay, okay.” I wrap one arm behind her back, escorting her to the master bedroom.

A tiny wisp of a man with a burst of bright red hair and piercing green eyes skirts out of her room. “I’ve turned down the sheets, lit the candles, put on Sinatra, and drew you a bath,” he says, his eyes flitting to mine. He eases to the side to allow us to pass him in the hallway.

“Good job, Lecter,” I say. “How about grabbing us a snack? But no fava beans or Chianti.”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” But he does as I say and pads across Evie’s super-soft carpet in the direction of the kitchen.

“You’re absurd,” Evie says, but this time she laughs.

“What’d he mean about the bath? You having a water birth? Jesus, you just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Water births have been proven effective in—” Evie cringes in pain. “Oh, here comes another one.”

“Stop talking,” I command, a little panicked. I’ve never witnessed a baby being born, and I’m feeling a little woozy at the thought. “You want me to call Mom and Dad yet? Wes and Tasha?”

“Not Wes and Tasha,” she says. “Wes is at work, and if Tasha comes she’ll bring the tiny tyrant. As if my nerves aren’t hurting enough.”

We enter Evie’s bedroom and I’m taken aback by the giant inflatable tub situated at the foot of the bed. Evie grabs one of the posts on the four-post bed and tugs at her robe. It flutters to the ground, revealing what looks like a swimsuit with a skirt.

“I’m not wearing anything under this skirt.” Evie bursts into jittery laughter. Tears gather in her eyes. “Al, I’m so nervous. What if something goes wrong?”

Swallowing my own fears, I pat her on the back. “What could go wrong? You’ve got me here to help.”

Maybe it was something I said, because Evie breaks into hysterical sobs.

Soothing her as best I can, I holler for the midwife … midhusband? Midman? Whatever the hell he is. He rushes into the room, one fist full of suckers and his thick glasses sliding down his nose.

I gesture at my overemotional sister. “Can you take care of this while I call my parents?”

“Sure, sure. Hey, you might wanna call the photographer too.” He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and offers my sister his hand. “I don’t think Evie’s called her yet.”

I give my sister a blank stare. “You hired a photographer? Jesus, I’m not calling a photographer. No wonder you’re a wreck. You’ve got
Silence of the Lambs
over here delivering your baby, and you want some stranger snapping pics of your gaping chocha? Nuh uh. If you want pics I’ve got an iPhone and sixty-percent battery life.”

***

Ayden and Eight arrive before my parents do.

Hannibal, as I’ve fondly named Lecter, answers the door and lets them inside. They find me curled up next to my sister’s tub gnawing my fingernails off. Evie and I both look up at the doorway where they stand. My chewing slows to a light nibble. Evie
puff, puff, puffs
through her pain.

“It’s okay,” Evie says. “Make yourself at home and don’t mind me. I’m just giving birth to my firstborn child.”

“Forgive her. She’s a little feisty today. Must be because of the unbearable pain and all. Hey, I tried talking her into going to the hospital for some drugs, but no.”

I’m rambling because Eight’s standing in the doorway looking like he hasn’t slept in a couple days. His clothes are wrinkled and his hair is askew. There are circles under his eyes. But his jeans are a little tight on those narrow hips of his, snug in all the right places, and he’s got eyes only for me.

“Your hand in need of a break?” Ayden nods at my hand that's firmly clenched between Evie's white-knuckled fingers. “I can take your place for a while. I’ve done this before.”

Evie’s cheeks puff up as she exhales. “You have?”

Ayden nods. “My mother delivered both my brother and sister in our tub when I was a kid. Back before it was trendy. I helped coach her through it. Both times.”

“I didn’t decide to give birth at home because it’s trendy. Studies show …” Evie rattles off a few statistics and Ayden pretends to listen.

Actually, Ayden looks as if he’s really listening, which now that I think about it, Russ never even pretended to do. In fact, he always kinda zoned out when Evie spouted out conclusions from study after study, but I’d never blamed him for tuning her out. Her thirst for knowledge about every aspect in life always made my eyes glaze over. But now that he’s left her, I find myself growing irate with the memory of how he’d ignored her during those times and wonder if he disregarded her in other aspects of their marriage.

“I don't need a break.” They both stop jabbering to stare at me. “Not until the baby's born. I'm not leaving you.”

Eight shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a dejected stare.

“Yes, you are. You're getting on my nerves.” Evie gestures for Ayden to join her. “Go on. Take a ten-minute break. I'll still be here in agonizing pain when you return.”

“But what about—“

“Oh my God, go. Just go.” Evie rolls her eyes.

Sighing, I stand and stretch the kinks from my previously folded legs. Pain has worked its way into my joints from the prolonged sitting. Ayden takes my place, blessing me with a pleading look before I pass him. Eight stares at the toe of his boots, not moving until I speak as I pass.

“We can talk outside on the porch.”

I feel the warmth of him following me down the hallway, into the foyer, and out the front door. His fingers touch mine as I hold it open for him. Heat travels from the back of my hand, warming my bones. His touch abandons me, and I glance over my shoulder, meeting his eyes. He looks uncertain of himself, uncertain of me.

We walk to a set of white wicker patio furniture. I climb onto the largest of the chairs, tucking my legs underneath me. He perches on the edge of a chair catty-corner from mine, his elbows on his knees, his haggard face peering at the front lawn.

I'm the first one to break the silence. “You have some explaining to do.”

The sound of my voice in the stillness of the day makes him flinch. He abandons his gazing of the lawn to meet my eyes. Nodding, he drags his fingers through his blond curls.

“Where do I start?”

Half shrugging, I say, “The beginning is always good. How about starting with what exactly it is that you do for a living? All you’ve told me is that you’ve been to acting school and you’re in between jobs right now.”

“Not in between jobs, exactly.” Eight bites the corner of his bottom lip. “We’re on a break for a few weeks before filming
The Hunted
again.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re not an actor on
The Hunted
. Not even an extra. I’m an expert in all things
The Hunted
, and I would have noticed you on the show.”

“People rarely notice what’s right in front of them,” he murmurs, then shakes his head. “I’m not an actor on the show. Or an extra. I’m a stunt man. Ayden’s stunt man. Been a stunt man since season one. You’ve probably seen me on the show just as much as you’ve seen Ayden.”

“I thought Ayden did his own stunts.” I’m a little appalled at myself for not knowing this tidbit of information. What kind of superfan am I?

“Nah, the insurance is too high to damage a hair on his pretty little head.” A weary, timid smile breaks across his face, but it's as fleeting as the spring breeze.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this from the beginning?”

“I haven’t told you much about my ex. We dated for months before moving in together. She was always hanging around the set, schmoozing with all the actors. Ayden never liked her. He could tell she was one of those hanger-ons, and he tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

“What does she have to do with not telling me about your life? The only thing you’ve told me about her is she expected you to change.”

Eight snorts. “Change? Oh, yeah. She wanted me to change. Kept throwing my acting career in my face. Told me I’d wasted my education and demanded I talk to the higher-ups about writing in a role just for me. I told her I was happy working as Ayden’s stunt double, and I was. Still am. I love the physical part of it. People rarely notice me when I’m off the set. Even the superfans.” He grins at my scowl. “When I failed to get the role Ayden was meant for, I got offered the part of his stunt double. It was the best of both worlds. I could act and still be physical. I’m in every episode of
The Hunted
. Every single episode, but it still wasn’t enough for her.”

“And you didn’t tell me all this because you were worried I’d turn into some psycho girlfriend like her once I found out what you did for a living?”

Eight meets my gaze evenly. “Crawl inside my skin for a minute. Wouldn’t you worry? I love you. For the first time in my life I feel like I’ve found someone who loves me for
me
, for the decisions I’ve made and the man I am, not the person other people expect me to be. It was nice being a regular guy falling in love with a regular girl and not having to worry that the way she looks at me has anything to do with what a I do for a living.”

He loves me? Me? This hot mess of a woman with all these insecurities?

Something swells inside my chest. I open my mouth to confess my love as well, but as usual proverbial word vomit spills out, my body’s natural reaction against moments of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say with a snort. “Because I don’t even like you anymore.”

Eight tilts his head and gives me a soft smile. “You don’t like me anymore?”

“Nope. Not even a little.”

He reaches for my hand, and I let him. I let him clasp my fingers between his. Let him smooth his thumb along the back of my hand.

“If this is going to work, we have to trust each other.” I stare at our joined hands.

“I know.” Sighing, he cups my face in his hands and rests his forehead against mine. “I guess I wanted you to like me for me, not for the guy working side-by-side with your favorite celebrity. Not the guy working on the set of your favorite show. Just me, Brantley Carlock. You have to understand, the last girl I let into my heart was a complete psychopath.”

“I'm nothing like your ex. I don't care about what you do for a living, or who your friends are. I don't care if you rub elbows with celebrities. I care about
you
.” I suck in a deep breath. “I don't even care that you checked up on your old friend. I just wish you'd been upfront with it first. With all of it.”

His eyes sadden for a moment and his Adam's apple bobs. “Why'd I ever doubt you?”

“Because people suck,” I whisper. “People disappoint.” I think back to the one guy I'd seriously dated and the drama surrounding that entire experience. Then I think back to the first night I met Eight, remembering how relieved I was when I thought my blind date had stood me up. Now I can't imagine my life without him in it.