LYRA

07.06.15

“Ma, you need to calm down. Please, I can barely understand you. I know you’ve been worried sick, but I’m not dead. I’m perfectly fine. We’re safe in Zaragoza, a city a couple hours outside of Pamplona, on the way to Barcelona.” Tavian uses the same tone with his mom as he did earlier with me—firm and authoritative, yet somehow soothing and gentle at the same time. “I called you as soon as I could. Shortly after everything went down, the phone lines got all jammed in the city, and then we were out in the countryside. This is the first time I’ve gotten a signal.”

Staring straight ahead out the windshield while he talks, I’m not paying any attention to the way he’s clenching his strong, angular jaw or fisting and releasing his free hand against his muscular thigh. Nope, not at all. Because that would just be the cherry of insanity on top of the awkward cake I’ve been baking the last two hours while embarking on an impromptu road trip… across a foreign country… with a man who I know almost nothing about… after nearly being blown up in a goddamn terrorist attack!

Deep breaths, Lyra. You’ve kept it together this long. Don’t lose your shit now.

Uncomfortable isn’t a strong enough word to describe how I feel sitting here so close to him while he’s having this personal, emotionally-charged call with his mom. But when I try to give him some privacy and go inside the McDonald’s we’re parked outside of, he reaches across me, shuts the car door with a stern shake of his head, and says, “You’re not leaving my sight. We stay together.”

Typically, if someone were to order me around like that, I would stay as far away from that person as possible. I may be seen as a shy, reserved introvert, but a pushover I’m not. Though to prevent conflict, I would keep my distance. But there’s something about the way Tavian takes charge that comes off as concerned not condescending, selfless not superior. So I keep my butt in the seat like he instructs me to do and pretend I’m not eavesdropping, even though it’s impossible not to. I mean, we’re sitting inside a parked car together with no other sound to drown out his conversation.

As soon as the call connected, I heard her screaming frantically through the phone and my heart broke for her, thinking how terrified she must’ve been while unable to contact her son, knowing he was at the airport when all hell broke loose. Losing a loved one is never easy, but when it’s completely unexpected and way too early… I know that devastation all too well.

“I’m not sure what the plan is now for the rest of the trip, Ma. My first priority was getting us the hell out of there in one piece, and honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead. It’s all been a whirlwind.” He sounds exasperated, struggling to stay patient. “As soon as I hang up with you, I’m going to call the hotel I have booked in Barcelona and see if I can check in a couple of nights early. Once we get there and can regroup, I’ll figure out what’s next, but I’m not planning on coming home yet. What happened today in Pamplona was a goddamn tragedy. Believe me, I know. I saw it. I’ll never forget it. But I also know it was a freak thing that happened because a bunch of fucking shithead cowards get off on terrorizing innocent people. The chances of it happening again are tiny.” He pauses, and a grim determination settles over his carved features. “Plus, I’m not going to let them win. Fuck that.”

A few seconds of silence follow as he listens to her. This time I can’t hear what she’s saying. My level of discomfort skyrockets in the silence, and my fingers itch for my camera. I wish I hadn’t stowed it away in my backpack earlier in the drive when I tried to take a nap, but to dig it out now would just cause a ruckus and garner Tavian’s attention.

“I’m a grown man, Ma. I’m not apologizing for cursing, and yes, I said ‘we’ because I’m with a girl from Brooklyn. Her name’s Lyra.” Looking over at me, he reaches across the center console and softly pats me mid-thigh. His fingers linger over the faded denim of my jeans, and I hope he doesn’t notice the sharp breath that hisses through my teeth. No one ever touches me, and my nerve endings tingle with electricity when he does it so casually, almost absentmindedly. Like it’s a natural thing to do.

I’m not sure if I like it or not.

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.