Taking Heart (2 page)

“No problem,” she said with a flirty grin and prepared his drink.
“Ma’am,” she said to Eric’s seat neighbor, who had apparently already fallen
asleep in the thirty minutes since the plane took off. “Ma’am?”

Eric nudged the sleeping girl’s elbow. She opened her eyes tentatively. “Do
you need a drink?” he asked, jabbing a thumb in the cart’s direction.

She licked her chapped lips and sat up. “Mmm, yes. Diet Coke, please.”

He eyed her out of the corner of his eye as he took a sip of his
beverage. The girl was tragic with her messy brown ponytail and her oversized
grey sweater. Even her jeans were baggy and looked worse for the wear. He
wondered what could possibly possess somebody to leave the house—let
alone travel halfway across the country—in such an unkempt state. She
reminded him of those people who had given up hope on their looks altogether,
or maybe didn’t give a damn to begin with. Which, now that he chewed on it a
moment, was actually a trait he could admire. He would love to have the ability
to shut out others’ unwarranted opinions—his stepfather’s, for one.

To avoid thinking about the man who’d raised him since he was seven years
old, Eric turned to his neighbor and said, “So is Colorado your final
destination or just a layover?”

She turned her head and fixed big brown eyes at him, which were bloodshot
and ringed with lines. “Final destination.”

“Me too,” he said. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as it takes,” she murmured into her plastic cup.

He waited, but no further explanation came. She merely concentrated on
her beverage while twisting the little square napkin in her hand.

“You know, Diet Coke is actually quite bad for you.”

She gave him a puzzled look before saying, “Thanks for the info. I didn’t
realize my drink was being scrutinized.”

Ah, hell.
He hadn’t meant to insinuate that she had poor beverage choosing skills,
hadn't really meant to insinuate anything at all. “I can’t really speak because
Jack and Coke is not exactly the elixir of health, you know?” He stopped and
swallowed, wondering what the hell was in his drink that was making his lips so
flappy all of a sudden.

She bit her bottom lip and one side of her mouth quirked up. “Did you go
to school to gain this in-depth knowledge?” she asked with a perfectly serious
expression.

“Why yes, I have a masters in Cokeology, actually,” he said with a grin.
“The drink, not the drug substance, though I suppose I could say I minored in
that, too.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Um, that’s nice.” She gulped down the rest of her
drink and pulled out the in-flight magazine. Clearly she would rather peruse
the tattered Sky Mall catalogue than continue talking to the likes of him.

He shifted in his seat to better face her. “Okay, that was definitely
TMI, but I haven’t touched the stuff since last year.”

Holy crap, what is wrong with me?

She continued flipping the creased magazine pages as if she hadn't heard
him. Just when he thought she was completely done with him, she said, “What
happened, you hit rock bottom?”

He knew he should just shut up, that he should stop talking about drug
use already, but his mouth continued to move on its own. “I wish I could say
that was the case, but actually I was told by doctors that if I didn’t stop
doing drugs, I would die.”

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t an addict or anything. I was just a social user, just at parties
and such.” He raised the cup to his lips to take another nervous sip, then
decided against it. “I suppose I sound like a total cokehead to you, huh?”

“Honestly? Yes. But a very honest cokehead,” she said and slipped the
magazine back in the seat pocket. “You’re very forthright.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I blurted that out. My mouth just
won't stop moving.”

“That's strange,” she said. “Considering you didn't even want to sit next
to anybody.”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Was I that loud?”

“No, but I was close enough to hear.” She frowned. “Do you always try to
bully people into getting your way?”

Her question gave him pause. He hadn’t meant to be aggressive towards the
gate clerk. Eric had only approached the man, and the situation, with his usual
straightforward attitude. Nobody had ever told him that he was being a bully
before. “Was I that bad?” he asked.

She exhaled, as if about to deliver a blow. “Yes. If there was a
Douchebag Hall of Fame, you would have been instantly inducted.”

He winced. “Ouch. Douchebag Hall of Fame, huh?”

She nodded.

“To be fair, the airline assured me that there’d be plenty of room. That
I wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone.”

“Why is that so important to you?” she asked.

“What makes me such a special snowflake, you mean?”

His grin was mirrored on her face. Thank goodness she had a sense of
humor. “Yes, exactly.”

“Well, I just hate having to sit next to someone who recognizes me.
Having to make small talk with strangers is very exhausting.” He laughed
softly. “I know
,
the irony is not lost on me. I can’t
believe I’m talking to you like I’ve known you my whole life.”

She smiled then, a sad sort of smile. “So you wear the glasses so you
don’t get recognized? Because, to be honest—and we’re being honest, right
?—
you’re coming across as a total douchebag.”

“So I’m a double Hall of Fame honoree, huh?”

She shrugged good-naturedly.

“I’d say that’s pretty accurate. Actually, I forgot I was even wearing
them. My eyes adjusted, I guess.” He took off the aviator sunglasses, trying to
appear unstung. He had not achieved a great deal in his life, could not show
much for his twenty-eight years of existence, but his image was something he’d
carefully honed and crafted. To be told that he was slightly off the mark was a
little disconcerting.

“You really think I’m that bad?” he asked, realizing too late how
insecure those words made him sound. After a moment’s thought, he decided he
didn’t really care how he was coming across because he wouldn't see her again.
He might as well take advantage of the free sounding board.

She shifted around in her seat and pulled the hem of her sweater down.
Finally she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I mean, I guess at
first you appeared to be on the arrogant side, but now that we’re talking I
think you’re probably a nice, normal guy.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling slightly vindicated. Damn straight he was
normal. He was as normal as a guy who lived his formative years in Los Angeles
could be. He deserved a goddamn medal for exiting his youth without having made
a porno. “But alert me should I revert back to douchebaggery.”

“Will do.”

He regarded her closely, noting the lack of makeup on her pale skin,
complementing the lack of joy on her face.

“Do you want to hear my honest take on you?” he asked.

She shook her head vehemently. “No thanks. My self-esteem is not as
healthy as yours.”

“You sure? I have this eerie way of giving accurate descriptions of
people.”

“I’m good. Really.” She turned away from him.

But he was bound and determined. Hell, she wasn’t the only one allowed to
hand out unsavory character descriptions. “Well, for example, I think your
baggy clothes mean that you’re hiding something. For most people, it means
they’re hiding their discomfort about their physical appearance, but in your
case, I think it’s emotional.” He looked for a response but only saw her lips
pursing. “Well, am I right?”

She avoided his gaze. “You talk too much.”

He chuckled despite her obvious discomfort. “I was right, right?”

She ignored him.

“Come on, I told you about my past drug use. A conversation is a give and
take. A two-way street.”

“Why do you need to know? Can’t we just sit here in silence?” She closed
her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest, effectively blocking him
out.

“I just… I’m sorry. I have a hard time with boundaries and overstepping
them.” He settled back in his seat and fixed his eyes on a black mark on the
back of the tray table. “Silence it is.”

Ren’s eyes had been closed for several minutes, but sleep proved elusive.
Perhaps she was just feeling guilty at how rude she’d been to the guy sitting
next to her. He wasn’t a bad guy; in fact, he was entertaining to talk to. But
she got the feeling that he was a lonely soul, as though he’d spent his life
not having anyone to talk to and now he was boiling over on to a complete
stranger. And, honestly, as much pain as she was going through, it really
wouldn’t hurt her to listen. Other people had problems too.

She snuck a peek at the guy, who was now playing a game on his phone. Without
his sunglasses, he was fairly good-looking, with dimples and eyes that turned
down slightly as if weary of the world. “So are you an actor or something?” she
finally asked.

He smiled at her as he shut off the phone, his blue eyes lighting up.
“No, I’m a nobody who just happens to be photographed a lot with a bunch of
somebodies.”

“So you’re a fame leech then?” She cracked a smile to show that her
comment was in jest.

“Fame leech. Yeah, I like that.” He said the words a few more times.
“Though to be fair, I didn’t set out to be. When you live in Los Angeles and
your best friend is Carson Kingsley, you don’t really have a choice.”

“Carson Kingsley is your best friend? Seriously?” Her eyes widened and
she was surprised to find herself a tad impressed. “He’s a really good actor!”

“Nah, he’s a hack.” He grinned, revealing his incredibly white teeth.
This guy even
looked
like an actor. “Just kidding. He’s actually really
dedicated to the craft. He does his research and completely inhabits the
character. Really method.”

“I remember he lost all that weight for that one movie about a crack
addict.”

“Dude only ate steamed broccoli and brown rice for months.”

“Maybe I could use that diet to lose my last ten pounds.”

She instantly regretted her words when his eyes roamed over her body in
appraisal. “You don’t look like you need to lose weight,” he said.

She sucked her stomach in. “Well, that’s a nice sentiment, but I have
gained weight in the last several weeks.”

His eyes were shrewd as he focused on her face. “Why, what happened
recently to make you gain all that weight?”

“Um.” She bit her bottom lip. Was she ready to talk about Ben?

“Ah. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said with
a nod, as if he sensed that her secret was one that hurt.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t think I’m ready to talk
about it just yet.”

He nodded once more. “Well, in any case, I don’t think Carson’s diet is
the healthiest way to lose weight. It all comes right back as soon as you start
eating normally again. Do you work out?”

Glad for his sensitivity in changing the subject, she said, “I used to
run a lot, but I haven’t lately.”

“Let me guess, you haven’t run in several weeks?” There was a slight
glint of mischief in his eyes that told her just how much he wanted to know
what had happened almost two months ago.

But she hadn’t talked about Ben’s death since that initial phone call in
April from his distraught mother, Linda. Ren had swallowed her own hysteria and
had tried to sound strong, mostly for the older lady’s sake. Ben had told
everyone she was a courageous and loving woman, a compliment that Ren tried to
live up to every day since the news. Ren had told Linda she would clean out his
apartment in Colorado, not knowing if she was really up for the task—but
she’d made the promise, and no matter what, she would find the strength to
complete it.

All this time she’d kept all the sorrow inside, despite her own family’s
attempts at giving her comfort. She didn't want pity hugs and soothing words.
All she wanted was to hold on to the pain, because it was all she had left of
Ben.