Chapter 20

Cheyenne

When I talkedto new people, or did interviews, I always referred to Australia as "home." But the truth was that it wasn't. Not anymore. I still had family here, along with a handful of friends, and I had wonderful memories of my childhood. I loved spending time with my grandmother, and puttering around in the kitchen with her, but this wasn't home. Not my home anyway.

Los Angeles was home.

My small but efficient condo was home.

Harper and Addy and even Stevie—whom I still hadn't heard from—they were part of what I considered home.

Even Ivan's place, where we'd spent those few, but meaningful, nights together, was more of a home than this was.

Being here for the first time in a while reminded me that Australia didn't hold the same meaning for me anymore.

I hated leaving Gran, but I couldn't wait to get out of here.

"Sweetie, will you grab the buns?" Gran asked as we got ready for our final family dinner before I left in the morning. My parents and brother were staying another week, but I had things to do.

Like Ivan.

I smiled as I grabbed the basket.

I'd changed my flight and instead of flying to L.A., I was going to meet Ivan in Washington, D.C. It was a huge pain in the ass, having to stop in both L.A. and Atlanta, but he was worth it. We'd have three days together, in two cities with two hockey games in the midst, before heading back to L.A. It was a lot, but I'd planned to spend those days resting and decompressing. I could do that in a hotel room in D.C. just as easily as my room at home.

And then I'd have Ivan coming home to me at night.

"We wanted to run something past you," my mother said as we settled around Gran's dining room table. We usually ate in the kitchen, so sitting down in the formal dining room was a treat. Or something was going on.

That was the more likely scenario.

"What's up?" I asked, popping a piece of bread in my mouth.

"Are you eating bread?" My brother, Wyatt, stared at me for a minute.

"It's the last day of my vacation," I said. "I can eat a little bread. Especially considering we did a zillion-mile hike yesterday." It had nearly killed me, but I'd done it because everyone else wanted to do it. Hiking really wasn't my thing, though.

"It was only five miles," he said, chuckling.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "So, what's up?" I asked curiously, meeting my mother's gaze. If something was going on, she'd cave first.

"Tell her your idea, honey," she said to Wyatt, squeezing his arm.

Uh oh.

This was going to be bad.

I could already tell.

"I was thinking," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "What if, instead of hiring drivers and cars everywhere, you just hired me."

"Wh-what?" I asked in confusion.

"We could buy a Town Car or a Range Rover or whatever, and I could be your driver. You hire someone ninety percent of the time anyway, so why pay a stranger when you could pay me?"

I stared at him.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

My brother as my driver?

That was laughable.

He'd had a lot of tickets over the years, and at least three accidents that I knew of. He'd totaled two cars and even lost his license when he was twenty.

And now he wanted to be my driver?

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.

"Your driving record isn't great," I said instead. "And it's about more than driving. My drivers are also my bodyguards, and I think that would put a lot of unfair pressure on you. What would you do if someone started shooting?"

He blinked, frowning a little. "Well, I mean, don't people duck when bullets start flying?"

I looked at my mother, who'd always had a soft spot for Wyatt. "Was this your idea? Because it has disaster written all over it."

She sighed. "Couldn't you just give him a chance?"

"He just admitted that if someone started shooting, he would duck. Not save me, not push me out of the way—but duck. That's not what the people I pay to take care of me do."

"She has a point, Silla," my father said quietly.

"Ethan!" She gave him a dirty look.

"What about on a trial basis?" Wyatt asked. "I'd do it for free for a couple of weeks, to show you I'm serious."

"Again, if there was real trouble, like a gun or an attempted kidnapping or whatever, you're not trained to protect me."

He scowled. "All right, so I can learn. Is there, like, a bodyguard school?"

"No, Wyatt. Most bodyguards got their training in the military and such." That wasn't true, and I knew there were programs for exactly that, but if he hadn't even bothered to look it up, he wasn't serious.

As usual, he was just looking for a paycheck.

"All your drivers are bodyguards?" Mom asked, frowning. "How did I not know that?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "There are occasions when I'm doing an event and the car service is ordered for me, where I don't know what the driver's training is, but the services I use are all trained to protect me as well as drive."

There was an awkward silence around the table, and then Wyatt got up and stormed out of the house.

"Why are you so hard on him?" Mom demanded. "He's doing the best he can."

"This is his best?" I asked. "Lying around the house letting you and Dad support him, using the money I've given you, is his best? I offered to pay for college, but it's too hard. I offered to send him to trade school. He doesn't know what he wants to do. Military? Not for him. Hell, he could play in a band for all I care, but he doesn't even want to do that. He thinks because I'm rich, he shouldn't have to work, and I work really fucking hard for my money. All day, almost every day.

"I'm on planes seventy-five percent of my life, going from one shoot to another, promoting brands, my social media presence, walking runways, shooting commercials… all while I'm starving. This is the first piece of bread I've eaten in—" I held it up, shaking it hard enough to make it fall apart. "—months. All while he sits around popping gummies and watching TV. No. He's not qualified to be my driver or my bodyguard. He's not qualified to do much of anything. I love him, but I don't trust him, and if that's going to cause an issue for us, too bad. Sorry, Gran, I've lost my appetite." I got up and walked out the back door.

I stared out at nothing for a few minutes, wishing I was on the plane back to L.A. My condo. My life. Ivan.

Well, he was in Pittsburgh or something, but it amounted to the same thing.

I just wanted to go home.

And it had been a long time since I'd yearned for home.

I barely considered my condo home, but L.A. had become home.

Especially the last month or so.

"Your brother's having a rough go, eh?" Gran asked, coming outside to join me, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She'd always been a smoker and we'd long since stopped asking her to quit. She didn't smoke in the house anymore, so it was oddly comforting to see her doing it now. "Come sit." She sank into a plastic chair and motioned for me to join her.

"Not you too," I moaned, sinking down next to her. "Please don't try to talk me into hiring him."

"No. Your safety is far too important. I agree with you there. But there has to be something he can do to earn his keep."

I sighed. "He's not skilled at anything. He certainly can't do my accounting or book my gigs. He wouldn't know the first thing about booking my travel. Hell, I don't even think he could clean my condo."

She smiled, blowing a ring of smoke up into the air. "Some boys mature more slowly."

"Come on, Gran. Guys his age are married with families. Fighting in the military. Making six figures on Wall Street. Working nine to five at the local gas station. There's a lot between what Wyatt is doing and most of the rest of the men in the world.

"I don't mind helping him," I continued, "but I'm not going to support him to do nothing."

"That's why you need to find something he can do for you."

"There isn't anything. You tell me what I could possibly hire him for."

She didn't respond, staring up at the sky. "I know it's hard. But you've been lucky. You don't achieve the level of success you have without a bit of luck. I'm not saying you don't work hard. You do. But we all know a dozen beautiful girls who never made it as a model, much less a supermodel. There's always an element of luck."

"There is," I agreed. "But there doesn't have to be. He could go to college and learn about computer coding or video games or interior design, for all I care. And I'd happily pay for it. I'm not going to pay him to do nothing, though. I don't know how else to say it. And frankly, I'd think you and Mom and Dad would want him to grow up."

"We do. We just need him to catch a break. You have everything. His little sister is at the pinnacle of success while he's still floundering."

"And instead of letting that fuel him to work his ass off to accomplish something of his own, he wants to sit around and complain about it." I shook my head. "The answer is still no. But I'll tell you what. If he can come up with something that he can genuinely do for me, I'll hire him."

"That's fair." She put out her cigarette. "So. Where are you off to? Home or to Ivan?"

"How did you know?" I asked curiously.

"I've never seen your face light up like it does when you talk about him. I've definitely never seen you care about sports so much, especially one that's foreign to us, like hockey. You're in love, and I think the writing is on the wall with that."

"What writing? What wall?" I asked, laughing. "We're…dating."

"You've skipped right over dating and moved into relationship territory. It's been entertaining to watch you fall."

"Stop it. We're not in a relationship."

Were we?

We hadn't had a conversation like that.

"Are you afraid he doesn't return your feelings?"

"I don't even know what my feelings are," I said after a moment. "He's amazing. I can't wait to see him again. He makes me feel safe. I love how it feels when he touches me. But it's so new. Far too new for love." I paused again. "Right?"

"What do you think?"

"We haven't talked about relationships or the future. He knows my plan isn't to get married or think about anything serious until after I retire."

"I don't think your heart got that memo."

"I can't possibly feel the way I feel after a month."

"But it's been longer than that. You went out over the summer. You kept in touch. You have mutual friends that have brought you together. It's been more than a month."

"Three months," I said. "Maybe even four. I still don't think that's enough."

She met my gaze with a faint smile. "Your grandfather told me he was going to marry me on our second date."

"You were, what? Sixteen? Everyone thinks they're in love at sixteen."

She shook her head. "It was different with us. We knew there was something special between us. Immediately. After the first date. It wasn't just a bit of butterflies in the tummy and a tingling in our loins. There was something deeper there. And if you dig in your own soul, you'll know you have it with Ivan."

I wasn't sure what was more terrifying: Gran talking about her loins or Ivan being the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.