Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

ZANE

Bears are sometimes portrayed as dangerous villains, but nothing could be further from the truth. They have always been curious, playful, protective, gentle, and trustworthy creatures when left to their own devices. Someone needs to get bears a better PR person and demand that those old fairy tales get a rewrite.

—Bear Facts for Insomniacs, Episode 37

I’d lied to Bear in the shower. The song hadn’t first come to me on the snowy trail. It had been percolating in my head for a while—ever since Barlo. But when I was in his arms in the shower, suddenly, the words had started coming, too, like popcorn kernels over a hot flame.

Pop pop pop.

They filled my head until all I could do was repeat them to myself over and over so I wouldn’t forget them.

As soon as I was dressed in comfy clothes, I made my way to the sunroom and closed the door behind me .

My notebook and pen were still next to the guitar stand, so I grabbed them before sitting down on the sofa. I scribbled and plucked chords, playing around with the music until I began to feel it come together. The cheerful melody I’d been humming for days rolled like warm honey over me, melding with the lyrics, easy as breathing. And by the time the song was finished, I was giddy with the secret knowledge I’d written it about my bodyguard.

No one would ever know who the song was about, but suddenly, I wanted to sing it in front of a crowd of tens of thousands of people. I wanted to belt it out and feel the power of the music match the power of my feelings for him, especially after this week.

Part of me wanted the world to know that something inside me had been reborn because of Bear—that tiny shoots of happiness were sprouting up on once-barren stretches of my heart, unfurling like fern fronds in the sunshine, filling the places that had been parched and cracked from years of drought.

At the same time, though, part of me never wanted to share this gift, these feelings, with anyone but him. That part remembered my mother telling me that fairy tales were lies.

I’d worked on a song about that this week, too, as a way to exorcise my thoughts and make sense of my feelings—a song I was loosely calling “Broken Fairytale” — but ironically enough, the happy ending I’d envisioned just wasn’t coming together.

“Fairy tales promise something that doesn’t exist in the real world, Zanie,” she used to say. “They make you think good things like that are possible, and so you keep looking for them until… well, let’s just say I would have been smarter if I hadn’t been looking for the fairy tale.”

I’d known at the time she’d meant my father. He’d been handsome and exciting, always showing up with a wad of cash from payday and the offer to go out and “paint the town red.” But by Monday… sometimes Tuesday at the latest, the cash would be gone, and so would he.

And she’d be back to working whatever jobs she could find. Nights at Waffle House. Afternoons at McDonald’s. One time, she had a job as a server at our local pizza place. They served beer and had a bar with sports on TVs hung over it. Enough guys from town would hold down the bar to make for decent tips. That year had been my favorite. She’d let me sneak into bed with her in the morning, and we’d sing songs I’d heard on the radio at Gran’s house.

She’d told me I had the voice of an angel and a heart two sizes too big. “That heart’s going to break into pieces one day, Zanie,” she’d say.

And that deep-down scared part of me now worried she’d been right.

This time with Bear was maybe the happiest of my life. But in my experience, happy things didn’t last.

In this case, the expiration date was coming in a matter of days.

By the time my stomach started demanding dinner, I’d grown melancholy. The excitement and joy I’d had at figuring out my cheerful song about Bear had drained away like fizzy pop in a broken bottle.

I made my way to the kitchen and began poking around in the fridge, not realizing Bear was sitting right there at the table. When he spoke, I jumped.

“Shit, sorry, what?” I said, clutching my chest.

“I said I was kind of in the mood for a big salad to go with that bread Lou brought over from the local bakery. That sound good to you? I can’t cook, but I can chop ingredients for a salad, and there’s grilled chicken in there.”

“Yeah, good. I can help.”

I felt Bear’s eyes on me as he joined me in the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients. I washed my hands and busied myself cutting vegetables.

He didn’t push me to talk even though it was clear he was concerned, and I appreciated that. But then I wondered if he wasn’t asking because he didn’t much care—not that he didn’t care about me . I knew he did. But because he might not have wanted to get involved in whatever emotional crap I had going on.

He might want to keep things professional… to the extent you can do that with someone’s whose ass you ate earlier.

My cheeks flamed as usual as those memories replayed in my mind.

“Did your song go okay?” he asked gently without looking up from the giant bowl he was tearing lettuce into.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m, ah… I’m working on a couple of them right now, actually. The one that came to me today is done. It’s a happy song, and I’m really pleased with it. The other…” I shook my head. “Something’s not quite right yet. The subject is a little more serious, and the bridge and the final verse need work. Too bad, really. I was thinking about playing that one in Amsterdam, if it was ready.”

“That’d be exciting,” he said. “Your fans would go nuts if you debuted a new song onstage. But only if it feels right.”

Silence fell again. I tossed the bell peppers into the salad and began to slice the red onion. “Tell me about your parents,” I said, realizing he didn’t talk about his family all that much. “You said the other day that they didn’t necessarily know you were gay, and it made me wonder about your relationship with them. I thought you were close.”

“We are. I know it seems strange I haven’t told them, considering we are close, but…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want it to be a thing, you know? A topic of conversation they might bring up at any time. I didn’t want awkward moments of my mother casually mentioning every gay kid she knew or my dad showing up wearing a Montanan Pride shirt.”

I snickered. “Yeah, they sound terrible.”

“They’re the opposite of terrible. They’re the type to love your face off. They’re aggressively supportive.”

It made sense. “That’s how you became an Olympic-level athlete.”

“Exactly. They supported the shit out of me and did everything they could to help me pursue it. To this day I think my brothers and sister are prouder of my medals than I am. My sister has them on display in her house.”

That surprised me. “They’re not at your place in LA?”

I knew he had a small apartment in Santa Monica, but I’d never been there.

“God no. My apartment is a shit heap,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t even finished unpacking the things I do have.”

I stared at him. “Why? Is it because you spend too many hours at work? Because I could talk to Violet?—”

“No. God, no. And don’t you dare talk to Violet. No. I just… I like to explore. I don’t hang around my apartment much. When we’re in town and I’m not with you, I usually hike the canyon or go for long runs. I go to Topanga. Sometimes I’ll try a new restaurant or find someplace with live music. That kind of thing.”

“What kind of music?” I asked eagerly. I’d asked him about music before, but he’d always seemed to imply that he liked mine. Maybe he felt disloyal by telling me what he really liked.

“Zee Barlo cover bands,” he said with a straight face.

I stared at him. “You are a complete and utter asshole. Tell me the truth.”

“There’s this place, Pips on La Brea, that does jazz and amazing cocktails. It’s the vibe more than the music.”

I deflated a little, remembering I was too high-profile to go to places like that anymore. If Bear and I ever had a real relationship, he’d miss out on some of the things he liked.

I sucked in a breath. “What else? Tell me about your sister. It sounds like she rules the roost. You always talk about her like she’s the one in charge.”

We talked about his family for a while as we continued fixing the meal. I moved around him to pull out ingredients to make a homemade dressing I liked while he chopped up garlic the way I asked.

There were upsides to not going out anymore, and one of them was learning to cook healthier and being able to afford fresh ingredients that made healthy eating taste way better.

And the other upside of doing it was that Ryan Galloway loved my salad dressings and acted like I’d walked on water every time I made one from scratch.

“This is fucking amazing,” he said on a groan when we sat down and started eating. “I wish you could move in with me and cook for me all the time.”

He didn’t stop to hear his own words. If he had, he might have spluttered a clarification he didn’t actually want me to move in with him. But since he didn’t take the words back, I decided to tease him a little. “We’d have to live in my house, though, because I doubt you have a steam shower or a Vitamix.”

He grinned at me. “You’re right about the steam shower, but I do have a Vitamix. I got it six months ago thinking I’d copy what you did and make salad dressing.”

“You’re kidding? Why didn’t you ask me for the recipes?”

“Because a guy at the gym convinced me to try making a spinach smoothie first, and once I perfected it, I never wanted to make anything else. Besides”—he shot me a wink that made my stomach tighten—“I can get homemade salad dressing at your place anytime I want. I have connections to the rich and famous.”

Now I was jealous of a rando at his gym. “Smoothies can be high in calories.”

He looked up at me in confusion, but something in my expression made him smile. “That right?”

I dug into my salad, poking it with more force than was necessary. “I’m just saying. Random gym bros don’t always know everything about how to balance your nutrition.”

“I dunno, Z. The guy looked really fit. Seemed like he knew what he was doing, nutrition-wise.”

I crunched the big bite of salad, grateful we’d added jicama so I could attack the harder texture with my teeth. “Yeah, well. Looks can be deceiving. Imagine if I was sitting here telling you about getting self-defense advice from one of the guys at the recording studio. You’d have to wonder whether they were qualified, wouldn’t you?”

This was ridiculous, and it was obvious to everyone. I scrambled to change the subject. “Do you believe in fairy tales?”

The record scratch might as well have been audible.

I let out a heh sound and tried to change course. “Not… that’s not really what I meant.” I shook my head. If I couldn’t talk to Bear about this, who could I talk to about it? He was literally paid to keep my secrets, paid to keep me from harm. I knew with utter certainty that included emotional harm. “Yes it is. I want to know if you think…”

I hesitated, trying to get my thoughts in order.

“Hey,” he said softly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Take your time. Whatever you’re asking, just ask.”

I began slowly, explaining what my mom had always told me. “But I think that was her way of trying to temper her expectations,” I said. “I don’t think she actually believed it. I think she believed the opposite. But maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe if she’d been more pragmatic, more realistic, she wouldn’t have fallen for my dad’s charm every time he rolled back into town.”

Bear’s hand smoothed across my shoulder to the back of my neck and cupped it gently. “I think there’s a difference between believing there’s a better life out there and tossing your responsibilities aside in an effort to win it like it’s a lottery or something. Falling for the same false promises over and over again isn’t how you get your fairy tale, Z. Hard work, helping others, putting kindness into the world… those are good things. And that’s who you are. You’re living the fairy tale, Zane. Not because you won it, but because you busted your ass—and continue to bust your ass—for it. And you bring a ton of people with you, but not with lottery wins. You give them opportunities to pursue their own goals and reach their own dreams. And I think that’s an important part of this. Everyone’s fairy tale looks different.”

“And yours looks like opening a winter sports camp, right? Get the kids to like the snow early so they won’t become thirty-something delicate-flower musicians who freeze their tails off on the trail?”

“Not at all.” Bear smiled softly. “But I’d definitely hammer home the part about using their poles to check depth before taking a leak. ”

I snorted. “Where did that dream come from? You said biathlon gave you structure… but it sounds like you already had a pretty great family.”

He smiled and shook his head. “If I tell you this story, you’ll think less of me.”

“Not possible,” I said.

His smile dropped, and I realized how that could’ve been interpreted. I shoved his shoulder gently. “Bear. You know what I mean. Tell your story.”

“When I was in middle school, I was into gaming. Obsessed. I was that asshole kid who ignored everything else to game. It wasn’t just me. My brothers and I played against each other, and one of my older brothers had a friend from school that played, too. We were complete losers, staying up all night, drinking too much soda, and eating too much sugar. Not getting any sleep. Being jerks to everyone around us. Not doing homework. All of that. So my parents decided to send us to this winter sports program. It was after school every day and then all day Saturday—or at least it seemed like it was all day. I fucking hated it.”

He exhaled. “Until we got to try the biathlon. The program rotated around a bunch of different sports. One week, we did hockey, one week snowboarding, one week downhill skiing. We even did curling. But when we did target shooting, I learned that all those hours playing first-person shooter games didn’t have shit to do with hitting a real target. I became obsessed with learning how to actually shoot, but the teacher wouldn’t let us do it without the skiing part. As soon as you finished the ski run, you got to shoot. Well, I got real fast at skiing because I wanted to get my hands on that gun.”

“You became a gold medalist because you’re a homicidal maniac at heart?” I asked with a laugh.

“Pretty much… although now the shooting is pretty boring. Once you learn how to do it fast, it’s less exciting. The exciting part becomes mastering your heart rate and concentration to be able to sw itch from the hard physical effort of skiing to the intense mental effort of calming down and focusing.”

He continued to tell me more about his experience and how that program changed his life for the better. “It was a change-maker,” he said. “Kind of like the way you talk about your time at Yale. Something you can look back on and say, ‘There but for that one thing, my life would be completely different and probably not as rewarding.’”

I nodded. “I could see you doing that one day, you know. You’re good with kids.” I remembered him drawing his weapon on my cousin and her friends. “Sometimes,” I added.

Thankfully, he laughed, most likely realizing what I was thinking about.

We spent the rest of the meal talking more about our experiences growing up. Rather, he told me about his while I expertly ducked any mention of mine outside of a few funny stories from the time after I’d gone to live with Gran full-time.

Thankfully, we were interrupted by a call from Landry. Bear took it as an excuse to go out to the gatehouse to check on Lou while I wandered back into my bedroom to talk in private.

“How’s the honeymoon?” Landry teased.

Unfortunately, it was a video call, and I felt my cheeks already heating. “How was your pinwheel lasagne?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been eating nothing but plants and water. I might as well go on the bottoming tour of Hell’s Kitchen. All this prep for nothing.”

“Not true. I’m sure you’ll get to wear some beautiful clothes. Remember the Jon Stein show two years ago?”

“We had an agreement, Zane.”

“Red inflatable codpieces,” I continued, trying not to laugh. “They never did catch on, did they?”

“Had they been crafted out of anything other than vinyl, maybe they would have,” he muttered. “Stop trying to change the subject. How is your surly bear of a bodyguard? ”

I couldn’t help but grin. “He taught me how to cross-country ski.”

Landry gave me an unimpressed stare. “I can think of way better things he could have taught you, sweetness. Skiing is a waste of all that… brawn.”

“He, uh… he…”

I wanted to tell someone what we’d done. What I ’d finally done. But I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for our current situation.

Landry’s eyes popped open wider. “Girl. Spill the tea. Spill all the fucking tea right this minute. Tell mama what that big growly bear did to you, boo.”

“Who said he did anything?” I squeaked.

Landry fluttered a hand in front of his long throat. “Oh my merciful heavens. That man touched you. Tell me every sordid detail, or I will find the two of you, and then I will ask him to account for his actions.”

“It’s not like that,” I said quickly. “You make it sound like he did something inappropriate or unwanted. I assure you it was very… wanted.”

“But certainly not appropriate,” he stated drily. “That man is your employee, Zane. Have you ever heard of the Me Too movement? I’m surprised at you.”

“Me?” I squawked. “First of all, he doesn’t work for me. Secondly, you act like I pressured him into something. Does Ryan Galloway seem like the kind of guy who can get pressured into anything? Give me a break.”

I huffed and added, “Besides. He wanted it. Trust me. He wanted it plenty.”

Landry burst out laughing. “And what did you do to slake his want, hmm?”

“Okay, but I need your advice. And you can’t tell anyone, especially Bash or Silas because they’ll lecture me.”

“Not true. They’re true love converts now. They’d support you in your efforts.”

I squawked again. “True love? Who said anyth?—”

“Fine, skip the love part and tell me the nasty part. I’m listening.”

I let out a breath and tried to calm down. “Kenji’s right. You’re a provoking shit.”

Landry’s teasing grin fell. “Kenji can fuck right off. I provoke him because he begs for it. The man needs to get the stick out of his ass.”

Yeah, those two were definitely involved, and I desperately wanted to know the details… but not right then. “Sorry, my bad,” I soothed. “Besides, now that Kenji got accepted into that retreat, I’m sure he’ll come back refreshed and relaxed. Maybe it’ll help him realign his chakras or whatever.”

Landry’s forehead crinkled. “What retreat?”

This was so not the point. “The one hosted by that guy Kenji’s obsessed with. You know the one I’m talking about. Kenji listens to all his podcasts and reads his books for mindfulness and focus. I think he’s an acharya—a guiding light—but I can’t remember his name…”

“Chaska Inira,” Landry muttered. “Fucking know-it-all.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure. Can we move on? Advice? Please?”

Landry flicked his hair over his shoulder. “Of course. I don’t care about Kenji or his Peruvian healer. Like, at all.”

“Right. Anyway, here’s the situation with B- Ryan .” I cleared my throat. “We hooked up.”

Landry blinked sarcastically, if such a thing was possible. “You don’t say. The way he ran to comfort you during your nightmare and looks like he wants to rip my hands off with his meaty paws anytime I happen to touch you gave me zero clue this might happen.” He held his hands up to the camera and turned them back and forth. “If I didn’t like you so much, Zane, I’d never risk these beauties in the presence of your growly lover boy.”

“Okay, but like… it isn’t actually… There are no feelings. No… no love with the lover boy. It’s just sex. Temporarily. While we’re here in No—nowheresville. And when we leave here, it’ll be over. That was what we agreed. Back to normal. Bodyguard, principal. That’s it.”

“ Right . ”

I cleared my throat again. “But like… what if we didn’t? What if I told him I wanted it to continue after No-nowheresville? What if I wanted to… keep, um…”

“Fucking the big, beautiful man who practically lives with you?”

My heart rate skyrocketed. “Yeah. That. But, like… it would be wrong. Right? And it wouldn’t go anywhere, so what would the purpose be?”

“Well, some could argue the purpose was for fucking fun , Zane. Some people simply fuck for physical release and pleasure. Take me, for example. I fuck without feelings. It’s the easiest way to stay free. Keep your options open. Not be tied down.”

Something about his words seemed overly nonchalant, but maybe he was just exaggerating to make a point.

“What… what if I wanted to be tied down?”

Landry’s lips quirked up. “Tell the big growly bear that’s what you want, and I’m sure he’ll whip out a book on knots, sweetheart. If he needs recommendations, let me know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can you be serious, please? I really…” I exhaled. “I really want to keep messing around with him. I… I can keep it casual. I can… stay free.”

His smile dropped. “You? Not a chance. You’ll end up having feelings. I mean, I’m able to keep that shit locked down. But you’re a softie. And when feelings start getting involved, things get complicated. You’ll find you try to get his attention all the time, doing crazy shit. You’ll worry constantly that he’s not as into you as you are to him. Maybe he’ll be too laser focused on his job or… or focused on some random Peruvian faith healer. Or maybe he’ll just lose patience with your bullshit after a while. And then where do you find yourself? Not in a good place, my friend. Not in a good place.” He sucked in a breath. “That’s why Uncle Landry’s mantra is fuck only for fun. F-OFF.”

I opened my mouth to ask about the Peruvian thing, but he continued talking.

“And the money is a complication. I mean, look at Bash and Rowe, and Silas and Way, and even Dev and Tully. It’s not easy explaining that you have a billion dollars to someone who’s had to work his ass off all his life. And secrets . Christ, the secrets . How do you tell him you’ve been keeping a huge secret from him without him thinking you don’t trust him? You can’t. And if you don’t tell the secret, it will continue to keep you apart. But that’s probably a good thing, which is why… F-OFF. Less complicated.” He ended with a shrug.

This was confusing because I was ninety-nine percent sure he was talking about Kenji… but Kenji already knew our financial situations intimately. What other secrets was he talking about?

I refocused on my own problem… which was more than enough to deal with.

“B- Ryan already knows about my money. I mean, not the money from ETC, but the money from my music career. It’s not really that different. And as for the secret of founding and selling ETC…” I shrugged. “He wouldn’t expect to have known before now. We haven’t shared that kind of personal information. So… you think it’s fine if I keep messing around with him, even after we leave No-nowheresville? We just… F-OFF indefinitely?”

My stomach twisted at the idea that what I did with Bear was fucking only for fun, that it wasn’t serious and didn’t carry any emotional connection. That didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel accurate, but it also didn’t feel enough .

“You and Ryan?” Landry snorted. “Definitely not. You’re incapable of not caring about someone, Zane. You’re like… a giant squishy heart walking around unprotected in the world without even a rib cage to protect it.”

I clenched my jaw. “Everyone seems to think I’m a tiny newborn baby who needs to be protected from the world. It’s annoying as fuck, Landry. There’s a difference between being weak and being kind.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” I recognized I was being snappish, but I hated the idea that I couldn’t look out for myself .

Landry had witnessed the night I’d woken up from a nightmare screaming for Bear, and that was humiliating. But I didn’t like being perceived as someone who needed coddling… and what was worse was worrying it was actually true.

Ryan Galloway was someone who valued strength, endurance, perseverance under pressure. I didn’t want to be the opposite of that. Someone who was weak. Who ran screaming at the slightest fear. Who wanted to hide away from danger.

“I meant that you love with your whole self, Zane,” he said hesitantly. I could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully without sounding condescending. “That’s one of the things we all love about you. You have a giant heart. You want to believe the best of everyone. But it also leaves you vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Of being hurt.”

“I’m going to tell B- Ryan about the money. About ETC.”

I expected him to argue. At the very least, I expected a reminder that only life partners were privy to that information and that Bear was no such thing to me.

His actual response surprised me.

“Can we talk about your new speech impediment? Or is the man’s name Bryan all of a sudden?”

I paused, unable to admit the truth even though we both knew it.

“Babe,” Landry said gently. “You already have feelings for your bear. You have for a long time.”

I sighed. “I do,” I groaned. “It’s so ridiculous, but I like him so much.”

“Then why don’t you tell him?”

“Because! If he knew I had real feelings for him, he’d stop our deal. Things would get awkward because he’d know that I wanted more. We’d never be able to go back to bodyguard and principal. And then he’d leave. He’d ask to get put on someone else’s detail, and I’d never see him again. I can’t… I won’t risk that.”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t want more, too? He cares about you. ”

I let out a frustrated sound. “He cares about keeping me safe. It’s his job, Landry.”

Landry’s laugh startled me. “You’re not wrong. He does care about keeping you safe, and it is technically his job. But, Zane… when that man looks at you, he’s not seeing a job. You’re more than a job to him. You have to know that.”

Yes, I did know he cared about me as more than his principal. We’d become friends, at the very least. But was it possible he could think of me as more than friends? If not now, then maybe someday?

“Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. But use small words and a sharp tone. According to that silly podcast of yours, bears respond well to commanding tones. If he rubs his scent on you, you’ll know he’s agreed to keep you?—”

I shook my head. “Goodbye, Landry.”

He grinned. “Good night, Zane. And genuinely, baby… good luck.”

I made a sound of agreement before ending the call… but the truth was, there was no way I’d be brave enough to talk to Bear about real feelings.

The very idea stressed me out so much that I hid in my room to avoid being weird and awkward around him.

But while I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I started thinking about what Bear had said earlier. About how I was living a fairy tale not because it had just happened but because I’d worked for it. Everyone’s fairy tale looked different, he’d said. But I knew exactly what my own fairy tale might look like, if I were brave enough to reach for it.

I reached for the pad of paper in my nightstand and scribbled some notes about the bridge of “Broken Fairytale”—the section of the song that provided the emotional shift from the beginning of the song. I was pretty sure I’d gotten that part down, but even after my eyelids began drooping, I wasn’t entirely sure how the song should end.

I fell asleep worried about being the exact thing I feared: being someone weak and anxious who preferred to hide rather than stand up for himself and what he wanted. Who lived in a broken fairy tale because he wasn’t brave enough to mend it.

And maybe that’s why I ended up having nightmares again.