Loving by Karen Kingsbury

ridiculous, sitting out here like human targets.
    The helicopter reached the yacht, and through the sound of the wind and waves, Bailey heard them. Loud familiar shouts and grunts, intended to get their attention. The staccato sound of the blades grew deafening, so close Bailey felt the wind from the propellers, the helicopter hovering what felt like inches above them.
    Brandon stood again and cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’re calling the police,” he shouted. But even Bailey could barely make out his voice against the deafening noise.
    Bailey looked over her shoulder again, and as she did she nearly fell to the deck. The chopper was much too close, dangerously close. The helicopter door was wide open and two photographers hung half out, their cameras aimed at them. Between shots they called out, as if Brandon and Bailey might pose or wave.
    “Brandon!” Bailey’s hair whipped at her face, making her dizzy. She yelled as loud as she could to be heard. “I can’t do this! Let’s get out of here.”
    He shot a final glare at the helicopter and then took her hand and hurried her back down the stairs to the main deck, safe behind the tinted windows. Even then the helicopter stayed, buzzing as close to the yacht as possible. So close that Bailey screamed over the roaring sound of the chopper, certain the chopper would clip its propellers and they’d all wind up sinking in the ocean.
    Immediately Brandon wrapped her in his arms. He picked up the intercom from the captain’s deck and called Alex, who was at the wheel downstairs. “Get us back. This isn’t working.” There was a pause. “Yeah, of course try to lose them and definitely call 9-1-1, but we’re on our own for now. We need to get back. They’ve got the advantage.”
    Bailey felt safe with his arms around her, but her heart sank. Nothing about the day was how either of them pictured it. A quiet talk on the beach, the chance to sit side by side on the lifeguard tower savoring the ocean view and the warm salty air. That’s what she’d wanted. Even if the conversation she needed to have was a tough one. Instead it felt like they’d slipped into an action movie where the director didn’t know when to cut the scene.
    Brandon slumped onto the sofa opposite her. “They’ll find a way to get a picture. Even if it kills them.”
    For a long time they were quiet, allowing only the intense sound of the speeding engine as their background. Ten minutes passed while the helicopter stayed close, buzzing at the yacht again and again. Finally, when a coast guard boat with blaring sirens headed their direction, the chopper gave up and turned toward Malibu. By then Bailey was exhausted, drained physically and emotionally. Brandon looked like he felt the same way.
    “I’m sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t blame you for hating this.”
    Bailey didn’t need to say anything. The paparazzi, the chase down Pacific Coast Highway, and the harassment by the helicopter had said it for her. They were approaching the marina again and after a long while she stood and moved across the cabin to the spot next to Brandon. She took his hand and angled herself so she could see his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
    “But you hate it.” His tone was gentle, wrapped in a sort of pain she hadn’t seen in him before. “Right?”
    She nodded. “I do.” Her eyes met his and held. With everything in her she hoped he could see inside her heart. “I love you, Brandon. This isn’t about us … really.”
    He breathed in sharp through his nose and sat straighter. “But I live here. And you hate it here. That’s what this is about.” It wasn’t a question. He could read her eyes as easily as she could read his.
    Bailey wasn’t ready to book a flight home, but she was close. She couldn’t think about the idea now, so she put her hand alongside his face. “What’s happening with your contract? Did they give you more