The Bodyguard (72)

“I’m really sorry,” Jack said then, “about the death threats. I’m really sorry that I put your life in danger.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “As long as I stay away from you.”

It was a half joke, but Jack didn’t think it was funny.

“Don’t worry,” I said then. “The Corgi Lady will move on eventually. That’s how these things work.”

“Thank you. For everything,” he said, taking a step closer. “I wanted to say that to you before you left.”

I nodded. “I wanted to say something to you, too.”

Jack met my eyes and waited.

But then twenty different things popped into my head. There was no way to say it all. Or even prioritize. I finally went with, “You did the right thing just now.”

Jack let out a funny little laugh and looked down.

“I know it was Drew’s last wish, and I never even met him, but I don’t think he’d want one thing he said in a panic to rip your family apart forever.”

“Let’s hope not,” Jack said. Then, “Too late now.”

“Your mom was right,” I said.

“My mom’s always right.”

“Forcing you and Hank together was a good thing.”

Jack nodded. “Good thing he’s so great at pissing me off.”

Back in the car, Amadi flicked the lights on and off.

“Looks like it’s time,” Jack said.

“Yes,” I said. “But I need you to know…”

I hesitated. It really was time to go. There was a tiny part of me that thought I should tell Jack something real. That I liked him. That I’d fallen for him. That even though it had been fake—maybe even because it had been fake—it had somehow become the most real thing in my life.

But how humiliating was that?

Once we parted, there’d be no way to get in touch with him. He’d disappear behind that curtain of fame that separates celebrities from everybody else, and I’d disappear into my workaholic, on-the-run life. If this really was the last time I’d ever see him, then this was my only chance to tell the truth, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting everything I should’ve said.

He had meant something to me. He had mattered to me. He had taught me things I didn’t know I needed to learn. My time with him had changed me, and I was grateful.

I wanted him to know that.

This was my only chance to say it …

But I chickened out.

It was too unprofessional. It was too scary. It was too much like the Corgi Lady.

That was me, apparently: scared of cows, and scared of love.

Instead, I held my hand out to shake like we were a corporate event. “I need you to know that it was really great working for you,” I said.

And then, just like that, once I’d popped us back into that professional framework, Jack had no choice but to follow.

He frowned, but he took my hand and shook it. “Thank you for your service.”

I gave a professional nod, turned in tight formation, and started walking back toward the car—the cap sleeves of my embroidered girlfriend blouse fluttering at my shoulders.

But as I pulled open the door, I heard Jack call, “Hannah!”

I turned.

He had his hands in his pockets, and he looked at me for a good moment before he said, “I need you to know something.”

I held my breath.

Then Jack said, “I will really miss you. And I am not acting.”





Twenty-Six


I LEFT THAT night, but I didn’t go home.

Home was my old apartment, a sweet little old-timey pad in a 1920’s fourplex in the funky part of town. Home had an archway into the living room and a little built-in telephone shelf in the hall. Home was where I’d lived for three years before fleeing in a desperate attempt to never have to see Taylor next door again.

The apartment I went back to now was one I’d rented sight unseen on the eighth floor of a brand-new, ultramodern, totally generic complex—also in the funky part of town.

And can I just note the irony of this? When I found my way to the front door for the first time, who was standing guard at it?

Taylor.

Because of course she was.

“It had to be you, huh?” I said, as I worked the keypad. Then I said, “Glenn must be an actual sadist.”

She didn’t turn her head. “I asked for this duty.”

Was I supposed to respond to that? Was I supposed to thank her or something? No. No way. She could do a lot of things to me, but she couldn’t force me to make chitchat. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, and that was the only response she got: a loud, hollow clonk.

And then I was alone.

Really alone. For the first time in weeks.

The place was stacked high with boxes, and the movers had taken a just-drop-it-anywhere approach to the furniture. The bed, for example, was in the middle of the bedroom, like an island.

But it was fine.

I walked over to the balcony and stepped out to take in the view.

This was good, I told myself. This was personal time. Time to recharge and reflect. Maybe I’d start a gratitude journal. Maybe I’d take up calligraphy. I had some time before I left for Korea. There had to be a way to make the most of it. Maybe it’s not a punishment. Maybe it’s a chance.