Page 46 of Rescue

Chapter Nine

Haylee

I tell myself that I made the right call as we travel to Dublin. And then again when we fly to Madrid, Lennon sitting next to me on the flight, just the way he did when we flew across the Atlantic. It becomes something of a mantra, I repeat it so often.Just friendsis the best thing for both of us.

If only repeating the words could take away the sharp stab of longing in my chest every time I’m within two feet of him.

It’s strange, this feeling. I’ve never been one to yearn for a guy. Then again, I’ve never really let myself get this close to a guy like Lennon. A guy who actually seems to care about me, instead of focusing only on getting me into bed. A guy who can cheer me up without even saying anything. It’s not like Lennon is some effusive, cheerful person (I’m learning that Paige covers that role for the entire band). He’s quiet more often than not, sitting back and watching while his louder, more extroverted brothers act like idiots in the dressing room after shows or when we go to loud bars or restaurants all together. Even when it’s only the two of us, he still seems to prefer quiet to incessant talking. And I like that. Which is totally weird for me.

“Hey,” James says loudly, snapping a finger in front of my face. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

I shake my head, trying to clear it, and look over at my friend. He’s frowning. “You’re totally distracted, Hay. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just, you know, soaking it all in.”

James and I are walking down a tree-lined boulevard in Barcelona, ducking through the tourists. It’s just the two of us sightseeing today. Ransom has promo work all day, and the other members of our band are sleeping off what I’m assuming are pretty wicked hangovers from the night before. We hit some tapas bars on our arrival to the city, and some people just can’t hold their sangria.

I can see James still watching me from the corner of my eye, so I stop to bend over a display of little sketches. La Rambla is one of the main tourist centers in the city, stretching down from Placa de Catulunya, where our hotel is located, all the way to the water. The boulevard is filled with stores, restaurants, and countless little stands hawking everything from art to cheap T-shirts to what looks to be pretty amazing gelato. But to be honest, it isn’t my favorite place we’ve been so far in Europe. There are people everywhere, crowding in on me, often brushing against me as they pass, and I’m starting to get a headache from the strain of it.

“You want some lunch?” James asks, and once again I marvel at his ability to sense I need a break—until I realize that I’m rubbing my forehead. I smile at him. “Lunch sounds great.”

We find a little sushi bar a block off La Rambla and order, James massacring a few words of Spanish with help from his iPhone translation app. “We’re going to end up with octopus or something, aren’t we?” I ask once our waiter leaves.

“Would serve you right,” he says, taking a sip of his water. “You didn’t even try to help.”

“Because it was so much fun watching you.”

James leans back into his chair, wiping his forehead. “I wasn’t really expecting it to be so warm.”

I nod. “It’s even better than Madrid, and that felt warm to me. Lennon says there are some really good beaches here.”

James doesn’t say anything, but his eyebrows tilt up just a fraction. I struggle not to make a face at him. Sometimes it’s so annoying, that little gift for reading my mind.

“You guys have a good time in Madrid?” he asks, voice measured. “Where’d you go—the palace?”

“We had lunch in the park by the palace,” I say, my voice a lot less controlled than his. I hate it when he acts like this. It would be so much easier if he just came out and said what he was thinking so I could call him a dumb ass and move on.

“A picnic,” he says, eyebrows raising another notch. “How nice.”

Somehow the wordnicesounds decidedlynotnice when he says it in that tone of voice.

“What, James?”

He holds out his hands. “Nothing. I’m just catching up with you.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re together eighteen hours a day. I don’t think we really need to catch up.”

“I’m not the one spending a ton of time with Lennon Ransome.”

“I’m not spending a ton of—” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath. “I told him we’re only going to be friends, James. I actually agree with what you said that day in Newcastle, okay, so you really don’t need to be on my case.”

“I’m not trying to be on your case, Haylee,” he says, sounding offended. He leans toward me. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Youdohelp me. And I need you to. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just trust me sometimes.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet. “I do trust you. I just…”

He doesn’t have to finish. I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s seen me fall apart way too many times to really believe things will be different now.