We swallow our laughs. The loud noise jerking us all into a shocked silence.
The car swirls across the road and seems to decelerate quickly, making a strange flop-flop-flop sound.
"Ship!" Kiara screams and tugs on the steering wheel to counteract the sudden pull to the right. She concentrates on keeping the white BMW going in a straight line, her tongue sticking out of her mouth, and eventually she manages to slow down to the shoulder and park.
The smell of burnt rubber, gas fumes, and eucalyptus, mixes with dust and bad luck in a cloud over us.
"What the hell happened?" Haley asks, looking at each of us separately as if mentally making sure we're okay. Mel is pale, a panicked look on her face, as though expecting somebody to come and snatch her away. In the hopes of reassuring her, I grab her hand.
"It's okay, I think a tire popped." Kiara also turned a few shades lighter, and it dawns on me that their abduction probably still haunts them. Mel told me the whole story in detail, from the car crash to the end, and even though I can't even imagine what they must have gone through, I know something like that lingers forever.
They sure endured a lot of hardship.
But so did I. Perhaps that's why we get along so well, we can relate to each other's pain.
Well, apart from Enrique, who outwardly has mixed artificial emotions. And Jackson, who's totally emotionless, and Logan, in contrast, who exhibits too many emotions ... So let me rephrase that ... we girls understand each other's suffering.
Mel unbuckles herself direfully with her uncast arm and opens her door. She inhales deeply and slams the door shut. I get out too.
Sure enough, the right front tire is a mess.
For a while, we stand there staring at the busted wheel, as if it's going to magically repair itself.
A tangy, acidic smell with a dash of carbon and sulfur drifts through the dust particles in the air, and Mel sniffs unladylike before she barfs into the scrubs next to the road. Haley rushes to her aid.
"Eh, I guess we need to change it." Kiara is the first one to come up with that brilliant notion.
"That is, if we can figure out how 'changing it' actually works. I've never changed a tire before," I confess.
"We can always call one of the lads," Haley suggests, handing Mel a bottle of water she digs from her purse.
"No way!" the rest of us shout out simultaneously. Then we giggle like 13-year-olds on their first menstrual period. Probably nerves, if you ask me.
Mel wipes her palm over her eyes and walks with a motivated face towards the back of the car.
"Girl, you know what the doctor said ... better let us handle the heavy lifting," Kiara says, and Mel steps back, holding her hands up. I give Kiara a determined look, and we both nod with bold bravery ― it's up to us.
We take off our jackets and hand them to our vividly grim support team.
My hands barely go halfway around the tire, but we manage to take the spare out (without breaking a nail, might I add) and drop it unceremoniously on the ground, leaping aside to avoid it landing on any toes. Damn, is that thing heavy!
Kiara looks at me, and we burst out in uncontrollable laughter again, hanging onto each other so as not to fall over. I haven't had this much fun in a really, really long time.
I won't admit it, but my sister's sickness has taken a toll, leaving me scared for her life. And being left all alone when the boys came to San Francisco didn't make it any easier. At least now I have some people to share things with, to help take the pressure off, and it feels as if I can breathe unrestricted for the first time in months. Maybe years.
Mel offers me the wheel spanner and I manage, with some force, to loosen the first nut. However, the next one is so tight that it takes a team effort (Kiara and me) just to flip it slightly.
This might take a while.
Mel and Haley cheer us on from the sidelines. Sweat already trickles down my face to pool between my boobs and disperse into my bra.
"Flat tire?" The deep voice startles me, and I let go of the spanner post-haste and fall backward on my butt ― again. Kiara lets out a squeal and covers her mouth with her hand. None of us noticed the car pulling up or the man now standing behind us.
In designer sunglasses. Holding his car keys. Looking like he's just finished filming a cologne ad where the bottle explodes in slow motion.
Brian fucking whatever.
Annoyed, I blow some stray strands of hair from my face.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.
He crouches beside me, already assessing the situation like a man who knows how to play a mechanic in a movie.
"I can fix it."
"Are you following us?" Mel asks, a question mark between her perfect brows.
"Pure coincidence, I promise." He puts his hand on his heart and gives us a big smile. "I am on my way to meet some friends at the pier," he continues.
"We could sure use some help," Haley blurts out and takes the spanner from my clenched hand, probably scared I'm going to hit the man over the head or something. Well, truthfully, I was thinking about it.
Something about him stirs my gut, and it's not butterflies. Some unpaired eyes flash into my mind. Yep, I know by now pretty darn well what butterflies feel like.
In ten minutes, with sleeves rolled up and suspiciously clean hands, he has the spare on and is tightening bolts. He works efficiently, confidently, like this is something he actually does and not just something he's trained for in a film role.
He makes it look so easy. Maybe I must work out more.
"Showoff," Kiara whispers in my ear, and I wiggle my eyebrows at her in agreement.
He drops the flat tire in the trunk and helps to cram the baby parcels back on top. With distant 'thank yous', the girls get in the car.
Then he hands me the lug nut wrench like it is a bouquet with a smile. The kind of smile that gets people cast as romantic leads.
"Thanks for the rescue," I add, as I back toward my door.
He looks at me like he doesn't believe me.
"You're welcome ... Aria, right?"
I freeze for half a breath. I haven't introduced myself. How does he know my name?
"... Yeah."
He grins like a chess player making a move. "Tell Enrique I said hi."
I blink. "How ..." but he is already gone.
Something about him upsets me, and I quickly jump in the car to escape the uncomfortable feeling, slamming the door a little too hard.
"Why are you blushing?" Kiara asks immediately, turning her head back.
"I'm not."
"Was he flirting?" Mel snorts. "He was totally flirting."
"Do not even start," I say, glaring at the road ahead. "That man is trouble."
Mel shoves a fist in the air as if she wants to late-punch him from a distance. Brian sure pissed in her popcorn for some reason.
"How dare he hit on my brother's girlfriend?" And now we know why. "Enrique will bury him in the ground without a compass, while Jackson will slap him so hard his North will be South."
It makes no sense ― but Kiara mouths 'hormones' while looking at me through the rearview mirror. Never a dull moment around the Blackburns.
Mel complains non-stop, with Haley giving the occasional "Mm" and "Yep" nodding her head.
"You better not flirt back, sister!" I swallow my laugh, biting my lip.
"Uh-uh." It's the only response I can manage without breaking into a hyena-giggle.
Then, as if on cue, my phone rings, and I'm ear-to-ear with another ticked-off Blackburn. But his annoyance is most likely linked to me and not hormones.
I sniff in the carbonated dust and manage a deep sigh before he growls - "Aria, where the hell are you?"
I notice that we are near the coast. Now smelling the salty sea air. But I have no idea where ― I don't know San Francisco, yet.
"Eh ... in the car," I say as it seems like the most logical answer. Mel stops her ranting.
"Fuck, girl, are you deliberately trying to drive me insane ... WHERE IS the CAR?"
What the fiddlesticks is wrong with HIM? Maybe they have this sibling-bond thing where they feel each other's anger or something.
"Near the ocean," I try again. The girls burst out in laughter.
"Fuck! Something happened with the press -" He knows!? Crap! That was fast.
Panicking, I do what I think is best - end the call and switch off my phone. I'm aware that this action will probably provoke him to a near seizure, but I'll deal with that when I get back home.
Then Mel's phone rings. It's him. She smiles and switches it off too.
"He can wait."
"So ... be honest. Are the guys always this intense? I ask, needing to know what I'm up against.
"That's not intense," Kiara snorts, "That's them on their best behavior."
"So, it's not like ... a full moon thing?" A girl can hope.
"More like a Monday to Sunday thing," Kiara sneers.
"Oh, honey," Haley chuckles, "Let's put it this way - emotionally, they're one missed poop session away from feral."
"Not feral," Mel says, "Just layered. Barbaric. With abs."
"Crap," I sulk. What have I gotten myself into? "So they're always like this?"
"Let's break it down," Kiara sighs deeply. "Since you're new. Consider this your crash course in 'Should I Marry Him or Tase Him'?"
"Ooooh ooohh, can I start?" Mel squeals, and then continues without waiting for an answer, "My baby daddy ... hot, strong ... great in a car chase and a crisis. Less great at matching socks and discussing feelings. But he's kind. He'll hold my hair while I puke and then tell me I'm beautiful." Mel's face gleams. "Domineeringly stupid, but so cute at the same time." Aw. That's so sweet.
"Barth!" Kiara makes a sound as if she's going to throw up. I still think it's sweet.
"Ilkay ... I like him. He seems like the one who leans towards normal."
"Yeah, that and he's dependable as shit ... responsible, mysterious, and he reschedules guilt," Mel smiles.
"And he should be great with his hands," Haley comments, "All doctors are great with their hands. I would know."
Kiara snorts. "He also seems the type who would schedule intimacy for Thursdays at 8:15 PM." I snigger. He actually does look like the type. But I've learned the hard way not to judge a book by its cover. Sometimes it's the quiet ones that surprise you the most.
"All I can say about Axel," Mel puffs, "Is that he has all the H's - hot, helpful, haunted, hero, heartbreak - with hungry eyes. He'll carry you through fire without blinking. Just don't expect a birthday text. Or a full sentence." I laugh. These girls are funny.
"Logan, he seems rather balanced," I go for the next one.
"Oh, my little emotional marshmallow ..." Mel says softly. "He is ... relatively compared to the rest. Cries at dog videos. Has a savior complex and smells like testosterone and hope."
"Now for your walking disaster," Haley smiles. I stiffen slightly.
"Eh ... yeah, let me hear."
"He's complicated. Charmer. Performer," Mel explains. "But that boy has cracks you don't see until you're halfway in love." I'm at that point right now. Seen the cracks. Don't know how deep it goes, yet.
"He'll flirt you into an existential crisis, then ghost you because he's 'protecting you from his darkness'," Kiara cracks with a deep voice, finger quoting her last words.
"But he means well. He just ... doesn't know how to be loved," Mel snubs. "He needs patience. And someone who won't run when it gets hard." I've heard enough. My heart is already drumming way too fast. Time to change the discussion to a different man.
"Okay, I'm scared to ask ... Jackson?" Silence falls. Everyone looks at each other, so I continue, "I said 'hi' to him and he just nodded. Like I was a mistake he was planning to fix later." Still, no one speaks. I wait in silence.
Finally, Mel starts, "Jackson is ... a problem." She pauses for a bit. "The kind you need to solve slowly. With cookies, a sedative, and at least two bottles of wine." Like so many times, she doesn't make sense to me.
"Oh, come on. He's not that bad. He's just ... broken ... broody ... and a little psycho," Haley comes up for the boy. "Okay, maybe he is intense."
"Intense?" I ask. "The man speaks in riddles, disappears for days, and shows up all broody in a leather jacket. He said a single word to me since I arrived - welcome. And it's been a week."
"Classic Jackson. That's how he flirts. Minimal words, maximum psychological warfare," Kiara titters. Personally, I don't find him very funny. He actually terrifies me a little. Like he's seen things and done things. Things no one does before breakfast.
We park the car and get out.
"You should know this about Jackson - he's smart, dark, unreadable, but if he loves you, he'd kill for you. Quietly. Elegantly. And then make you tea," Mel says as she hooks into me while we cross the pedestrian bridge to level 2 of Pier 39.
The fragrance of the ocean wafting through the air excites me to the point of near-hilarity. As we continue, my mouth literally hangs open at all the sights that are impossible to take in at once.
I spot a man selling coffee cups from a wheelbarrow, hosting a cardboard sign that reads ― 'Moodcups'. After finding out how they work, I immediately purchase four ― for me, Leyla, Noah, and my robot, of course.
Maybe it can teach him how to reconnect with his lost emotions. Or at the very least, I can tell what mood he is in. Mel buys two. Haley gets half a dozen - she has 4 of the emotionally-challenged gender in her immediate family after all.
Then I almost faint - from both the viewpoint and smell. Out on the water, crammed on a couple of floating docks, are packs of sea lions ― lazily squished against, and even piled on top of each other. Most of them are sound asleep, but a few malcontents in the group bellow and groan, arguing over a favorite spot on the planks.
Letting go of Mel, I sprint to the fence, hanging over to get a better view. They are so freaking cute. I have to bring Leyla here; she would go absolutely nuts.
"Hey, Aria, the food is this way!" Mel shouts, and when I still don't move, she yanks me violently away and into the restaurant. May I never be that hungry.
As we make our way to a corner table, I'm left breathless, yet again, with the scenery - through floor-to-ceiling windows. This time it's a spectacular postcard-perfect vista overlooking San Francisco Bay with the Golden Gate Bridge on one side and Alcatraz on the right.
A waiter comes to take our order, but I'm still staring bug-eyed through the glass. Kiara pulls me onto a chair, and while sprinting to the bathroom, Mel answers an incoming call from Damion.
"This view never gets old," Haley sighs, and we silently observe the maritime activity, with sailboats and ferries coming and going, and huge container ships lumbering into the harbor ― it's as if, just for a single moment, time is standing still. A peace-filled, delightful moment.
"No way!" And just like that, the moment is gone.
The overconfident voice pulls me from my blissfully content state, and my eyes land on none other than Brian. At least this time I'm already sitting down.
The hunky men next to him seem as uncomfortable as I am. Brian introduces them as PJ, a colleague, and Graham, a friend. At least he didn't lie about meeting someone.
Mel comes back with a large smile on her face ― one that only Damion can put there ― but it diminishes as soon as she sees the men.
"Seriously!" She sounds murderous, which is exactly how I feel. If Brian hadn't wrecked my mood, the way they jumped may have been amusing. PJ turns as white as bleach as soon as he sees Mel.
He bumps Brian in the ribs, "You didn't tell me that SHE's part of the group." He now looks kinda sick.
"Dude ... Damion is gonna crush our balls for messing with his girl," PJ continues. At last ... a man with brains.
Brian gives him a bored look, while Graham snorts dismissively.
"She's also JACKSON's sister, dude ..." PJ scuffs softly, looking around as if just summoned the devil. He seems as if he might barf right here on the table.
"I'm not scared of those dicks." It's the Graham dude who's so courageous, now inciting a hate-filled expression. Something tells me that there's more to this story. Like a feud.
"Yeah, maybe Jackson didn't break enough ribs last time," Mel sneers as she glares at Graham, who pulls a disgusted face as an answer.
"He's an asshole," Graham growls.
"Oh, I just talked to Damion ... he's on his way back. Says Argentina was lovely." Mel is relentless. Graham scowls, a vein beating fast in his neck.
"He fell again," he whispers. "But at least no one died this time because of his recklessness."
Mel pales. "He still won." I don't have a clue what's going on.
"Yeah, that's all he cares about," Graham hisses. "You better watch out, winning is his one true love." Mel stays quiet, but her eyes are fierce blue flames.
"Let's just go." PJ pulls anxiously at Brian's sleeve, scanning the area as if he's expecting Jackson to materialize out of thin air. Well, given the boys' telepathic abilities, it will not surprise me much if they can teleport as well.
"See you soon, Aria," Brian winks playfully, and I bite my lower lip, relieved that it's over.
"Oh, I hope not!"
A painful expression flashes over his face before they turn and walk away. We watch them go. PJ whispers something to them, his body language pissed. Brian looks back at us and pulls up his shoulders.
"You know, it's because of people like them that we need directions on shampoo bottles," Mel hisses.
"Why do they look so familiar?" Kiara asks softly.
"Enrique's arch-nemesis." Mel seems discomposed, "The other is Damion's."
"Fuck!" Kiara gasps, pointing a finger behind them, "It's THAT Brian? And THAT Graham?" Mel nods with pouting lips.
"Ug, let's forget about those asses and order some FOOD ... cause this kid ..."
"Is starving!" I complete her sentence for her. She gives me a scornful stare as if I'm a moron, then pats her tummy with a lightly embarrassed blush.
A contented smile pulls at the corners of my mouth ― if you take away Brian and the press, this is an almost perfect day.
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The Actor's Contract 
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