I stepped next to him to see what he was looking at, but he blocked me with his chest.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “No sense in both of us being upset.”

I looked him in the eyes; my expression pleading, hoping he’d explain further. His lips pursed together and he muttered one word. “Fans.”

“How many?”

“Lots.”

I took his free hand in mine. “Come on, I’ll make you some lunch.” I led him to the kitchen.

I made sandwiches and we sat quietly at the little wooden kitchen table. I knew he was completely absorbed in thinking about the crowd outside.

He wore his emotions on his sleeve and they were easy to read. He barely ate anything.

“What is it about the fans that upsets you so much?” I rubbed the top of his hand.

He looked away in disgust. He spent almost a whole minute shaking his head, breathing hard, and rubbing his hand across his forehead. Finally

he looked me in the eyes.

“They absolutely terrify me,” he whispered.

I squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“I have this horrible feeling like one of them is just going to go too far one day. Some of their behavior borders on the delusional. They scream at

me… they say that they love me.” He looked at his plate and sighed. “How can they even say that?”

I put my cup down on the table. I wanted him to finally let it out and I wasn’t going to be distracted by anything.

“So I made a stupid movie once. Big deal! Thousands of actors make movies every damn day! I’m a person, just like any other guy.” He paused

to scratch his eyebrows.

“I am followed everywhere I go. Everything I do is scrutinized to the nth degree. And then I have to deal with that?” He waved towards the front of

my apartment.

“What do they expect? Are they waiting down there for me to pick one of them out of the crowd? Now serving number 48? Do these women

actually think that if they stand on your sidewalk long enough they might get a date with me? It’s psychotic!

“I had to have my cell number changed so many times I can’t count anymore. These girls leave notes and letters on everything - my car, the front

steps to the hotel, your car… you name it. For what? Does Mindy or Cindy think that just because they wrote on a piece of paper that they’re the

perfect woman for me I’d be inclined to call them? What is wrong with all of them?

“You saw how many notes covered your car yesterday. For the sake of argument, let’s say that there were forty separate notes. That means

there are forty women out there who are deluded enough to think that their sparkle paper is going to attract me to call them!”

I saw his lip tremble as other thoughts ran through his mind.

“Forty… compounded by the thousands; you saw how they just grabbed, putting their hands on me, trying to tear my clothes. Any one of them

capable of…” he huffed.

He placed his other hand on top of mine. “And now, what I fear most, is that I’ve involved you in the insanity. Rocks being thrown through your

windows… If anything ever happened to you I’d never forgive myself.” He choked on his last words. His eyes squeezed together and he tilted his

face towards the floor, sniffing.

I stood up immediately and reached my arms around his shoulders to hold him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to his lap.

I held his head to my chest and let him release his pain. I felt each one of his tears as they saturated my shirt.

I could only imagine how long he’d been holding it all in. How many months had he suffered in silence, hiding this misery from everyone,

including himself. Never wanting anyone to see how vulnerable they had made him.

I lightly rubbed his neck and shoulders while placing kisses on his forehead. I wanted nothing else in the world but to soothe him and take his

misery away.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m here. I will never let them hurt you.”

His fingers pressed into my skin, clutching my shirt in his hands as he finally broke down from all the stress. Tears trickled down my cheeks too

from seeing how anguished he was.

I kissed his head and pulled him in tighter. We held onto each other while our fears and insecurities got the better of us. A new bond between us

formed instantly; a connection built on emotional support and trust.

He looked up at me; his eyes were puffy and red and filled with the remains of his sadness. I gently rubbed my thumbs under his eyes to wipe

away the last of the moisture. I gave him a soft kiss.

“Taryn Mitchell,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “I love you. With all my heart.”

I felt all the blood rush from my body and surge right into my chest. All this time I waited for a man to say those words to me and mean it, and

now I was hearing them from the one person I had hoped would say them.

I gazed into his eyes and said what was in my heart. It was as easy and natural as breathing.

“I love you too – more than anything in this world.”

Chapter 17 - Moved

I was still smiling when I trotted downstairs to let Jason in. Ryan waited deeper inside the pub to avoid being photographed when I opened the

front door. I kissed him one more time before leaving him standing near the edge of the bar.

It had been a good hour or so since Ryan spoke those three little words that made my heart sing, and I was still glowing. I didn’t care how bad

my face hurt from wearing this grin; I was completely, one-hundred and fifty percent in love with him.

Jason was surrounded by people as he waited for me to let him in. He had a friend with him - another boy who looked to be in his late teens,

with shaggy brown hair and a few blemishes on his face.

“Hey Jason,” Ryan's voice echoed mine. The boy had a garment bag slung over his shoulder and was wheeling a large suitcase behind him.

His friend had a large duffle bag hanging off his shoulder and was carrying a large box in his hands.

“Hey Ry!” Jason said, parking the suitcase and extending a hand to shake Ryan’s. “This is my friend, Shawn.”

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Taryn,” Ryan said proudly, putting his arm around my shoulder.

We gathered up Ryan’s things and carried them upstairs. Ryan set his large suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. All his clothes were just

shoved into one big heap. I noticed the name on the luggage tag wasn’t Ryan’s – his tag read ‘Shell-B Enterprises’ with a Los Angeles address.

Ryan carried most of his stuff into the laundry room and then joined the two boys who were already making themselves at home on my furniture.

A few seconds later, Ryan came back into the bedroom. “I want to give them some money,” he told me. He kissed me quickly after returning his

wallet to the nightstand.

“Hey!” I called out, stopping him before he got too far. “I have that new video game system, if you guys want to play. It’s all in the large drawer

below the TV. There is a sports disc and a Ninja fighting game.”

Ryan’s face lit up with happiness.

I pulled the zipper open on his duffle bag and dumped it out on the bedroom floor. A moment of shock struck me when I saw the strip of

condoms and an empty condom wrapper mingled in his stuff. I picked up the empty wrapper - the inside was dry. Seven were still intact.

I ran over the facts that I had on him so far. One, he slept with Francesca, but that was over a year ago. Two, he was supposedly in a relationship

with a wanna-be actress he knew from Pittsburgh, but that was before the Francesca incident. Three, his last known girlfriend dumped him over the

summer; and Four, Kelly had said that Ryan was the opposite of what Suzanne had accused him of being. Ryan had said to me once that it had

been months. Months of what though? Not having sex? Not dating anyone?