Verity

The first time I blacked out was mid-shower, hair foamy with honeysuckle shampoo, humming a melody that had been stuck in my head all day. I couldn't help myself; singing was what I did, even if it was the theme song to my father's odd choice of a favorite show: Dawson's Creek.

I raised my voice and gave it my all, belting out the chorus. I got as far as the word "wait" when I found myself no longer singing.

I was mid-refrain.

Now I'm mid-scream.

Freezing water pelted my back.

When had the hot water run out?

How had the shampoo been entirely rinsed from my head?

I shut the water off and braced myself against the tiled wall. Screaming ended and dizziness began.

My father knocked on the door. "You okay, Verity?"

Nope.

"Yeah, just a touch of hypothermia." Wrapping a towel around myself, I stepped out of the tub. "You need to have the water heater looked at."

"The brand new one they installed before I moved in? That's not the problem." His muffled voice conveyed a familiar annoyance. "You showering for 45 minutes, however..."

"What? I just got in. Okay, maybe fifteen minutes ago, tops." Nudging the door open a crack, I set my scowl to match his. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"You lost track of time. Again." As a teen, I'd had a history of coming home past curfew. He was never going to let that go. "Meanwhile my water bill is going to be sky high."

"And who pays your water bill?" And the rest of his utilities. And the mortgage. His whole damn life.

He let out a long sigh. "Dinner's almost ready. Glad you're here, Champ."

My scowl cracked. I hadn't earned that nickname because I excelled at sports, or spelling bees or mathletes. It was the war of words in which I always came out the victor. Dad and I had spent a good portion of my childhood on opposite sides of heated arguments. At twenty-one, and several years removed from living with him, I now accepted that not every quarrel had been his fault. Still, he let me have the last word, whether I deserved to or not.

That probably said a lot more about his character than it did about my debate skills.

Fifteen minutes versus forty-five... There'd been something... off about that shower. Or more likely, there was something off about me. That wasn't a pleasant thought, and so, I did what I usually do—I put it in a little drawer inside my mind and slammed it closed.

My father had always been an accomplished cook. In my youth, I may have been starved for a nurturing presence, but I was never starved for a nurturing meal, despite our paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle.

Now that there was enough money in the bank to afford my own place in town and this charming house in the burbs, I'd made sure to get Dad what he'd always wanted: a gourmet kitchen. Granite countertops, custom-made cabinets, top of the line appliances, and more Le Creuset cookware than he could have dreamed of. He stood in his element, stirring a sauce on the stovetop while whistling to himself.

This wasn't so bad. If I could get through an overnight visit with him and our biggest ordeal was a tiff about water consumption, well then, sign us up for father and daughter of the year.

"Penne All'arrabiata." Dad brought the spoon to his mouth to taste test. "Oh yeah. I did not hold back on the flavor. You're going to love this, Hon."

The garlicky aroma made my mouth water. "Damn, I didn't know how hungry I was."

"Me neither."

The unexpected voice caught me off guard. I thought I'd finally gained some privacy, but there, on the opposite side of the room sat my brand-new bodyguard, Alek, his tall form taking up much of the kitchen table's built-in bench.

"You shouldn't be here," I told him.

He stretched one of his long legs so that it stuck out on the opposite side of the table, then tucked it back in. "Your father invited me."

"You could have declined."

"That would have been rude."

"That would have been proper." Taking a piece of cheesy garlic bread from its basket, I bit into it, letting the oily goodness coat my tongue.

"Verity!" My father waved a wooden spoon at me. "I swear, this newfound fame of yours has turned you into a beast."

"Dad!" I wiped at my mouth, hoping I didn't have melted cheese dripping down my chin. "I'm not trying to be mean, but he is on duty, is he not?"

"Sure, by staying close by you, you know, to guard your body."

"Please never say those words in that order." I put the bread down, uncertain whether I would ever be able to stomach food again. "What I mean is, he's supposed to watch the exterior of the house. Make sure paparazzi or overzealous fans don't trespass. That's what my manager, who seems to think his presence is such a brilliant idea, told me. I'm only following her advice. How can he do what he needs to if he's inside sitting at my dinner table?"

"It's my dinner table," Dad said. "Come on, the man's gotta eat. Isn't he entitled to two fifteen-minute breaks and a thirty-minute lunch?"

"I don't know the rules. He's my first bodyguard, and I didn't even want one," I glanced over at Alek, trying not to dwell on his face too long. "No offence."

"None taken, I guess?" He flashed me a smile before I could look away. Damn. This would be so much easier if they'd assigned me someone who didn't exude desirability.

I hated the idea of someone following me around everywhere. No privacy, no freedom. But after the "Holy Shit Incident," last month, my manager, Janene, had insisted I have protection. And so, here he was. I didn't have to like it though, and if I didn't like the idea of him, I was determined not to like him either.

"He should be doing what I pay him to do."

"Can you believe this?" My father set a plate of pasta down in front of Alek. "She didn't always talk about people like, well... like they aren't even people."

"How am I not treating him like a person?" I slid into the seat furthest from Alek. "I'm just annoyed, okay? I hate feeling like I'm not in control over myself."

Alek leaned towards me, as though he was ready to check my forehead for signs of a fever. "You don't feel in control?"

"Not with you here. You've been working for me for all of what—four hours? And already I feel claustrophobic. I'm surprised you didn't insist on being in the bathroom with me while I showered."

"Maybe I should have."

I'm positive he tried out his flirty smile on me again, but I wouldn't know it. My eyes stayed trained on the pasta. "You'd have regretted it."

"I believe you. Would have been worth it, though."

Deciding to risk it, I raised my eyes and glared. His deep brown eyes and neatly trimmed beard atop a genetic lottery winning bone structure would not sway me.

I refuse to like you. Your presence here reminds me of everything that's wrong with my life.

"All right, then." He gave the tiniest of nods, stood, grabbed his plate, and walked towards the sliding door connecting the kitchen with the outside patio. "Thanks for the food, Mr. Jayne. I'm going to take this outside where I will do the job your daughter pays me for."

"That's all I ask." My glare followed him out the door.

Dad tossed a plate of food onto the table in front of me. "You never did make friends easily. Hard to imagine that you've become Miss Popularity."

"Hey, I have tons of friends. Just because I don't want Alek to be one of them doesn't mean I don't play well with others."

"Speaking of friends, how's Flora doing?"

Flora, my best friend from high school, was one of the only people who'd stuck by me as I transitioned from average nobody to internet singing sensation to popstar.

"Splendid."

"Really? Because I just ran into her mom, Sophie, at the grocery store two days ago. And she said Flora was thinking of leaving the tour to go back to college to, and I quote 'live her real life.'"

"Her real life is wherever she's living it." Sophie's reasons for not liking me were locked away in another one of the many locked drawers in my brain. "As for college, she thought about it, then changed her mind."

"Or rather, you changed her mind for her?"

"Um, no. She's a grown woman who can make her own life decisions. I simply gave her my opinion, that I would be lost without her and sad forever, plus she'd be bored to tears in college instead of on the road with me. And then she decided for herself."

Dad pushed the pasta around on his plate. "I failed you as a parent, didn't I?"

"Obviously. But I forgave you. This visit is part of our fresh start."

"And also, the house you bought me. Is that part of it? To say you're sorry?"

"It was to show you I still love you, despite everything." Champ though I was, I could take the high road too. "Here's the truth. Flora is struggling to make up her mind. All I said was that she'd always have a place with me, no matter what. Was that wrong of me?"

That wasn't a rhetorical question. My judgement wasn't always stellar. I wanted it to be, but sometimes my impulses got the best of me.

"No, Verity. That was very nice of you."

"Thank you."

We avoided controversy for the rest of the meal by focusing on the plot of Dawson's Creek and avoiding literally any other topic.

When we were done, I helped him clear the plates.

"How about you stay longer than one night." He handed me a glass to load into the dishwasher.

"I can't disappoint my fans."

"I suppose not."

"I'll be back in a month. We'll do this again."

"That's what you said last time; it ended up being four months."

"The tour got extended. This time, for real though, I won't be gone long."

"Fine." Bending over, he surveyed the contents of the dishwasher. "Still room for Alek's plate. Can you see if he's done with it?"

"Do I have to?"

"It's not an unreasonable request."

"Okay." I stepped towards the door. "Be right back."

Outside, I breathed in the night air. Wet cement, roasting meat from an unseen neighbor's barbeque... and something else.

I sniffed the air again. Woods. Deep woods. A newly fallen tree.

The smell led me to the left, across the lawn towards the garden shed, and eventually behind it where it faced a high privacy fence. No woods to be found, but the origin of that aroma was there, sitting on a lawn chair, his feet propped up on the fence.

"Why are you back here?" I asked him.

"Why are you back here?" he responded.

"You smell like a forest."

Alek's eyes widened. "Is that... supposed to be an answer?"

"It's more of one than you gave me."

"I'm here because you told me to be here," he said, his expression one of genuine confusion.

"How is sitting here doing your job?"

"I'm listening."

"Listening?"

"Yes. For the sound of possible intruders. Plus, I have this." He handed me his phone. On its screen, several of the property's security cameras displayed. "I'm not as worthless as you think."

"I never said you were."

The phone was in my hand.

The phone was not in my hand.

The moon, displayed in a full circle above the fence line, now dipped below it.

Alek, not touching me, but now touching me, hands clenching my shoulders, even though zero seconds ago, he had been sitting down, a foot away from me.

"Verity?" Warm brown eyes. I swam in them now, trying to stay afloat, but my legs didn't want to paddle.

"What happened?" My voice couldn't make it through both words without cracking. I swayed, and his grip kept me from falling.

"That's what I'd like to know," he said. "Where the hell did you disappear to for half an hour?"

___

Author's Note: Thank you for checking out the 1st chapter of THE TRUE ONE. If you like what you read, please add this book to your reading list. I will have at least one new chapter every weekend. 

I would also love to know your thoughts. What do you think is happening to Verity? Will Alek help or hinder her?

This chapter is dedicated to @Monrosey one of my very best writing friends, who encouraged me to write this story. Thank you Darly!