Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dove
I had once considered myself a member of many nerdy fandoms . . . but seeing the horde of fangirls outside the zoo gates was making me rethink what it meant to be a “superfan.”
“Of all the places,” I muttered as I held Eddie the toucan for his blood draw. “How did they even get here?”
Finch released a huff as she grabbed a fresh pair of rubber gloves. “Petey said they’ve added another ferry slot to the spring timetable to handle them all.”
“Seriously?” I grumbled. “One of the many benefits of living at a private zoo on a tiny island is that we don’t get unwanted visitors—including crazed fans and paparazzi. Increasing the ferry trips is only encouraging them.”
“Not their fault.” Finch’s lab jacket bunched at the neck as she shrugged. “They’re just keeping up with demand.”
Prickle Island was a sanctuary for the rich elite who flocked here in the summer months—the remote location giving them more anonymity than the Hamptons while still being a stone’s throw from New York City. But apparently for mega-stars like Deacon Harrow, there was no such thing as privacy, even on a remote island.
Deacon’s die-hard fans existed on a whole other level. Word had gotten out that the zoo was about to become a shooting location for his latest film and they’d popped up at our gates like locusts coming out of hibernation.
I gave a disapproving shake of my head as I heard the chorus of squeals in the distance. “All their squealing is going to disturb our patient.”
Finch shot me an incredulous look, a smug smile on her face. "Disturb him more than that?" She shouted to be heard as she tipped her head to the five yellow-headed Amazon parrots in a quarantine aviary squawking so loudly that my ear drums might rupture.
“The squealing set them off! Parrots are allergic to fangirling,” I said but couldn’t even hear myself over the piercing racket.
"Ooh, this guy has really got your claws out, Dovey.” Finch laughed as the parrots died down again. I shot her an angry look that only seemed to egg her on. "Hey, I invented that death stare. It’s powers are useless against me. Besides, you know I'm Team Lachlan, always. It’s just fun to see you frazzled.” She placed a sticker label around the test tube in her hand. "Do you want me to ask Petey if he can set up some barricades in the parking lot? We’ve only got two and a half more weeks of this and then they’ll be gone. Seems like a lot of work for a couple weeks.”
"Yeah," I gritted out. "It's fine."
There were only twenty or so frantic fans outside the front gates, hoping to catch a peek of Deacon. Luckily, the crew was filming in the rainforest walkthrough, which meant that they couldn't be viewed from outside the zoo premises. The towering barbed-wire fences, cameras, and electrified gates were designed to keep the animals in, but they were also excellent at keeping unwanted visitors out . Still, that didn’t seem to deter them from congregating at the gates every morning.
Prickle Island Zoo just might be the most secure filming location there was. Marvel’s got nothing on us.
The only problem with the current production location was that the rainforest walkthrough was part of my route, which meant I had to work around them if I didn’t want to bump into demon incarnate, Deacon Harrow.
I’d done the first feedings before dawn to avoid the film crews, a few of the birds giving me curious looks as they were still nestled on their perches, unwilling to start their day before sunrise. It was like Christmas morning for them when they awoke to a platter of fresh cut fruit already waiting for them, no need to squawk their demands for breakfast like usual. Each afternoon, I’d waited until the crew had packed up for the day as the sun was beginning to set to do a final clean of the enclosures—which also greatly perturbed my sleeping flocks. Birds were just so sassy—the true divas of the zoo.
But my plans were working. I hadn’t seen the slightest peek of Deacon, to my great satisfaction. I was determined that he would come and go without me ever having the displeasure of encountering him. In our last exchange, I’d told him I never wanted to talk to him again, and I intended to keep that promise.
As the racket of parrots flared and died once more, I asked, “Are you sure you and Frankie aren't having kids anytime soon?"
Finch practically fumbled the blood vial out of her hands as she returned Eddie to his perch.
"That was one hell of a segue there, Olive Branch,” she said, removing her rubber gloves and chucking them in the trash beside the sink. I glowered at the latest nickname. Just because my name was Dove, didn’t mean there was anything peaceful about me. “Why do I have a feeling this has something to do with the presence of People magazine’s hottest man?”
“The category was the hottest action star, not man of the year,” I muttered.
My older sister’s eyebrows lifted. “I won’t comment on the fact that you knew that.” Finch’s smile widened. “So why the sudden talk of me having babies?”
“I was just wondering,” I said defensively. “Mom is being more meddlesome than usual, and I think a few more grandbabies might help her butt out of my nonexistent love life.”
I grew more frustrated with myself with every sentence out of my mouth. I knew it was nonsensical. It wasn’t my intention to sound so hostile, but everything just kept coming out wrong and it was all Deacon Harrow’s fault.
“Goldilocks and I haven't even had our one-year anniversary yet, so maybe give us a couple of years? I’ve got plans for her. A ring, a wedding, a honeymoon that involves a lot of frozen margaritas . . . then we can talk about kids, okay?”
I pursed my lips and stared at the ceiling. “Of all the family members I thought would end up being a hopeless romantic . . .”
"You are seriously spiraling here. What is going on with you?” Finch took out her penlight and started checking my pupils. I swatted her hand away as she tried to lift my eyelids. “You’re supposed to be the least ruffle-able one of us and right now you’re kind of wigging out.”
“I’m not wigging out!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air. “And yes, I realize that the delivery of that statement isn’t helping!”
“What happened with you and Deacon anyway? You were cute, little summertime pals once. You two were the gangliest of gangly kids. You used to pick matching color bands for your braces for crying out loud, and then suddenly you started hating the guy?” I was about to open my mouth to speak when Finch beat me to it. “And don’t say the skink thing. That’s recent. What happened fifteen years ago? I swear you went into like a three-year depression after you and Deacon stopped talking.”
I felt my shoulders tense up around my ears as I tightly folded my arms. “I was thirteen and our dad had just died.” I gaped at Finch.
“Oh, don’t use the dad card on me,” she replied. “He passed a long time after you turned into a little fucking storm cloud.”
“It was just puberty, forget it."
"Yeah, definitely just puberty,” Finch quipped. “Puberty that perfectly aligned with your best friend leaving at the end of the summer, never to return. Your best friend who became a model and then a rockstar and then a movie star,” she added pointedly. “Definitely had nothing to do with that.”
“He wasn’t my best friend .” I balked at her sugar-coated sentiments. “He was just another summer friend.”
My siblings and I were good at making close attachments to people over the summer, when the population of Prickle Island swelled. And we were equally practiced at moving on from those friendships at the end of the summer. But Deacon had never felt like just another “summer friend” to me. Something about that age, that time of life, it had all felt extra heightened.
“Well, you’re acting like you’re going through puberty all over again now that there's a certain movie star somewhere currently on the premises,” Finch said, “and you’re actively trying to avoid him."
"I am not trying to avoid him,” I scoffed.
Finch arched her brow. "Oh really? You just decided to get an early start on the day this week for shits and giggles, hm?”
"Mm-hmm."
Her eyes filled with wicked mischief and my gut clenched. “Okay, well, perfect. Then you wouldn’t mind going to get Guava for me? I need to do a suture check on her tail.”
My mouth fell open. "How dare you."
Finch grinned smugly. "That's what I thought, Lovey Dove.”
Guava the iguana’s enclosure was directly behind where they were filming. There was no way I could get in and out without being spotted by at least a few production assistants and possibly even Deacon himself.
"Look," Finch said. "The Zap thing was bad, like catastrophically bad, but I really don't think he?—”
"Please don't make excuses for the famous multimillionaire," I growled.
Finch held up her hands. “Seriously, what happened between you two?”
"Besides him using his clout to make a species extinct?" I exclaimed. "That's not enough of a reason for you?”
Finch eyed me, and I could tell she was trying to assess whether it was wise to poke the bear. I'd seen her take less consideration when deciding whether or not to tackle a crocodile.
"Alright.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “You win. Keep your prepubescent secrets to yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said, grateful she finally decided to leave it alone.
“But shoving these things down never ends well,” Finch called after me, and I rolled my eyes.
Of course she had to curse me with that ill omen as I walked out the door. I wasn’t shoving anything down. I was just actively avoiding my old friend turned movie star turned enemy like a completely normal, well-adjusted person.