It’d been therapeutic to eat her way through half of Rodger’s retirement cake, but Hayden still felt the hum of loss in her bones. Arlene knew, though, and like any good best friend did, offered practical advice.
“In Tate’s defense, I can imagine his life feels like it’s been shaken vigorously and then tumbled out like Yahtzee dice. Can you imagine the combination of joy and disappointment and terror and...I don’t know, weirdly, probably peace, he must feel at knowing he has a brother and an entirely new family?”
“His whole life changed. In a blink.” Like hers. She hadn’t expected to ring in the new year with a breakup or a relationship. A few months ago she assumed she’d be working round the clock to accommodate January visitors who’d made resolutions to get fit for the new year.
“Regardless—” Arlene pulled her chin down and gave Hayden a stern stare “—you can’t keep your love on ice and wait for Tate to come around. If he has stuff to work through, that’s on him. Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” She smiled at the Dirty Dancing reference, but Hayden couldn’t smile just yet. She’d already used up her one for the day.
“I made a commitment before I moved here that I wasn’t going to accept half measures in any relationship—from my family, friends or whoever I happened to date.”
“I commend you on that.” Arlene raised her glass.
“I also committed to listening to my gut. Which is why I called the woman I leased this building from right after I called you.”
“Why did you do that?” Arlene winced. “Don’t say you’re leaving me!”
“I’m not going far. I don’t think. I might get a job at a gym rather than have the overhead of a new studio right away. I need to not be here. Where I’ll run into Tate or read about him in the Spright Times,” she said of the local printed newsletter that was in the café every month.
“But this is your refuge!” Arlene argued, throwing Hayden’s words back at her. “I know you’re upset, but are you sure you want to give this place up? We love it here. It’s peaceful.”
“Not if I’m walking through town panicking over the possibility of running into him.”
Arlene nodded in what looked like reluctant agreement. “What did the woman say? About your lease?”
“I don’t know. I left her a voice mail. The problem is it’s a five-year lease. I can’t commit to that any longer. I need to cut that tie first. And figure out the rest as I go. I have a nest egg. I’ll be fine.” Even though Hayden knew that was true—she would be fine—she didn’t want to start over. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to look for a job. But with her heart filleted and lying on a cutting board, she didn’t see another option.
“You might feel differently in a few days. Don’t do anything rash. What if he calls to talk—”
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Do you think he’s in love with that Claire chick?”
“No. I don’t. That was the spark that started an argument, not the reason for the argument. The only part that matters is that I love him and he can’t love me back. His work means more to him than me, and while I want to tell him that’s a crock, there was also a time that I put my work before my family, too.”
“That’s different and you know it.” Arlene leveled her with a firm look. “Your family is detrimental, and you’re nothing but good for Tate.”
Hayden agreed, but... “I don’t want to be here. I wish I could... I don’t know. Just disappear for a while.”
Arlene sat up. She set down her flute of sparkling wine—they hadn’t drunk even half a glass apiece since they’d been eagerly wolfing down sheet cake—and stood from the sofa. “Let’s go then.”
“Let’s?”
“Yes! I have frequent flyer miles and some vouchers from work for a free stay at Caesars Palace. You want to get away, and lucky for you, since I went in for the last holiday, my boss owes me. She even said, ‘You can have a few extra days off whenever you need. Just let me know.’”
“Caesars Palace? In Vegas?”
Arlene was already tapping the screen of her iPhone. “Well, I ain’t talking about going to Rome, honey.” Then into the speaker she said, “Amy, hi. It’s Arlene...”
While Arlene paced the width of Hayden’s living room explaining to her boss that she’d be out for a few days, a smile Hayden didn’t know she had hidden away pulled her cheeks.
Maybe this was what she needed in order to think straight. A few days of being somewhere that was the total antithesis to Spright Island. A loud, smoky, hectic environment where she couldn’t sit still and lick her wounds. What had Tate said? That he’d tried living dangerously for a while? Well maybe it was time for her to do the same.
Leaving for a few days was only a matter of packing a bag and rescheduling a few classes. Tate might’ve convinced himself that this community couldn’t survive without him, but she knew they could live without yoga classes for a couple of days.
She was in no shape to be teaching anyone this week, anyway—especially if she spotted Tate walking by or, heaven forbid, if he came in. No one needed to witness her screaming at him, or worse, blubbering in the middle of king dancer pose.
“Done.” Arlene swiped her phone’s screen. “Now for the flight. How soon do you want to leave?”
Hayden crushed Arlene into a hug. A vacation was exactly what she needed. Time to recoup and think about her choices. Maybe Arlene was right and a few days later she wouldn’t leave her beloved home. Only time would tell. “Thank you.”
“Oh, honey. You know I have your back.” All business, Arlene disentangled Hayden from her neck and tapped her phone again. “How soon?”
“As soon as humanly possible.”
“That’s my girl,” Arlene said with a grin.
* * *
Tate had promised to entertain his adoptive parents when they came in on January 2, so in spite of not being up to having company, he was resigned to keep his word. Especially since he had skipped Christmas with them to fly to London and spend it with the Singletons.
His mother, Marion, hadn’t acted as if it’d bothered her but his father, William, mentioned she’d been sad over the holidays without their normal traditions. Tate loved his parents, and he hadn’t been the most receptive son since finding out the news that he was someone else’s son, too, so he decided to keep his chin up for their sakes—regardless of his tumultuous emotional state.
Which he was determined to compartmentalize.
After dinner at Brass Pony, Tate drove by Hayden’s yoga studio, taking note of the closed sign. Her upstairs windows were dark, but it was after nine, so maybe she’d turned in early.
After their argument on New Year’s Eve, he’d given her space the next day. It’d nearly killed him not to text or call and apologize or ask that she forgive him—though begging might not be out of the question. But he’d been where she was before—angry, bewildered, confused. She had expectations and he’d failed her miserably.
This morning he’d keyed in two texts. One: I’m sorry and another: Let’s talk. Both had gone unanswered, and he supposed he deserved that. She was angry. She had a right to be. She’d professed her love for him, and he’d sat there like a dope.
After Claire’s pop-up appearance, his only thought was to get Hayden the hell out of there. His ex showing up at the café had nearly ruined his and Hayden’s beginning, and he’d be damned if she’d trumpet in the end.
As much as he wanted to blame his ex for ruining his relationship, though, he couldn’t. The fault lay squarely on him. The problem was his inability to be honest with himself, or Hayden. He’d been trying to compartmentalize and control different facets of his life. His head over here in this box, his heart in that one. He was beginning to see it wasn’t working. There were no “compartments.” There was only him—the whole him.
Marion chattered away about how stuff
ed she was and how delicious dinner was. “The cheesecake wasn’t necessary, Tate.” She cradled a plastic takeaway box on her lap in the front seat of his car.
“You mentioned that turtle cheesecake was on the menu fourteen times, Mom.” From the corner of his eye, he watched her smile.
“Yes, but my diet...”
“You’re beautiful,” William said to his wife, squeezing her shoulder. “I tell her that every day,” he explained to Tate. “She doesn’t believe me. I don’t know how many times I have to say ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re beautiful’ for her believe me.”
“Only about a million more times,” she answered, patting William’s hand.
Dread settled over Tate like a dark cloud. The five-star cuisine in his stomach churned. He reached into his pocket for a red-and-white-striped peppermint candy, unwrapped one end using his teeth and popped the candy into his mouth.
“Are you okay?” his mother asked.
“Ate too much,” he told her, but it wasn’t true. His throat was full like there was a lump in it and it wasn’t from the ahi tuna bowl he’d enjoyed for dinner. He hadn’t even had a cocktail, choosing water with a slice of lemon instead. No, he wasn’t okay. He was negotiating with grief...or maybe worry was more accurate. He reminded himself for the millionth time that just because they’d argued didn’t mean Hayden was gone forever. She was just unreachable at the moment.
In his driveway, he slowed to open the garage door and parked inside. Once his family was in the house, his mother stowed her cheesecake in the fridge “for later,” and his father went for the whiskey cabinet to see what was available.
Tate watched them interact with easy smiles and the playful elbow to the ribs he’d often seen his mother give his father. They were in love. It was painfully obvious and not exactly the sort of behavior he’d welcomed as a teenager. He remembered when he was a teenager, rushing his friends off to another part of the house when William and Marion started making out in the kitchen.
“Here you go, son.” His dad handed over Tate’s drink. “I’m going to watch football. You coming?”
“Yeah. Let me just... In a minute.”
William bypassed the dining room and the fireplace where Tate had laid Hayden down two nights ago. In the attached family room, the television clicked on, the sounds of cheering and announcers infiltrating the space.
“Okay.” Marion climbed onto one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar and folded her hands. “Why don’t you pour me a glass of wine to go with your cocktail and we’ll talk about it.”
Marion and William Duncan were well into their fifties. Both shorter than Tate, he remembered noting how obvious it was that he was adopted when he’d shot up to six two at age seventeen. Marion’s dark hair was cut medium and circling her face. Her cheeks were rosy and round and, despite her suggestion that she needed to lose ten pounds, was on the slim side.
William had a belly, suggesting he liked to eat, and was losing his hair, something that Tate wouldn’t have to worry about given George Singleton’s full head of hair. But that was a simple matter of DNA and genes passed down—scientific markers of who he was.
Whether or not he was taller than Marion and William, or didn’t share their body types didn’t matter. Marion and William knew her son. Tate had been living with them from age three and a half until he flew the nest.
In short, they were his parents. They loved him. And his mother could help him through this if he would let her.
“Her name is Hayden” was where he started the story. And since it was a long one, he rounded the bar and sat down before sharing the whole sordid tale.
Twenty-Five
Tate’s parents stayed for breakfast and then they were off to catch their plane to San Francisco. The second they were out the door, Tate told himself he needed coffee, but he knew once he left his house and pointed in the direction of the café, he’d drive by Hayden’s once more.
Damn.
The closed sign was still hanging on the door of the yoga studio. This was the third day in a row.
At the risk of being accused of being a stalker, or at the very least a heartsick moron, he decided to park and try knocking on her front door.
Last night he’d told Marion everything about Claire. About Hayden. About the trip to London. As the old black-and-white gangster movies his dad liked to watch were known for saying, Tate had sung like a canary.
It bubbled out of him in one messy, winding story, and by the end he was mortified to find himself hunkered over his drink, his eyes burning with unshed tears and his liquor untouched.
But his mother had never expected him to ignore his emotions, so he didn’t.
“It’s too much to handle. I just need time,” he’d said in frustration, finally taking a burning swallow of the whiskey his father had poured for him.
His mother’s hand rubbed his back as she hummed thoughtfully to herself.
“That’s what you’ve got for me?” he asked. “A thoughtful hum?”
Knowing he was teasing her, Marion’s mouth curved at the edge. “I’m not sure if you want me to tell you you’re wrong or not. Should I agree instead?”
He’d had to admit he could use some female insight, so he answered his mother’s question with one of his own.
“How am I wrong?” The question came out with a frustrated edge, so he took another swallow from his glass. “What the hell was I supposed to do when everything was thrown at me in rapid succession?”
Another thoughtful hum came from Marion. “Be honest with yourself, and then be honest with Hayden.”
“I was!”
“You weren’t. You acted as if you don’t know how to feel.” Marion shook her head. “That’s bull, Tate. You know. You’re afraid to admit it, but you know.”
He’d opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t.
She was right.
Last night he’d gone to bed and had slept three, maybe four hours on and off. He’d tossed and turned and rationalized and thought through, around and over everything he and his mother had talked about.
He was in love with Hayden. Of course he was. She’d taken as much of him as she’d given of herself, and when she’d been vulnerable, he’d offered a lame excuse about timing.
He woke with a panicky feeling, an unease unlike any he’d felt before. He knew what he had to do, and for once, making the decision to confess how badly he’d fucked up seemed easy.
Upstairs, at Hayden’s apartment door, Tate ignored the fullness of his heart, now lodged in his throat, and knocked. He waited. Knocked again. No answer.
“Hayden? If you’re in there, I just need a few seconds.” He braced his palms on the doorframe and waited. Nothing. “I have something to say and it has to be in person. Sixty seconds, tops.”
He needed her to listen to what he had to say. He couldn’t let another moment pass with her believing that he’d prioritized everyone and everything in his life over her—over the woman he loved.
“How about thirty seconds?” He could work with thirty. He just needed her to open the damn door.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he called her and heard the distinct jingle of her ringtone inside the apartment about one second before he heard the outside door close and the sound of someone coming up the stairs.
“She left her phone at home. She’s not here.” One of Hayden’s friends, the one with the short hair, not the bawdy blonde one, regarded him coolly. “I’m here to water her plants.”
“Where is she?” He stepped aside so she could unlock the door and let herself in.
“I’m sure if she wanted you to know that, she would have told you.”
She started to shut the door but he stopped it with one hand. “Is she safe?”
“She’s safe.” Her eyes warmed slightly. “She’s with Arlene.”
“Arlene. Th
e blonde one.” Tate offered a smile, but the brunette only scowled. “Thank you...”
“Emily.” She sighed.
“Emily. Thank you. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Ballpark?” he tried.
“Tomorrow, unless they decide to stay in...wherever they went.”
“You know though. Where they went.”
“Of course I know where they went.” She frowned. “I also know that she’s seriously considering buying herself out of the lease and leaving Spright Island because of you. Do you know how much she loves it here? Can you even fathom what she did to move here? What she gave up? She doesn’t own a car, Tate. Not because she’s trying to save the planet but because she sunk every dollar she had into her yoga studio. When Hayden goes in, she goes all in. Her friends are lifers.”
Her lips twisted in consideration as she considered him, and his position in Hayden’s life.
“I know I screwed up,” he said, still wrapping his head around the idea that Hayden might leave Spright Island because of him.
“You think?” Emily propped her fist on her hip, not ready to let him off the hook.
“I know. I’ll do whatever it takes for her to stay.”
“Like what? Buy the building?” she snapped.
He smiled, not denying that buying the building was his first instinct. But he wouldn’t trap her into staying. He wouldn’t trick her into sticking around. She deserved to have the life she built, and he’d honor that.
“No. I’m not going to buy the building. But I promise, I won’t be the reason she leaves.”
Some of Emily’s skepticism fled from her face, compassion replacing it. “This community is better because of her.”
Emily was right. He’d seen residents interact with Hayden, the smiles at the café or the restaurant whenever she was around. She was contagious and beautiful. Incredible, really. How had been so obtuse not to see what was right in front of him. Of course Spright Wellness Community was better because of Hayden.
Christmas Seduction (The Bachelor Pact Book 4) Page 15
