“Julia,” Kate cut in, sensing Ryan’s waning patience. “Focus, and maybe we’ll reconsider grounding you for the rest of your life. Where is Shannon? Her mom’s worried sick.”
Julia’s guilty eyes darted to Simone, still seated on the couch, then shifted back to Kate.
“You’re already busted, so you might as well fess up.” Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her. “At this point, your only hope is to throw yourself on the mercy of the court.”
Julia cringed. “You're not gonna like the answer.”
“Talk,” Ryan snapped.
Julia sighed. “In Washington. She’s probably already on Whidbey Island by now. She went to find Uncle Mitch.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tate Kendrick leaned back in his chair and looked across the mom-and-pop bar. “That, my friend, is exactly what you need to take your mind off things.”
Mitch turned to watch the leggy blonde in the short skirt and apron Tate had been eyeing most of the night head across the room. She turned and sent Tate a wicked smile, licking her lips to draw attention to her plump mouth.
“Not interested.” Mitch looked back at their table and poured another inch of Jamison into the tumbler in his hand. He swirled the golden liquid in the glass, then downed it in one swallow that burned a path of heat straight to his gut. “I’m done with women.”
Music from a jukebox across the room echoed classic eighties music. Pool balls clacked in the adjacent room. Dragging his attention from the blonde at the bar, Tate grinned Mitch’s way. “Done with women? Fine. But don’t get any ideas. You’re not sleeping in my bed tonight.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “I know this might come as a shock, Kendrick, but not everyone on the planet thinks you’re a rock god.”
Tate chuckled and went back to watching the blonde. “Only the ones who matter, old man.”
Sighing, Mitch leaned back in his seat and looked down at the empty glass. A little voice in the back of his head told him he should really stop drinking, but at the moment, he couldn’t find a legitimate reason to listen. He was supposed to be heading to British Columbia and the work site, but he’d gotten off the plane in Seattle instead and hopped a ferry out to Whidbey Island. He and Tate had been friends since college, when the freshman upstart had joined the baseball team and he and Ryan had decided to take Tate under their wing during their senior year. He was a few years younger, a whole lot cockier, and ever since his band, Kendrick, had taken off the last few years, a hell of a lot more obnoxious. But if there was one person Mitch knew he could get drunk with and not have to spill his guts to about everything that had happened with Simone, it was Tate.
Not that Tate wouldn’t understand. But thankfully—at least for Mitch—the guy didn’t do emotions. In fact, in all the years Mitch had known him, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d heard Tate talk about anything deeper than how much he loved his stupid band.
“You look like shit, you know,” Tate said, lifting the Corona bottle to his lips while he continued to flirt with the blonde. “You go up to BC looking like that and every one of your big-oil coworkers is gonna know you got your ass handed to you by a girl.”
Mitch frowned and reached for the bottle again. It wobbled in his vision, but he wrapped his hand around the cool glass and slowly lifted it so he could pour again. “Thanks for the advice. You’re not so hot either, music man. That soul patch looks like something died on your face.”
Tate chuckled and rubbed his thumb over the patch of hair on his chin. “The chicks dig it.
“The chicks dig your money and celebrity status. Trust me, they hate the pubes on your chin. They’re just too starstruck to tell you.”
Simone had said that to him one night. When they’d been cuddled up on his couch watching Kendrick’s debut on SNL. A vicious sharp pain lanced his chest at the memory and sent waves of misery outward. Before it could consume him, he poured another inch of Jamison in his glass and tossed it back.
“You better go easy on that stuff or you’re gonna get sick,” Tate muttered.
Mitch swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the glass on the table. “News flash, brainiac. I’m already sick.”
Sick of women, sick of love, sick of making a fool out of himself.
“God, you’re a breath of fresh air.” Tate pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping the ground as he stood. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before you ruin my reputation.”
Mitch pushed up to his feet. The room swayed, and he caught himself from going down by bracing his hands on the table. “Your reputation was shot the minute you hung out with me.”
Did he slur those words? And, wow, the room was really spinning now.
“Yeah, yeah.” Tate grabbed him by the arm and turned him for the entrance of the small bar. “Your hero status is shot. I just want you to know that. Playing Mr. Mom with Ryan these past few years obviously killed your tolerance for booze. Who will I look up to now?”
Mitch stumbled into the back of an empty chair. “I can still drink.”
“Uh-huh.” Tate dragged him toward the door. “Like a lightweight little virgin.”
“Tate.” The blonde he’d been flirting with the whole night materialized out of nowhere, dragging Mitch’s feet to a stop. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
Mitch’s eyes widened. He blinked several times to see her clearly. Couldn’t seem to focus on anything more than a fuzzy yellow halo around her head. Luckily, Tate didn’t let go of his arm. Maybe this was exactly what he did need, a woman to take his mind off Simone. Except, whoa… Now there were three of her.
“Yeah, unfortunately, I gotta get this old guy home,” Tate said somewhere close. “Way past his bedtime.”
Three sets of eyes looked Mitch’s way, but all three were obviously more interested in the music man. She stuck out her full bottom lip—all three of them. “I was just about to take my break.”
“Next time, baby-doll. I promise.”
She rose up on her toes and kissed Tate’s scruffy cheek. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Tate grinned once more as he pushed the door open to the parking lot and pulled Mitch through. Stopping on the other side, he turned and looked back. “Hey, Aubrey. You like the soul patch, right?”
Slapping the bar rag in her hand, Aubrey shrugged. “Sure. It’s kinda cute. I’ll see you next time.”
She waved and disappeared back into the bar.
The door snapped shut, and cool air washed over Mitch. He chuckled. “See? Told ya.”
Tate frowned and pulled Mitch toward his truck. “Cute is for bunny rabbits and panda bears. I am not cute.”
The world didn’t seem to want to stop spinning even out here in the cool night air. Mitch climbed into Tate’s souped-up Dodge, closed the door, and leaned his head back against the plush seat. When Tate climbed in next to him, he muttered, “If I hurl, I just want you to know it’s not personal.”
“Fuck that,” Tate muttered. The window at Mitch’s right went all the way down, and crisp air rushed over him as they pulled out of the small parking lot. “I swear to God, if you get sick in my truck, Mathews, you’ll regret it.”
“I already regret it.” Mitch’s eyes drifted closed, and he fought back the waves of nausea as the rig bounced over ruts in the road. “Why did you let me drink so much?”
“Hell if I know,” Tate mumbled. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to get your teeth kicked in by the woman of your dreams.”
Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked across the cab toward his friend, pretty sure he’d imagined that response. Dim green light from the dashboard illuminated Tate’s set features and the mop of dark brown hair that was already brushing his shoulders. The guy dated a lot of women, but Mitch couldn’t remember a single one who had lasted more than a month.
Not that he cared right now. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes again, focusing on deep breaths, in and out, so he didn’t get
sick. Some sappy country music floated out of the speakers, and Tate hummed along as he drove.
Mitch floated, hating the music, hating the way his stomach tossed, hating life in general. “Country music is so freakin’ depressing.”
Tate grinned. “That’s because it’s deep.”
“Thank God you don’t play it.”
“Are you saying my music lacks substance?”
“Any substance in your music’s hidden behind heavy bass and that tricky guitar shit you do.”
“I totally take offense at that.”
Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s because you listen to crap like this that makes a person want to blow their brains out.”
“You are a total peach tonight, you know that, Michelle?”
It was a familiar joke, one they’d started in college and that had lingered over the years, calling each other by their girlie counter-names. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Mitch’s lips. “As peachy as you, Tara.”
They made several turns on the island, and the music shifted to a song about football. Still country, but at least it wasn’t a depressing monologue about a man’s regrets. As the song echoed in the cab, Mitch mentally tried to figure out where they were without opening his eyes but finally gave up as his mind drifted away from his rolling stomach and floating head and resettled on the scene at his house last night with Simone.
Holy hell. He was such a fucking moron. He totally should have seen that coming. Couldn’t believe how far he’d bought into that whole stupid fairy tale.
“Damn, Mathews.” The rig drew to a stop, and Tate’s voice cut through Mitch’s self-defeating thoughts. “When you said this Simone chick was younger than you, I thought she was at least legal. Even I don’t push those boundaries.”
Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked over at his friend. Tate’s gaze was locked on something out the front windshield.
Blinking several times, Mitch turned his head, then froze.
Every muscle in his body contracted, and he sat forward. “Holy shit.”
He was out of the truck in seconds, his hiking boots hitting the asphalt drive while the cool air and adrenaline rush cleared his foggy head, enough so he didn’t fall over. “Shannon? What the hell are you doing here?”
Illuminated by the headlights of the truck, Shannon swiped at her runny nose with the sleeve of her hoodie as she sat on the front steps of Tate’s new house. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she rubbed at them with her sleeve. “I… I…”
Confusion snapped to worry, which morphed to a burst of excitement rushing through Mitch’s veins. His gaze swept from Shannon to the fancy new house, then around the parking area surrounded by trees. Simone had to be here.
“D-don’t be mad. Please?” Shannon sniffled, drawing his attention. “I just… You didn’t say good-bye. And I…” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. I-I…” Wide, wet, red-rimmed eyes looked up at him. Pleading eyes. “Just…just please come back. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t get in the way.”
A car door slammed behind Mitch. Footsteps echoed. But he knew it wasn’t Simone. It was Tate, wondering what was going on.
All that excitement fizzled. Simone wasn’t here. She hadn’t changed her mind. She hadn’t come after him. But instead of the heartbroken anger he’d felt earlier, guilt consumed him. Guilt for not thinking about anyone but himself.
“Shit.” He sat next to her on the steps and wrapped an arm around her. When she threw herself against his chest and started sobbing, he just held her close, not knowing what the hell to do or say.
Tate’s footsteps drew to a stop. “How come every girl you’re with ends up crying, Mathews?”
Mitch glanced up at his friend, frowned, and flipped him the bird.
Tate chuckled.
Shannon’s sobs died down. She sniffled, then drew back and looked at Tate. Glancing at Mitch, she said, “Is that…the music guy?”
“You know Kendrick?” Mitch asked, one arm still around her.
“Yes. I mean, kinda.” She sniffled again. “Julia told me about him.”
“Julia,” Mitch mumbled. “That explains how you found me. But I’d still like to know how the hell you got all the way up here on your own.”
Shannon sat up and swiped at her cheeks. A sheepish expression crossed her features. “Julia helped me.”
“I figured. Keep going.”
She cringed. “She, ah, used her dad’s credit card to get me a plane ticket.”
“You’re ten.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes. “I know. She, ah, also told me how to act like I was older so I could travel without an adult.”
Tate chuckled. “Damn, but I love that kid.”
Mitch frowned. “That kid’s going to be grounded for life when her parents find out what she did.” He looked down at Shannon. “And so are you, sweetheart, when your mom realizes you’re gone.”
Tears filled Shannon’s eyes all over again. “Please? Please, can we not tell her right away? If you come back, she won’t be so mad at me.”
She collapsed into sobs against Mitch’s chest again, and he rubbed her back, knowing he should be pissed but having a hard time finding the energy.
“Bring her into the house,” Tate said. “If she gets sick out here in the cold, her mom’s really gonna hate you.”
“Her mom already does.” Mitch hefted Shannon into his arms and followed Tate inside.
A great room with a huge rock fireplace and dark wood accents opened to a kitchen beyond and stairs that led up to the second floor. Mitch sat on the leather couch in the middle of the room and held Shannon while she cried. Tate disappeared somewhere in the kitchen.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, rubbing her back, not knowing what else to do to console her. Julia was never emotional like this. Instead, she just got mad and yelled. Part of him preferred the yelling, but a tiny piece liked that Shannon needed him. God knew, her mother didn’t. “I’ll call your mom and work everything out. She might be a little mad, but she’ll get over it.”
“No, she won’t.” Shannon sniffled. “I’ve messed everything up. First I made you leave, and now this.”
He drew her away from him and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t leave because of you. I left because…” How the hell did he explain this to a ten-year-old? He was still struggling with it himself. “Listen, Shannon. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s not anybody’s fault, especially yours. You’re a great kid, and I…” …wanted to be your dad. I still do. He swallowed the emotions closing his throat. “It was wrong of me to leave without telling you. I’m sorry.”
She laid her head on his chest and cried again. And, feeling like shit, Mitch just sat there and held her, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to make her—or himself—feel better.
Eventually, Shannon’s sniffling died off, and she grew limp in his arms. It had to be close to three a.m. Realizing she was asleep, he laid her on the couch and pulled a throw over her, then looked down at all her curly red hair fanned out around her and remembered why he’d never wanted to have a family of his own. Because this kind of stuff killed him. The highs he could totally manage, but the lows… He wasn’t strong enough to deal with reality when the bottom fell out beneath him.
The scent of coffee beckoned from the direction of the kitchen, and he headed that way.
Tate—always a night owl—was sitting at the counter, tinkering on his laptop, when Mitch walked into the room. Darkness pressed in from outside, just a twinkle of lights across the water reflecting in the glass. Tate leaned back in his chair. “She finally go to sleep?”
Mitch opened a cupboard and pulled out a mug. “You mean pass out from crying? Yeah. Finally.”
Tate chuckled. “Gotta admit. All those years you spent helping Ryan with Julia, I never saw you as the father figure. Not until tonight.”
Mitch scowled as h
e poured coffee into his mug. “Don’t get used to it. She’s not my kid, and her mother has made it more than clear she doesn’t want her to be my kid. I am not, and never will be, dad material.”
Tate was silent for a moment. The strong, bitter coffee went down hot, but at least it cleared the last of the cobwebs from Mitch’s brain. He took another sip, wishing it would clear away that lingering ache in his chest too.
“What are you gonna do?” Tate asked quietly.
What he wanted to do was drink himself into oblivion and pass out just like Shannon. What he had to do was call the woman who’d just shit kicked him in the groin and tell her her daughter was over eight hundred miles away. With him.
“Consider moving to a deserted island.” He pulled out his cell and cringed when he saw seven missed calls from Simone.
So much for passing out.
He punched in Simone’s number. Then drew a deep breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen next.
Simone answered on the first ring. “Mitch? Is Shannon with you?”
Just the sound of her voice caused his stomach to tighten with a mixture of pain and stupidity. He clenched his jaw. “She’s here. And she’s fine.”
“Oh, thank God. I’ve been going out of my mind. Put her on the phone.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Well, wake her up. She’s in some serious trouble for this stunt.”
He leaned back against the counter. Across the kitchen, Tate watched with interest. “No.”
“This isn’t funny, Mitch. Put her on the damn phone.”
Simone was good and fired up. The woman rarely swore. But that only fueled Mitch’s own rage. “It’s three o’clock in the freakin’ morning, Simone. She’s tired and upset and already feels like crap, thanks to you. So forgive me for not waking her so you can lay into her and make her feel worse.”
“Wha—?” Shock reverberated through the line. Then, steadier, Simone said, “Where are you? I’ll come get her.”
Bullshit. She wasn’t coming up here and fucking up any more of his life. She’d done enough of that already. “I’ll take care of it.”
Hold On To Me Page 5
