“I’m starting to put the pieces together.” I nod, realizing how much about her career I know nothing about.
“Aunt Maddy!” I turn to see Brett’s daughters running our way and stopping short when they see me.
With wide eyes, the oldest, Charlie, inches toward us.
“Hey, girls,” Madison says, releasing my hand and smiling at them, holding her arms wide open. They run into her hug, and she kisses each of them on the cheek.
“Who’s that?” The younger one looks at me out of the corner of her eyes.
“I’m Tate,” I say.
“He’s a…friend of mine,” Madison explains.
“A boyfriend friend?” Charlie says, giggling.
“Girls…” Madison warns.
“Aren’t you a fireman?” Charlie asks before Madison can explain any further. Ah, the attention span of a child is a blessing at times.
I nod with a smile. “Sure am. How are you, girls?”
They shrug and mumble an okay. Madison frowns at me over their heads. I get it. Being in a fire is traumatic. I can’t imagine what they went through, what the entire family went through. When it happened, I wanted to reach out to Madison and make sure she was okay since I knew she wasn’t able to be here. Now I know she was dealing with her own shit on top of the fear of losing part of her family.
“I’m gonna go. We’ll talk.”
“Okay,” Madison nods. “Thank you.” Her smile is brighter than I’ve seen it in a long time.
I wink and look at her nieces. “Bye, girls. Have fun with your Aunt Maddy,” I say.
I hear one ask something about getting ice cream as I walk away, and I laugh. I look over my shoulder before walking inside and catch Madison watching me. I smile at her. Seeing her like this gives me hope that maybe we can be those two kids who were head over heels in love with each other again, but this time we’ll have life experience, heartache, and wisdom to guide us.
Chapter 15
Madison
It takes a few days for the label to contact my lawyer with a response. In that time, everyone has heard about what happened, debating whether or not the bullshit story that I trapped my producer to use it as an excuse later on is true. There is so much speculation, I’ve decided to stay home and delete my social media apps from my phone to avoid checking them. The few comments I read are not good for my mental health, so I’m better off without them.
Stressed, I’ve dived headfirst into baking—cookies, pies, cakes. Ms. Sullivan just smiles sympathetically and leaves me an open space in the kitchen. Charlie and Chloe have taken full advantage of my emotional baking.
Part of my emotional mess might be related to Tate and our conversation the other day. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since that day. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been replaying his words, second-guessing everything, and then smiling as I convince myself that he meant it. I’m not sure how we move from here, though.
I’d given up on the idea of happily ever afters and fairytales. Though it might have seemed like I was living one due to my career, I’ve learned through the years that there’s more to life than professional success.
When Lauren, my best friend from Nashville, called to check up on me and update me on how Nashville is taking the news, we dissected my conversation with Tate down to the tiniest detail—the way his eyes moved, the shape of his mouth as he spoke, everything beyond just the words. I felt like I was an early teenager again, trying to figure out if my crush liked me or not.
That was the better part of our conversation. Lauren told me that Nashville is going crazy with the news, putting together their own conclusions, and she advised me to stay in Willow Creek for a while longer. As if I’d be moving from here before all this is cleared up.
“Hey, little sis.”
“Hey, twin bro,” I throw back without taking my eyes off my task. Miles always insists he’s older because he was born a couple of minutes before me. It’s like he forgot we shared a womb. The only thing that makes us different is our gender.
Miles sits on a stool at the counter and watches me with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t judge. I’m making cupcakes for your nieces. I promised.” I finish scooping the batter into the liners stuffed in the cupcake pan.
“Not judging.” He lifts his hands, never taking his eyes off my handiwork. As I turn to put the pan in the oven, he says, “Are you gonna lick the spatula?”
I turn around and laugh. He’s already grabbed the bowl and spatula before I respond. “Go right ahead,” I unnecessarily say since he’s already eating off the batter.
“I’ll wait for a cupcake.” He licks his lips and fingers.
Tossing him a napkin, I say, “Wipe yourself.”
He does, then stands to wash his hands. “What are you doing tonight?” Miles leans against the counter by the sink, crossing her arms.
I lift an eyebrow and pinch my lips. “Staying home like every other night.”
“Let’s go to Last Call for a drink.”
I shake my head. “Not a good idea.”
“Come on, Dimples, the town’s on your side.” He wraps an arm around me and gives me his one-dimple smile. It’s the reason I gave him the nickname Smiles. That and it sounds like Miles.
When I was a little girl, it came out that way and stuck. Dimples stuck for him because he used to poke them when I’d smile and repeat, “Dimples, dimples,” after Mom told him what the “holes” were called.
“It’s best if I stay away from crowds. I’m sure people are dying to see me, ask questions, observe me and see what’s really going on.”
“One drink with June and me. Paul will go to keep you safe and do his job. You can’t hide here forever. You gotta face life, show them what you’re made of.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “One drink, though. If things get out of hand, we leave.” I point at him as if holding him accountable for making that decision when the time comes.
“Promise. You’re safe with me.”
“I know.” I hug my brother and breathe steadily. Thank God for family.
While the cupcakes cool, I get ready to go out. Before leaving, I pipe them with frosting, and Miles and I each have one. The girls will be surprised tomorrow morning when they come over since they don’t have school. I’ve been enjoying every moment with my nieces since I’ve missed so much already.
When we walk into Last Call, I see June’s already at a table with a glass of wine. The bar falls quiet when I walk in, most likely staring at me. Willow Creek isn’t subtle at all. I keep my face hidden by the curtain of hair, but I smile at her when she sees us. After a beat, people start talking again, and the tension slips away.
“Hey,” I say as I sit across from June.
“Hi.” She smiles and then looks at Miles, accepting his kiss before he sits next to her, draping his arm across the back of her chair.
“What do you want to drink?” Miles asks as he waves the waiter over.
“I’ll have a glass of wine.”
“Your Carlisle favorite?” He smiles.
“Of course.” I lift my eyebrows. Our family’s wine will always be my favorite.
While we wait for our drinks, June and I catch up. She tells me about the progress they’ve made at the bookstore, and it sounds amazing.
“You should come by this week. I know you’re lying low, but no one will walk in since we’re still closed. You can give me your opinion on where to put the armchairs.”
“I’d love to,” I nod. It’d be good to see what they’ve done. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying here since it all depends on what the label says. I also don’t know the next step I’ll take in my life, but I’m enjoying being in Willow Creek, seeing my family, and taking a break from the chaos that my life has turned into.
I love singing, recording, and performing. I don’t love the way it’s been happening. However, I can’t make any decisions until this is all settled.
With drinks in hand, we toast, an
d I take a comforting sip of a red blend from our winery that always reminds me of home. I sigh and lean back, keeping my focus on my brother and June instead of wandering around the bar to avoid any curious glances or pity smiles. I know I’ll find people staring and whispering.
Coming out of the house, facing the town after they’ve learned what I went through, it’s not what I pictured would happen when I decided to return. I know the industry can be dirty, so I’m not sure why I expected the label to remain quiet. Maybe because it’d make them look bad, but the way they throw down mercilessly, lying to keep their name clean. Nothing is clean about RWB Records. I’m no longer wearing a blindfold.
While a few peers have written to check in on me, I haven’t had the energy to respond to them. I’ve met great people—they’re not all bad—but right now, I’m not sure who I can trust and who’s fishing for information.
Focusing on the present, I take a sip of wine and listen to the conversation between Miles and June. They’re discussing the names for the exclusive wines that they’ll eventually have in the bookstore. The fire pushed their plans back, but I know they’ll accomplish it.
“Okay, Dimples, please help me out here… Isn’t Wine Down with Your Book Out not the best name for a wine?” June raises her eyebrows in a silent plea not to agree with my brother’s name.
I almost spit out my sip from laughter and shake my head. “No, God no.”
“I don’t appreciate this type of attack.” Miles crosses his arms and leans back.
“I like Well-Read for a red blend,” June says.
“Ohhh.. I do like that,” I nod. “What if you use Miles’s idea as a tag line for the store?”
“That’s a great option,” June nods, smiling at Miles.
“I approve,” Miles says.
“It’s catching on,” I add. “I kinda like it now after my initial reaction to laugh.”
“We need to come up with more names, but we probably won’t even be ready for this part of our project for at least a year and a half. For now, we’ll carry Carlisle wines,” June explains.
I nod, but before I can speak, someone clears their throat. Looking up at the shadow above me, my eyes widen when I see Tate.
“Mind if I sit?” He points to the empty chair beside me, holding a beer bottle.
I shake my head. I look at June and Miles out of the corner of my eyes and notice she’s smiling, and he’s glaring. My goodness, with the overprotectiveness. Miles knows Tate well, and he knows he’s one of the good guys.
“Hey,” he smiles at them.
“What’s up?” Miles lifts his chin with no trace of humor.
“Hi, Tate,” June’s greeting is warmer than my brother’s.
“I’m not interrupting, right?” Tate looks between us.
“Not at all. We were just talking about the bookstore,” June chimes in.
“How’s that going?”
Just like that, Tate has insinuated himself into a seat at our table and the conversation. Miles looks at me with narrowed eyes, but I ignore his questioning glances. I’ll have to tell him about my conversation with Tate later.
When June and Miles go talk to some friends, Tate and I are left alone. He turns to me immediately, scanning every inch of my face.
“How have you been?” He lowers his voice and places his arm on the small table, spinning his beer bottle.
“I’m okay.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you out.” His eyebrows lift.
I shrug and lean forward, resting my elbow on the table. “I didn’t want to, but Miles asked me to and promised that he and Paul would protect me if things got out of hand. Fortunately, everyone’s keeping to themselves.”
“That’s good.” He nods, rubbing the back of his neck and then tapping the table. “Anyway…” he trails off, focusing on the television in the corner.
“Hey, man… Madison.” I turn around and see Rafael, Tate’s best friend, standing by our table. His eyebrows are raised, and he’s making no attempt to hide his surprise.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” I offer a tight-lipped smile. I’m wary of anyone at the moment, and that includes Rafael. I’m sure he hates me by default after I broke Tate’s heart.
“How are you?” He looks me straight in the eye. He’s always been a little hard around the edges, never wavering.
“I’m good.” I sit up straighter, feigning ease.
“Glad to hear that.” He looks at me, then at Tate next to me. When it looks like he’s going to say something else, he closes his mouth and nods. “Anyway, I’m gonna go.” He tosses his thumb over his shoulder to a table behind him. “Good to see ya.”
I nod at the awkward encounter and look at Tate. “Let me guess. He doesn’t think you should be sitting with me.”
“It’s not that…” he shakes his head but avoids my eyes.
“No?” I raise an eyebrow.
Tate sighs, scratching his beard. “He’s just protective of me. He doesn’t want me to get hurt again.”
I frown at that. Rafael has a reason to think that. If the label forces me to return to Nashville, I’ll have to go. Where does that leave Tate and me?
“Maddy, he’s my best friend. He’s gonna worry.”
“I get it, Tate.” Seeing I have an empty wine glass, I scoot my chair back. “I’m gonna go, though. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I promised Miles one drink, and then I’d go home.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’ll catch one with Paul. He’s headed that way anyway since he’s been on me even more after my drunken fiasco.”
Tate stands when I do. “He can follow.” He reaches out and stops halfway in an awkward pose. I don’t doubt people are watching us.
I shake my head. This time he doesn’t freeze. His fingers wrap around mine and squeeze. “Please. I wanted to talk to you before we were interrupted.” He gives me a crooked grin. His baby blues burn into mine, and I find myself nodding.
“Great.”
I let Miles and June know I’m heading home before we leave. With Tate’s hand on the small of my back, I walk out of Last Call with him for the second time in a week. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to carry me out this time.
The drive back is quiet as neither of us speaks. I keep my hands clasped together on my lap and look out the window as light posts become further apart the more we leave the center of town. Once he pulls into the long driveway at my parents’ house and Paul is a distance away, Tate turns to me in his truck.
“Rafael’s just worried about the entire situation, but I assured him I know what I’m doing.” He surprises me by starting with this.
“Do you?” I purse my lips, my hands tightening on my lap. I pray he says he does, but I need to give him an out.
“Of course.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots closer on the bench seat. “I’m not some dumb kid. Hell, I save people from fires, accidents, and any other potential disasters. I think I know how to take care of myself.”
“You can take care of your body, but do you know how to take care of your heart?” I can’t help but ask. Seeing Rafael stare at me so coldly seeped doubt in my mind.
“Remember what I told you about anger that day at your parents’ house?” I nod. “I meant it. I’m willing to move forward. Are you?”
My chest trembles with my uneven breath, but no words escape me.
“I want to take you out. That’s what I was trying to say earlier, but I was clearly failing. Then, Rafael interrupted my horrible attempt.”
Eyes wide, I stare at him. In the dim lighting, I can’t read his features clearly.
“What do you say, Maddy? Wanna go out with me?”
My heart roars. Tate reaches for my face, cradling my cheek. My breath catches when I feel him like this, so different yet familiar from how we were years ago. We have a lot of hurt wedged between us—all my doing—but damn if I don’t want this.
I nod silently.
“It’s dark here, babe. I nee
d to hear you speak before I make an ass of myself and mistake a shake for a nod.” I laugh at this.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” I reach for his hand on my face and hold it with both of mine. “I don’t know how to fix what I did, how to make up for leaving you.”
“By proving to me that it’s different this time.” His hand tightens around mine.
“I can do that.” Why does it take a scarring experience to make us vulnerable enough to set our pride aside and show the people we care about how we feel?
“I work tomorrow, but I’ll call you when I’m off, and we’ll do something.”
“Okay.”
“Here, put your number in my phone, or I’ll have to personally show up.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” I crack a smile.
“Me either, but then how could I send you messages whenever I’m thinking about you?” My cheeks heat, and I’m glad the darkened space keeps my blush hidden. After adding my number to Tate’s phone, he walks me to the front door.
With a blinding smile, I look at him and nod when he promises to call after his shift. I kiss his cheek and walk inside, my heart thumping to a beat it’s ignored for years. One that only Tate could make happen.
Chapter 16
Madison
“You can’t be serious,” my voice rises as I stare at our lawyer. “That’s a load of crap.” I grip the armrests, fury and fear creating a dangerous combination inside of me.
“Unfortunately, that was their response. I agree that it’s a nasty move, but they’re going to cover themselves the same way you are.” He frowns but remains impassive otherwise. That lawyer poker face always makes me want to shake them until they show some sort of emotion.
When he told us that RWB Records is suing me for defamation after spreading “lies about the moral character of their executive team,” my blood drained.
If they sue me for defamation and it’s not proven that they’re the ones lying, I’ll be ruined—and more than just financially. I’ll never be trusted to work with someone else again. This stigma will trail me forever. Everyone will believe I use powerful people to create false accusations. Goodness, as if I want to put myself in this position.
Homecoming Queen: A Second Chance Romance (Carlisle Cellars Book 2) Page 11
