Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  She did need comforting, but she needed it from Grant. She needed him to call, and to come back to the hotel. She needed him to kiss away these tears and tell her he understood. She needed him to say he forgave her and he loved her.

  She needed all that, but she wasn’t going to get any of it.

  All she was going to get tonight was a plate of cold spaghetti.

  Chapter 24

  GRANT, PLEASE CALL ME. I HAVE TO FLY TO LA TOMORROW MORNING BUT I REALLY, REALLY NEED TO TALK TO YOU. I’LL BE AT THE HOTEL UNTIL 9AM. I’M SO SORRY.

  The woman formerly known as Elaine Masters had sent him that text last night, but he’d turned off his phone and didn’t see it until this morning. He’d deleted her three phone messages without listening to them too. In fact, he’d turned off his phone specifically to avoid her, knowing that the temptation to call back would be too great. And if he’d called her back, they would have talked in circles for a while, with her apologizing and trying to explain why she’d lied, and him feeling no better than he did right now. All things considered, her sorrow was irrelevant. It didn’t change the fact that he’d offered up his heart to a mirage. A woman made of smoke and mirrors. And that made him feel like a fool.

  It must have been the novelty of her that had made him act so recklessly. The novelty of all of it, having a woman in his house, the sweet-smelling soap and the lacy panties in his laundry. He’d have to be a zombie to not fall prey to her allure, and he’d gotten to play the heroic knight to her damsel in distress. It was fun. Exhilarating, even, but he’d let himself get caught up in the hype. The frenzy. He of all people should have realized that the things that seem real, often are not.

  He’d thought he was wiser than that, but he was an idiot. A love-sick idiot. And his brother was an idiot too, with all his when-you-know-you-just-know crap. Nobody knew when love was real. If it was ever real. Hadn’t his own mother shown him that with her collection of husbands?

  His mother. There was another whole set of issues. If this was what Tyler had put up with during all those years Grant was off traveling, well, he owed his brother a case of scotch. Now Grant was sitting in Tina’s kitchen drinking coffee as dark and bitter as his mood. No amount of sugar could sweeten it. Donna sat across the table from him, and Tina was there too. They’d eaten breakfast and now his mother was toying with her red-and-white coffee cup and staring off into space.

  “You need to come back home with me, Mom,” he said finally, setting down his own coffee cup.

  Donna looked over at him and nodded. “I know. I’m ready. I spoke with Carl last night after you went to bed and he’s happy to hear I’ll be home soon.” She paused and looked into her cup. “I didn’t mean I was going to leave him, leave him. I only wanted to leave him for a little while.”

  “Maybe you should be more careful how you word your notes then.”

  Her shrug was noncommittal, as shrugs are apt to be. “Maybe.”

  His head already ached from a sleepless night and far too many thoughts of . . . Lane. His brain had taken to calling her that. Lane. Because Delaney was just too foreign, and Elaine . . . well, Elaine wasn’t her name.

  The pressure in his head expanded until at last he said to his mother, “And we have to talk about this stealing business.”

  Donna’s eyes welled up with tears. “I know. I was doing so well but the wedding just threw me, and then you coming home, and all the relatives and chaos. And then Tina and I were coming here, and I saw that brown leather bag full of money and just, well, like I told you, it went so nicely with my coat.”

  He wanted to be angry. He was on the verge of that, but it wouldn’t help matters any to scold her. As calmly as he could manage, he said, “You do get that it’s not OK to take stuff, right? You do understand that there is never a valid reason for stealing?”

  Her chin tilted defiantly. “Haven’t you ever seen Les Mis? They stole bread because they were starving. Would you have them starve?”

  He looked at Tina for help.

  “Donna,” she said in a far more patient tone than the one he used. “Stealing food because you are starving is quite a bit different than taking someone’s money just because you come across it. You know that.”

  His mother pulled a wadded tissue from the sleeve of her green sweatshirt and dabbed at her nose. She really was quite a sad little thing at the moment, and Grant felt the first tremors of pity ripple over him. He’d been gone for so long, dismissing her problem as just a fondness for gambling and a splash of kleptomania, but deep down, he’d known it was more than that. It’s partly why he’d stayed away, and because of that, he’d been no help to her at all. No help to the family either. He’d been too busy off having his adventures, living his life. Leaving things to Tyler to handle. Maybe if Grant had kept in better contact, visited more often, she’d be in better shape now. Yes, her problem was her problem, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t step up now and help in whatever ways he could.

  “I’m sorry about this, Mom,” he heard himself say.

  “You’re sorry?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry if my disconnecting from the family made things harder for you. I should have checked in more after Dad died. I blamed a lot of things on Hank, but I don’t really have an excuse for not coming back once he was gone.”

  Her lips trembled. “I know it was hard for you, that whole situation. I made a mistake marrying Hank. I did the wrong thing, but I thought it was the right thing. I thought he’d take care of us but he didn’t.”

  Tina reached over and patted his mother’s arm. “You were doing your best, Donna.”

  Donna nodded but looked at Grant. “I know it must seem like I got remarried because I’d forgotten about your father, but the truth is, I just didn’t know how to be without him. I loved him so much and missed him so much, I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so brokenhearted. I still am. Carl’s a good man, but he doesn’t compare to your dad.”

  She blinked back a tear and a wave of compassion flooded his senses. He’d been angry at her for so long for betraying his father’s memory, but the heartbreak part of it he finally understood. If she’d felt about his father the way Grant felt about Lane, then it all made more sense—because the idea of facing the future without her was a devastating notion.

  He nodded his head. “Mom, I know I’ve missed a lot of opportunities to be a part of this family, but when we get back home, I’ll try to make up for that. I mean, I’ll still have to travel. I have to work, but I promise I’ll get home more often. And Tyler said you were working with a counselor about some of this stuff, right? Maybe we should dial that up a notch, huh? How about I give her a call and fill her in on what’s been going on?”

  His mother nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Good. In the meantime, how about if I book us some plane tickets to get us back home tomorrow or the next day? I’m not sure I can handle that drive again and neither one of us actually has a car.”

  Donna looked at Tina. “I was hoping our visit could be a little longer, but all things considered, maybe it’s time I went home.”

  Tina nodded and her relief was evident. “All things considered, I think you should.”

  The Jungle Room Lounge was quiet that afternoon when Grant walked in, but Finch and Humphrey were sitting at the bar. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure if he was still angry or sad or just heartbroken over this whole mess. He wasn’t even sure why he was there since he knew Lane was gone.

  He sat down on the stool next to Finch.

  “What’s up, Cameraman?” Finch was disappointed in him. It was obvious in his tone.

  “Not much.” Grant signaled to the waitress and asked for a beer. “How many more nights are you guys playing here?” he asked as she filled up a mug from the tap.

  “Tonight’s the last night. We head back to Nashville tomorrow. You know Delaney
is gone, right?”

  His heart flinched a little. He nodded and was glad the waitress was fast with that beer. As soon as she set it down, he picked it up. “Yeah. She sent me a text. Said she was on her way to LA. Good for her.”

  “You don’t really think she leaked that video herself, do you?” Humphrey asked him, eyebrows pinched together and his usual grin noticeably absent. These guys were pissed at him. She was the one who’d lied. How did he get to be the bad guy?

  “I don’t know what I think. She sure wouldn’t be the first woman I’d known who worked an angle. My last girlfriend dumped me for Blake Rockstone because he promised to make her a TV star.”

  Even as he said it, the words felt hollow. Calling Miranda his girlfriend sounded ridiculous after what he’d shared with Lane. There was no similarity to the intensity of those feelings. It was like comparing a flashlight to the sun.

  Finch shook his head slowly and stared down into his beer. “She didn’t call those reporters, Grant. That woman didn’t want anything to do with that.”

  “For sure,” Humphrey said, his tone clipped. “Thank goodness Finch and I were there to pull her out of the crowd before things got worse.”

  Grant choked a little on his drink. “Pulled her out of—what are you talking about?”

  Finch and Humphrey exchanged glances, then Finch turned to Grant.

  “I guess you wouldn’t know, would you, since you sent her back to the hotel alone. Sweetness got back here yesterday and the lobby was swarming with reporters. They pretty much mobbed her, but Humph and I happened to be in the right place at the right time and whisked her away,” Finch said.

  “Actually,” Humphrey added, “we were sitting right here drinking a beverage just like we are now.”

  Finch nodded. “Yes, sir, and we heard the ruckus and went out to see what the fuss was all about and there she was, in the center of it all, white as chalk.”

  “Those reporters were aggressive too. Shouting rude questions. It’s no wonder she passed out,” Humphrey said.

  Grant’s glass hit the bar harder than he’d intended. “She what?”

  “Passed out,” Finch said. “Fainted dead away. Scared the crap out of me. Little bitty thing but, damn, she’s heavy when she’s out cold. Can I get a whiskey?” he asked the waitress, as if the memory required a little self-medicating.

  Grant drank down his entire beer and signaled for another. She’d fainted? Because of reporters? That didn’t seem like a woman seeking attention and publicity. He felt a plunging sense of remorse just then, and a fervent desire to retrieve those phone messages he’d deleted without listening to.

  “Then what happened?” he asked.

  “We all went up to the suite and Humphrey got her a soda pop,” Finch said.

  Humphrey nodded sagely, listening. Concurring.

  Grant’s head spun from this news, and probably from chugging that beer.

  Lane had fainted, and he wasn’t there. What if Finch and Humphrey hadn’t been there either? What if something worse had happened? His mind spiraled through a list of possibilities, but he tried to shake it off, that sense of obligation. She wasn’t his problem, but he felt it anyway, that need to watch out for her.

  It might take a while for that sensation to wear off, but it needed to, because he wouldn’t be there for the rest of it either. It’s not as if her trials with the media were over. She was going back to Los Angeles where things would only get worse.

  “When did her plane leave?” he asked, his throat feeling parched in spite of the drink he’d swilled down.

  The waitress set down a shot glass in front of Finch and he twirled it slowly in front of him. “Not sure what time. They snuck out the back way this morning because a few pesky reporters had camped out in front.”

  “They?”

  “Yeah, Reggie took her to the airport this morning. We expect him back anytime now,” Humphrey answered.

  Finch’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at Grant. “Now, don’t be getting that jealous face going, sweetness. In spite of how he acts, Reggie is not after your girl.”

  Apparently it would take a while for that sensation to wear off too. He had no claim to her or anything she did. She was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

  “She’s not my girl,” he said quietly. “I don’t know who she is. I’m not even sure what we had going.”

  Humphrey hung his head low. “Looked damn fine to me, whatever it was.”

  Grant shook his head, as if he was trying to deny it as much to himself as to them—because he was. “I didn’t even know her name. I thought she was a soap maker from Miami.”

  “A soap maker?” Finch finally chuckled.

  “Yeah. I guess if I couldn’t see through that story, well, maybe I deserved what I got.”

  Finch nudged the shot glass of whiskey toward Grant with his fingertips. “Here, Cameraman. I think you need this more than I do.”

  Chapter 25

  LANDING AT LAX WAS LIKE reentering the earth’s atmosphere. For one thing, it was warm, and Delaney Masterson hadn’t been truly warm since she’d driven that yellow Volkswagen past the California state line heading toward Michigan. She shoved up the sleeves of the bubblegum-pink sweater Sissy had given her and wished again that she’d had some time at the Memphis airport this morning to buy something a little less vibrant to wear. It was hard to sneak through a crowd in neon-highlighter pink. Sissy had given her some jeans to wear too. They were too tight and too short, but Delaney’s other jeans were in desperate need of washing. She couldn’t stand to wear them one more day.

  She made her way through the airport terminal hallway, head down, Louis Vuitton backpack over her shoulder, University of Memphis baseball hat pulled low, wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses that she’d picked up from the Heartbreak Hotel gift shop before leaving.

  Her good-byes at the hotel with Clark, Sissy, Sammy, Humphrey, and Finch had left her a little sad, as if she were leaving family behind to take a long voyage to another country. They’d each done the oh, we should keep in touch thing, and she sincerely hoped they would. They’d become her friends over the last few days and shared an experience that no one else would quite understand.

  Reggie had even been a little teary eyed as he’d wished her well before sending her through the security line at the Memphis airport. Or he might have just been hungover. Hard to tell.

  “Good luck, honeybun,” he’d whispered in her ear as he gave her a fast hug. “You ever need anything, you know who to call, right? Finch. Call Finch. Don’t call me.” Then he’d laughed and hugged her again.

  “Thank you, Reggie. For everything. And don’t forget. Come out to California someday and I’ll introduce you to my dad. You two can jam. I promise.”

  “It’s a date.” He’d smiled, then turned and walked away before she could say anything else. Of all the Paradise Brothers, she’d miss Reggie most of all.

  But nothing compared to how much she missed Grant. That was a gaping hole right through her chest. She could practically feel the wind passing through it, but she didn’t have time for that distress right now. One thing at a time, and right now her focus had to be on getting back to her family and figuring out the rest of her life.

  She’d spent her airplane ride planning and pondering and plotting her next steps. Whatever came next, she wanted to be in charge of it. No more letting herself be buffeted about by other peoples’ actions. Being without her phone and wallet and money had made her feel vulnerable, but it had clarified things for her too. The whole experience had given her a chance to realize just how little she actually needed.

  At the end of the LAX terminal a cluster of people stood waiting for disembarking passengers. Delaney was nearly face-to-face with her sister before Melody gasped.

  “Lane? Oh my God. Is that you?”

  “Incognito,” Delaney said an
d kept on walking. There were always photographers at LAX, and she hoped to get to the car before they spotted her.

  But Melody turned and trotted along beside her, and Delaney only made it two more steps before her emotions got the best of her and she pulled her sister in for a big, full hug.

  Home. She was home. It wasn’t perfect here, and she wasn’t perfect either, and the next couple of weeks might be ass-sucking awful, but at least she was home. “I’m never running away from home again,” she said breathlessly.

  “Good.” Melody was emphatic, her arms tight. “You scared the crap out of everyone. Roxanne read some article that said you’d joined a hillbilly cult or something.”

  Delaney loosened her grasp and they started walking toward the exit again. “Hillbilly cult? What would make her say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just something she saw online. Who are the Paradise Brothers?”

  Delaney chuckled. “Just some friends.” Apparently friends who had scored a little notoriety from this. Reggie would be pleased.

  They kept walking, past baggage claim and ticket counters.

  “What are you wearing?” Melody asked as they reached the doors and headed out into the California sunshine. “Is that . . . is that polyester?”

  Delaney glanced down. “Um, I don’t know. Probably.”

  “It looks flammable. It’s an awful color. Are those . . . oh my God. Are those Wranglers?” She may as well have been saying oh my God, do you have cancer?

  Delaney stopped and faced her sister. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the last several days, Mel? Do you realize how insignificant what I’m wearing is given the circumstances?”

  Melody patted her shoulder. “No, I don’t have any idea what you’ve been through because you’ve refused to tell me anything. But you sound like you’ve been brainwashed, and if that’s led to you wearing this, then it must have been harrowing.”