“It’s what you didn’t do.” Lucas held up a finger to make his point.
Spreading his hands, Tag said, “Which was?”
“You could’ve gone to the wedding with Rachel.”
“I have to work. She knows I have to work.” That made sense, right? He couldn’t be sure, since each thought sloshed in his brain like a tossing ship.
“Uh-huh. Also, you’re allergic to weddings.”
“I’ve been to plenty of weddings.” Tag pushed his hair off his face and twisted it into a bun at the back of his neck. Why the hell was everyone’s focus on weddings all of a sudden?
“Never with a date,” Lucas said, crossing one leg at the ankle and resting a hand on his jeans. “We didn’t take dates to weddings, because they’d get diamond-eyed when they stepped up to catch the bouquet toss.”
“Diamond-eyed,” Tag repeated. Another stupid term for another stupid thing he and Luc used to do together. “What the fuck is wrong with us?” Or, more aptly, since Lucas was happily married, what was wrong with Tag?
“The world may never know.” Luc pushed off the couch. “You want some coffee?”
“Yeah.” Tag wasn’t any closer to arriving at an epiphany, but maybe coffee would help.
They bellied up to the bar—which was actually the kitchen counter. Lucas pressed a button on his fancy coffeemaker that ground the beans and started the pot brewing. By the time he had poured them each a cup, Gena swept into the kitchen, her daughter no longer in her arms.
“They’re both down,” she said, keeping her voice low. Then she pointed at Tag and handed him his own ass.
“You’re a fucking moron.” She smiled sweetly at Lucas. “Babe, pour me one?”
Lucas angled a glance at Tag, handed Gena a mug, and filled one for himself.
“Tag teamed,” Tag muttered. “In this case literally.” His joke had no hang time. It settled into the air like pungent gas. Gena even wrinkled her nose.
“Who was the last girl who dumped you?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Tag blinked at Gena before shrugging. “I don’t know.” His mind flipped through his past dates like pages in a book. Slowly, given he was running at half-speed today. “I don’t remember.”
“Rachel,” Lucas answered with a snap of his fingers.
“Bingo.” Gena held up a hand and Lucas high-fived her.
Tag sent his buddy a glare meant to be a silent reprimand. Whose side was Luc on?
“She’s right. No one’s ever dumped you,” Luc said, sipping his coffee. “It’s your thing.”
“It’s not my thing,” Tag argued.
“No,” Gena interjected. “Your thing is breaking up with them before they break up with you. Letting them down easy so no one gets their feelings hurt. How many girls have you left in tears?”
“None.” Tag knew the answer instantly. He didn’t like tears. Didn’t like sadness in general. He never wanted to leave a girl feeling less than good about the time they’d spent together.
“Rachel learned a lot from you, seeing as how she let you down the same way. I don’t see you sobbing,” Gena said.
“No, Rachel was very clear about what I meant to her. She thanked me for all the monetary goods and services I’ve awarded her and then left whole.” His stomach soured and he pushed his coffee mug away. That wasn’t true. She hadn’t been whole. Tag hadn’t missed the pain etched on her face as she stepped out the door.
But she’d torn him to bits, so he’d felt justified letting her leave hurt.
“I gave her everything she’d let me,” he said. “Hawaii. Dates. Sex. She moved in. I kept trying to offer more, and she kept telling me no.” He lifted a hand in frustration. He’d have done more. He’d have given her the damn moon. “I have to work one weekend, and she’s done with me.”
He drank the coffee anyway. Stomach be damned, he needed caffeine.
“Wow, how could she leave you after you gave her the contents of your wallet?” Gena asked dryly. Lucas stepped away from Tag to avoid getting hit in the cross fire.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tag’s anger had peaked. He couldn’t take any more women falsely accusing him today.
“What comes hard for you, Tag?”
“This conversation isn’t exactly easy,” he snapped, standing to flatten his palms on the counter.
“Money doesn’t come hard for you,” she said.
“You know what”—Tag held up his hands in surrender—“I’m not doing this. Luc, later man.”
Gena, proving that Tag’s size didn’t intimidate her, moved to him and poked him square in the chest. “You bought her things. You took her to Hawaii. You had sex with her.”
“Oh, and you think she didn’t enjoy any of that?” Tag said in his defense, his heart twisting as memories of each moment they had together chugged through his brain like a railcar. The coffee on the beach at Oahu when Rachel sat between his legs, her head resting on his chest. The way she’d determinedly pushed up on her surfboard and then howled as she tumbled into the ocean. The shower where she turned him on and reclaimed her power at the same time.
“Those things come easy for you.” Gena interrupted his thoughts, poking him again. “You’re good at lavishing attention on women. You’re good at flying to Hawaii in the company plane. I’m assuming by your reputation that you have the sex thing down.”
“Damn straight,” he couldn’t keep from agreeing.
“Going to a wedding is hard,” Gena said. “Telling her how you feel is hard.”
Given the way the room swam, Tag was beginning to think Gena might have a point. The idea of telling Rachel his feelings—confronting his fears—was terrifying.
“Putting yourself on the line, telling her you’re not going anywhere, is hard. She wants the hard thing from you.”
Lucas snorted.
“Shut up,” Gena told her husband.
“Sweets, you can only make so many ‘hard’ references before it starts sounding funny.”
“This is your problem,” she snapped. Luc’s smile erased. Before Tag could become smug, she turned back to him. “You’re little boys. Grow up. Rachel never wanted your money or your gifts, Tag.” Her voice softened, she stopped poking him, and she patted his chest with the flat of her hand. “She wants your heart.”
Like that, the clouds cleared from his head.
Rachel left not because she’d become whole and found herself after using him. She’d left because he hadn’t given her a reason to stay. He hadn’t stepped up when she’d needed reassuring the most.
He thought of Reese’s words about their mother. How afraid of commitment Lunette Crane’s sons were. Because they feared being left by another woman they loved. Tag had avoided commitment his entire life, breaking off relationships but maintaining his “good guy” status. Then he avoided commitment with Rachel, and she was the one who left him.
Tag had opened the door for her to walk out, but in truth, he’d opened it a long time ago. Lucas saw what was coming a mile away, and when he’d confronted Tag with it, Tag had been too chickenshit to admit the truth. To Lucas, to himself.
To Rachel.
“I love her,” Tag muttered with a sad headshake. Reality came on like sobriety. With an ache after the numbness wore off.
Gena’s hand left his chest. “Does she know that?”
Tag and Lucas exchanged glances.
She didn’t. Or she never would have gone. If Tag knew one thing about Rachel, it was that she was cautious, until she wasn’t. And when she wasn’t, she threw herself in, body and soul. She’d thrown herself into him over and over. She’d flown to Hawaii with a virtual stranger, trusted him with her body when she tested the boundaries of her sexuality. She’d been the one trying not to take advantage of him by accepting his money or his help.
She’d been ready to step into him further, but now he could see the way she’d lingered on the edges, waiting for him to come around. And what did he do? He took a huge step away from her when she was th
e most fragile.
He flew to Hawaii instead of telling her how he felt.
Him not going with her to this wedding—especially after he’d been weird about her staying with him—had her believing he didn’t care about her. And after she’d dated a guy who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, was it any wonder she’d pulled the plug?
It’s better for both of us if we don’t drag this out.
She’d been protecting herself. And he’d missed the opportunity to tell her she didn’t have to.
Tag blinked at Lucas, who wore a smirk.
“Have something to say?” Tag asked.
“Yup,” Luc answered. “Do you have a tux to fit those circus-sized shoulders, or is the wedding casual?”
Chapter 26
Rachel sat on the rocker on her mother’s back porch wearing a wrap sundress. The reception was in full swing in the backyard, her cousin having been married today in a disgustingly perfect ceremony.
Outdoor weddings in Ohio were tricky, but this spring day, the blooms were lush, the wind light, and the sun unstoppable. It was too early in the season for mosquitoes. Night had fallen, nothing but the occasional moth bumping into the porch light overhead.
“Hey, hon,” her mother called, strappy sandals in hand as she navigated the walkway to her own house. The tent hovered in the background, separate bathroom trailer and all. No one had a reason to come to her parents’ house unless they were sleeping here tonight. Rachel fell into that category.
“I’m moving in,” she grumbled.
Her mother laughed as she sat next to her daughter on the wide bench seat. “No. You’re not. You belong in Chicago. You remember when you were here, bartending and working hard to fund school. Even those few months you spent in Florida were wrong for you. Chicago is your dream.”
Chicago was her dream. When she’d worked at the marketing firm with Shaun and moved in with him, she’d been as duped as her dear mother into believing the city would give her everything she wanted. Instead, she’d ended up following one doomed relationship right into the next.
When she’d arrived at her mom’s house yesterday afternoon, her dried tears had reemerged instantly. Then the dam burst and Rachel told her mom everything. About the breakup with Tag. About how she should have known better than to fall in love with a rebound. How she’d chosen Chicago’s biggest playboy, so really it was her fault and not his. How she’d taken a page from his book and tried an I’m-okay-you’re-okay breakup, only to find he was not okay and she was definitely not okay.
“I do miss you, though,” Rachel told her mom.
“I miss you, too.” Keri Foster smiled and pushed a few stray strands of hair away from Rachel’s eye. “Couples fight, honey.”
“Tag and I aren’t a couple.” She said it quickly, but the hurt didn’t dissipate—it intensified. They’d felt like a couple to her. “It’s for the best. We were a wrong fit from the start. He’s not the man for me.”
Lie, lie, lie. Just keep lying to yourself and everyone around you, Rach.
“He was so mad.” A tear trickled from her eye and she swiped it away, angry she wasn’t better at hiding her feelings.
“So fix it when you get home,” her mom said, her rose-colored glasses everlasting. “It’s fixable. You’ll see.”
“Keri.” Her father strode into the yard toward the house. “Rach. Cake is being cut.”
Her mom stood. “Come on, you look like you could use a slice of cake.”
“A slice—I could use the whole cake.”
Her mother laughed as Rachel stood. Keri wrapped her arms around her daughter and rubbed her shoulder. They walked to the tent, and Rachel made a point to pull herself together. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Not one where she sulked and wallowed in regret over leaving the man she loved.
She’d never taken a moment to tell him that. Maybe she wasn’t as bold as she’d thought. Or maybe she was foolish to think that Tag could change. Maybe he never would. Maybe he’d be single forever.
Hell, maybe she’d be single forever.
The cake was cut, bites fed, photos taken. It was sweet, she supposed. Some less cynical part of her could appreciate her cousin’s happiness, anyway.
Rachel’s parents had skipped the cake in favor of dancing. They looked good together. Her father’s receding hairline and her mother’s smile lines bespoke of the years that had passed. Of the life they’d shared together. A pang of longing shot through Rachel so fiercely that fresh tears stung the backs of her eyes. She wanted a life shared, she realized. A future with someone else was the real reward.
As if in answer to a prayer, a waiter delivered a glass of champagne to her. She put her hand on the stem and started to tell him his timing was impeccable when the overhead lights caught the edge of a diamond cuff link.
Wait.
She’d never seen a waiter wearing diamond cuff links. Wearing cuff links at all, she thought as she stared at one broad, tanned hand.
“Will there be anything else?” A deep, delicious voice washed over her. Goose bumps raised on her arms as she turned her eyes up to find Tag standing over her. He wore a tuxedo, which was ridiculously formal for the borderline casual summer wedding, but he didn’t look ridiculous. Long hair flowing over his shoulders, bow tie perfectly tied, jacket and pressed shirt…He looked like the man who’d stolen her heart without her permission. Even now it throbbed painfully as if in response to being this close to its missing piece.
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes followed as he lowered into a plastic rental chair.
“I came here for you.” His sideways smile went a long way to making her feel better. “You told me that on Oahu. Remember?”
Before she could reply, the DJ interrupted the music with an announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a last-minute toast for the bride and groom from…” The DJ slid on his glasses and read from a card in his hand. “Taggart Crane?”
“I’ll be right back, Dimples.” Tag winked, stood, and then crossed the tent. Rachel watched him go, thinking of the first time she’d seen him on that city sidewalk outside of Crane Tower. And then again at Oliver’s front door. He looked the same, tall, massive, too much hair, trimmed beard—but now he was so familiar that all of her ached to be closer to him. The attraction was foreign when she’d first felt it, but now she couldn’t picture herself without him. He just seemed to belong wherever he was. Wherever she was. Here, at this wedding and wearing that tux, he belonged.
Because he belonged with her.
He took the microphone as feedback screeched from the speakers.
After a quick adjustment, the DJ gave Tag the thumbs-up.
“Good evening.” Tag cleared his throat, adjusting his collar like he was nervous. “Been a while since my last public speaking gig,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh, his voice notably subdued.
He was nervous. Rachel noted the way his hand shook when he swiped his fingers along his brow. Evidently, there were two things Tag Crane couldn’t do well. Play pool and speak publicly.
“First of all, congratulations on your wedding.” Tag waved at the bride and groom, who were across the room at the head table, wearing curious smiles. “I promise I won’t be long. I already asked the photographer not to document this for your album.”
The crowd laughed.
“The truth is, I didn’t come here for you guys.” Tag’s voice dipped and his eyes found hers across the room. “I came here for Rachel Foster.”
Gasps surrounded her as every pair of eyes migrate to her. She put her hand to her warm face and waited for him to say more.
“Ask my brothers and they’ll confirm I’m not one to focus on the past or the future, which is why they put me in charge of throwing parties at Crane Hotels instead of assisting with new builds.” He licked his lips before he continued with a slightly off-topic segue. “Parties are important. Parties like this one. Right? Weddings are a big deal because celebrating the present matt
ers. I’ve always believed that. Living in the present is where it’s at. Then I met Rachel—Dimples,” he corrected with a flooring smile. “And while I never planned for our future, whenever I was with her, I knew I didn’t want our present to end.”
Her heart climbed into her throat and made her next breath a struggle.
“Isn’t that what the future is?” Tag stepped off the stage and walked toward her as he talked. “The present continually unwrapping itself for years to come? When I was on Maui for work,” he said, addressing the crowd with more confidence than before, “I stood on a piece of land where my company will build our next hotel. I could see it.” He refocused on her. “Even though it wasn’t there yet, I knew what it should look like.”
When he reached her, he lowered to a squat, the microphone to his mouth, the only sign he was nervous evident in one shaking hand.
“I see us like that, Dimples,” he spoke right to her, his voice even, his gaze unwavering. “We’re not a bare patch of land, but we’re not finished yet either. I can see more.”
“You can?” she couldn’t help asking, her voice watery from unshed tears.
“Yeah. I can.” He drew in a quick breath. “I let you leave without telling you how much I love you. How much you’ve changed me. I didn’t even know I was broken until I met you. Thanks a lot for that,” he tacked on wryly.
The crowd chuckled again, eating him up. Tag had never lacked charm. Never lacked honesty. There was so much sincerity in his words, but what was killing her was the way they matched the love swimming in his eyes.
She could see it. And she could feel it.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
He grinned then, the biggest smile she’d ever seen him wear. It parted his beard and showed off his teeth. He snatched her off the chair and lifted her off the ground, hugging her close as he kissed the breath right out of her.
Arms locked around his neck, his hair tickling her cheeks, she kissed him back. To the sound of whistles and applause, Tag let her slide down his long body until her heels once again touched the ground.
The DJ relieved him of the microphone and restarted the music. Couples resumed their dancing, and the tent filled with the low hum of chatter once again.
The Billionaire Next Door Page 27
