by Skye Jordan
Mia hung the strap of her purse on the back of her chair and turned her gaze on Joe, totally ignoring Rafe and Tate. “How’d your merger go in Milwaukee? Did the trophy wife cause as much trouble as you thought she would?”
“Hold on,” Tate interrupted, leaning into the table and giving Mia a pointed stare. “I think a more important question would be, where have you been sleeping the past two nights?”
Rafe’s mind hit a brick wall. He glanced between Mia and Tate several times before the information that Mia had not gone back to Tate’s apartment that night she’d left the bar or the night they’d been out of town sank in.
“Wait,” Rafe said before he could stop himself. “What?”
Mia drilled them both with very deliberate stares. “I suggest you both heed Rafe’s earlier advice. If you want this to be a nice dinner, don’t.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Joe cut in. All three of them stopped talking but didn’t stop glaring as Joe’s mediating voice soothed the ruffled feathers around the table. “Hey, now, what’s going on here? This isn’t how my kids act. Especially not to each other.”
No one bothered to point out that only one of his children sat at the table. From the time Joe had discovered Tate existed, he’d treated Tate’s half sister and Tate’s best friend as his own kids. All because Tate loved them. Joe had provided for both Rafe and Mia financially and emotionally where their parents couldn’t or wouldn’t.
“I know the playoffs have you boys stressed,” Joe said. “I can only imagine the pressure you’re under. But don’t take it out on Mia. She’s got a lot of stress in her own life, and it’s no less important than yours.” He glanced at Mia and seemed to choose his words carefully. “When you have your own kids, you’ll understand that you never stop worrying about them, no matter how old they get. Is there anything you need to tell me about where you’ve been sleeping, young lady?”
Mia cast an apologetic look at Joe. “I’ve been making some things for the girls. You know, Eden, Faith, Sara, and Tina. And for the kids too. I’m using Tina’s machine at her house, and it was so nice to feel welcome and appreciated that it made me realize I didn’t feel like getting lectured by Saint Tate every time he got home. So I stayed at Tina’s one night and with Faith and Grant another. I got so good at couch hopping in New York, it was like second nature.”
“Couch hopping?” Rafe asked, confused.
“What’s this Saint Tate bullshit?” Tate asked.
“Tate.” Joe reprimanded his son for swearing.
“You do everything right.” Rafe knew exactly what the Saint Tate bullshit was. “That’s what it means. You always do everything you’re supposed to do. Follow all the rules and social mores. You have all the manners and morals. Sometimes your standards are a little hard for us mere mortals to live up to.”
“Mores? Since when do you even know what asocial mores are?” Tate sat back in his chair. “And, why am I getting hammered for doing the right thing?”
“Sounds to me,” Joe said, “like you’re getting hammered for being harsh on the people you love when they don’t do everything perfectly by your standards.”
Tate opened his mouth to argue just as a waiter came by and set drinks on the table. By the time he was gone, Tate’s ire had faded. “I’m sorry I’ve been rough on you,” he told Mia. “I worry, that’s all.”
Mia sighed and rolled her eyes with a little shake of her head. “It’s not an apology when you lie, Tate.”
“See, you’re wrong,” Tate told Rafe. “I obviously can’t even apologize right.”
A different waiter stopped by to take their orders, which seemed to hit reset on the mood at the table. When he left, Joe tried to turn that somber mood around by reaching for Mia’s hand and giving it a squeeze with an upbeat “Maybe this is a good time to share your news, honey.”
Rafe’s gaze snapped up from his glass, wondering what else he didn’t know about her life. “News” when said like that meant big news. Like she was getting a promotion. Or buying a house. Or getting married. Dread pinched his gut.
“Sure, why not?” Mia said with a stiff smile. “I…took a new job.”
Rafe released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I thought you loved your job.”
“I do. I mean, I did. But it was an apprenticeship that was coming to an end and I got a really amazing offer I couldn’t turn down.” She picked up her glass and sipped. “It’s time for me to move on.”
Somehow, Rafe got the impression she was talking about more than her job. “You already quit your old job?”
“Yep. Thought I’d come see you guys between jobs, though that hasn’t turned out to be as pleasant as I’d expected.”
“Is it for the same designer? The same company?” Tate asked.
“No.” The way she paused to take a deep drink of her wine gave Rafe a bad feeling. “New company.”
Rafe glanced at Joe, who was grinning like an idiot, then asked Mia, “Why are we having to pull this out of you?”
She pressed her forearms to the table and cradled the bowl of her wineglass in her palms, her long slim fingers spreading out over the globe. Hands that had touched every inch of his body in unforgettable ways. Hands he hadn’t stopped craving since that night.
“Because she’s making a big move,” Joe said for her. “And I’m guessing by the way you two have been acting the last few days, she’s not particularly eager to tell you about it.”
“Why wouldn’t we be excited about a big move for her?” Tate asked. “Is it more money?”
“No,” Rafe said, drawing Mia’s eyes. His gut went cold. “It’s not for the money. At least that’s not why she’s holding back, is it, Mia?”
She held Rafe’s gaze for a long moment, confirming he was right. Then she looked at Tate and said, “The job’s in California.”
California? Shock pierced Rafe’s gut.
“What?” Tate said. “What the hell is in California?”
“Los Angeles,” she said, a little defensiveness entering her tone. “And my job. A really cool job, actually, thanks for asking.”
Reality leaked in little by little, turning Rafe’s shock into a fiery mix of hurt, anger, and resignation. Everything she’d done with him, she’d done knowing she was leaving. Anything he’d believed was special between them had either been his imagination or her fabrication. She really had meant that she wanted to fuck him and forget him.
Rafe was still reeling with that revelation when Tate’s anger hit.
“Is this about Sam?” Tate demanded.
Sam must have been the ex-boyfriend’s name Rafe couldn’t remember. The one Tate had told Rafe she’d broken up with recently.
“Why would this have anything to do with Sam?” she asked with a scowl.
Tate sat forward again. “Because you were living with him, and it was his apartment. I told you not to move in with him. I told you to keep your own place. You know how hard it is to find apartments in New York.”
“Yes, Tate, I do. I lived there, not you, remember? And I told you I couldn’t afford to keep my own place.”
“Okay, now—” Joe started.
“And I told you I’d give you the money,” Tate spoke over him.
“And I told you I didn’t want your money.”
“Mia, honey—” Joe tried.
“You and Sam broke up,” Tate said with that I know everything tone, “and you didn’t have anywhere to live. That’s why you’ve been couch-hopping. That’s why you’re moving. I knew this would happen.”
The angry hurt on Mia’s face indicated an explosion was imminent. And even though Rafe wanted the answers to a hell of a lot of uncomfortable questions too, he sat forward and put force behind his next words. “Tate, knock it off.”
But Mia wasn’t helping the situation. She crossed her arms and cocked her head with attitude. “Really?” she asked Tate. “And how did you know this would happen? Do you have a crystal ball?”
“Because it always ha
ppens. It happens with every damn boyfriend. They all break up with you for the same reason—”
“Tate—” she warned.
“You hold back. You’re emotionally unavailable. When it comes down to it, you can’t commit. And you just keep screwing up your life—”
“Tate.” Joe’s bark shut down everyone within a ten-foot radius. All eyes turned to their table. “Enough.”
When others refocused on their own dinners, Mia reached over and covered Joe’s hand with hers, then spoke to Tate in a quiet, controlled voice. “You are not a psychiatrist. And you do not know what’s best for me. This job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It came from a contact I made in design school. Just because the timing came on the heels of a breakup with Sam doesn’t mean that’s why I took it. And I can guarantee you I’m not screwing up my life with this move.”
Tate heaved a sigh. “How do you know?”
“Because I’m working on the set of Wicked Dawn, you pompous asshole.”
Rafe’s mouth dropped open. He knew Mia was talented. Knew she had ambition and drive and work ethic. But he’d obviously cut off communication with her at a critical time in her life. And she’d soared. “‘The’ Wicked Dawn? The one on HBO?”
“Yes, Tate, that one. The one heading into its seventh season and rivaling Game of Thrones for ratings. That Wicked Dawn. They’ve hired a new costume designer for the next season, and I’m working directly with that designer,” Mia said. “It’s the kind of job I would only find on Broadway in New York, and considering other designers read the obituaries to leap on a job opening like that, I didn’t think homicide was the best option. So while I may not be able to hold on to a guy, at least I won’t be screwing up my career. And before you judge my relationship failures, Tate, take a look in the mirror.”
That last comment knocked the wind from Rafe’s chest. Mia never brought up Tate’s ex-wife. She’d always been incredibly sensitive over how that loss had nearly crippled her brother. But she wasn’t pulling any punches, and Tate’s gaze warred with Mia’s.
“I know what happened with Lisa was hard on you,” Mia said, her anger turning to pain in her eyes and bringing tears that welled but never fell. “And I know there has to be a transition period. But honest to God, Tate, I’m tired of waiting for you to turn back into the guy you were before that bitch took over your life.”
A waiter passed, and Mia flagged him down. “Cancel my order please. I have to go.”
Rafe rubbed a hand down his face, searching for a way to pull this from the fire, but came up with nothing. He could barely tackle his own emotions over this revelation. He sure as shit couldn’t take on Mia’s hurt over losing Tate or Tate’s inability to move on after Lisa.
She gave Joe a sad smile and patted his hand. “Can we have dinner tomorrow night? Before you catch your plane?”
Joe looked miserable. He lifted a hand to her face and wiped at her cheek. The gesture made Rafe realize her tears had spilled over and it wrenched his gut. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mia cry.
“Of course, honey.” Joe kissed her forehead. “I’m so proud of you. And your brothers are too. It’s just…this Cup.”
Mia nodded and stood.
“Mia.” Tate planted his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, I’m…” He looked up at her. “I’m an ass. I’m stressed, and I’m worried about you and—”
“And we’ll talk about it later,” she said with finality. The same finality she’d used when she’d told them she was moving across the goddamned country. “After we’ve both had time to cool off.”
She looked at Rafe, and the glimmer of tears still in her eyes made everything inside him twerk. “And you’re wrong too. It is for the money. A lot more money.” She shot one last look at Tate. “Neither one of you knows me the way you think you do. I’m beginning to think you never did.”
9
Mia had finished half a bottle of wine by the time she’d exhausted her Internet apartment search in Los Angeles. She was going to move into her friend’s two bedroom until she got settled in the job, but Mia wanted to stand on her own. She’d already let Tate pay for her education, which had been difficult for her independent spirit. Living on her own, especially in light of how Tate viewed her, was more important than ever.
His hurtful words—or more to the point, their accuracy—stabbed at her heart again, and tears pushed into her eyes, blurring the screen. She pulled another Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and pressed it against her face. As soon as she’d gotten home, she’d ditched the high heels, washed her smeared makeup off her face, coiled her hair into a bun on top of her head, and curled into a corner of the sofa with her laptop.
She closed her browser, picked up her phone, and scrolled through Instagram, trying to keep her mind busy until she was too tired to keep her eyes open or Tate got home and they started fighting again—whichever came first.
A knock at the door made her jump, then she rolled her eyes. “He forgot his key?” she muttered, setting down her phone to start toward the door with her wine, calling, “Would serve you right if I left you in the hall.”
She opened the door, but instead of Tate, she found Rafe, and her stomach squeezed. He’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. His expression was tight and dark. Turbulence brewed in his eyes. His intensity pounded awareness through her body, but her heart balked. Mia had been hurt enough. Great sex and good looks wouldn’t fill the hole there.
She glanced behind him into the hall, suddenly self-conscious about her own miserable state of red swollen eyes and blotchy face. “Where’s Tate?”
“He and Joe went to have some father-son time.” His voice sounded as rough as the stubble over his jaw. “They’re hitting a few of their favorite pubs.”
“Well. Good for them.” Mia was done with Tate and his misplaced overprotectiveness. Maybe Joe could whip him into shape. Nothing else had worked. “Wish I’d known, because you are definitely staying in the hall. Good night.”
She shut the door in his face.
But Rafe’s hand hit the wood before the latch caught, and pushed it open. “No, I’m not.” He stepped in, nudging Mia backward. “We have shit to talk about.”
She set her wine down on the kitchen bar, wandered deeper into the condo, and crossed her arms. “Like how I wish I could go back in time and walk away from you at the hotel when you asked for help? Or how I wish I’d never taken you back to my room?”
“No.”
He followed her, advancing in a slow, predatory way that unnerved her. She felt brittle and weak. She felt alone and unwanted with a difficult future ahead and no strength to face it.
“Like how you lied about not using me as a rebound fuck,” he said, voice tight and rising. “Like how you came here with a deliberate plan to fuck me out of your system then move three-fucking-thousand miles away.”
The rasp of his voice as he tried to keep it down scraped over Mia’s skin. The scent of his cologne and the heat of his body teased her with memories. She wanted to cave. She wanted to lean into him and feel his arms around her. Wanted to feel his lips against her skin. So she kept inching away, because that wouldn’t solve any problems, and that desire was how she’d gotten here in the first place.
The vortex of emotions she’d spent the last hour calming threatened to slip from her control again. “You’d have to be inside my head to make that call. And you’re not. You haven’t even talked to me in a damn year, so don’t you dare stand there and tell me you know my motives better than I do.”
“Then why?” he yelled, making Mia flinch. Her heart stuttered and raced ahead. “Why did you sleep with me after twenty years and hundreds of other opportunities when you didn’t? Why do it right after you broke up with Sam and before you move across the fucking country?”
Pain seeped into his voice, and Mia’s strength waned, all the hurt rushed back.
“Because Tate was right,” she yelled. “And I’m s
ick of guys walking away from me because my heart is somewhere else. I did it because I wanted a fresh start, okay? I just wanted to finally let go.”
His hands closed on her biceps, and he gave her a shake. “Let go of what?”
“You.” She threw her arms out to break his hold. “You, you idiot.”
He straightened away from her, his expression shifting from confused to hit-with-a-puck-between-the-eyes.
Mia crossed her arms again, pulling them tight across the pain ripping through her heart. What the hell difference did it make if he knew how she felt now? She was going to be across the damn country soon.
“It was stupid, I know that now.” The admission swamped her with guilt. She was better than this, and she didn’t know how she’d been drawn to such lows. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess. I’m sorry it’s become a problem between you and Tate. I’m sorry it’s created trouble for everyone. But you guys, you all just go about your life, and I’m always an afterthought.”
The truth hurt, and she couldn’t hold the tears back. “Joe loves his job and deals with important cases. He travels all over, and he’s got the perfect son. Tate has an awesome career and the best father a guy could ask for. He could also have any woman he wanted if he’d let go of Lisa’s betrayal. You get Joe and Tate and any puck bunny you smirk at.” She wasn’t going to go into all the ways her life failed to measure up. “I get the leftovers. I get the occasional visit from Joe, the occasional call from Tate, and then you dropped me completely. Which reminds me,” she said, anger renewed, “fuck you, Savage. You have no right to come here and—”
In one step, Rafe closed the distance. She startled, but before she could react, he clasped her face in both hands…and kissed her.
The gears of Mia’s brain stalled, and a murmur of surprise escaped her lips. She fisted her hands in his blazer, trapped between shoving him away and sinking in.
Before she’d decided, he broke the kiss abruptly.
“Stop,” he said, a little breathless. One hand pushed into her hair. He dropped his forehead against hers, and his eyes closed. “Just stop.” He pulled back only far enough to focus. “Go back to the part about why you came. Why you slept with me. Why you’re really pissed at me right now.”
