“You can’t survive on fruit!”
“Well, I eat other stuff too, but the fridge is only so big!”
“I’ll buy a new one!”
“Tate!”
“I’ll buy a new one,” Tate repeated, daring me to object. Damn if I didn’t want to. He was being downright pigheaded. There was nowhere to put anything larger. The storage space was sparse enough with the five of us on the bus. Six, really, including the bus driver.
Eventually, his ire passed. He gestured to the sandwich in my lap. “I guess you don’t really want that?”
“Actually, it’s not half bad. Everything’s fresh. Chicken’s char-grilled. I think it’s diner bought.”
“Marshall bought it. Does he know about your aversion for fast food?”
I shrugged, disregarding the jealously in his tone. “I never mentioned it, but that doesn’t mean that Em or my parents never discussed it during one of their powwows.”
“Eat,” Tate pressed. “I’m not angry with you.”
“You’re making me feel like a dissident or something. I like food, Tate. I like food a lot. I just don’t like greasy, dirty griddles. I get oily skin and pimples just thinking about them.”
Lifting the sandwich from the wrapper, I took a healthy bite. “Mm dewishous. See? I’m eating. Mm wow…um…you know…it actually is really good.”
Shaking his head, his eyes clouded in an inward focus. “I just don’t know how I didn’t notice this before. I feel like a deadbeat.”
“Tate,” I said. I paused, swallowing the monstrous bite of chicken. “There are plenty of things that we don’t know about each other. We’ve only just met. Granted we have a lot in common, I imagine we’ll be figuring each other out for a while. For example, my favorite color is blue. My favorite place is anywhere outdoors. Get me out in the sun and I’m happy as shit. I’m practically photosynthetic. I love flowers but I hate lilies. I think they smell like cat piss. My favorite food is ice cream. It makes everything better, and I mean everything. It doesn’t matter how bad your day is—ice cream heals all wounds. Christmas is my favorite holiday. I once saw the Easter bunny when I was little. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in aliens. I love dogs, but I’ve never had one. Should I go on?”
“You didn’t tell me when your birthday was.”
“My birthday?” I asked dumbly. This wasn’t going to go over well. If he was annoyed over his lack of knowledge regarding my dislike of fast food, he was sure to be furious over this little fact. It was my bad, I suppose. I’d let the day pass without a word.
I hadn’t done it purposely, but it fell on the weekend in New York, when he had done the double set of concerts at Madison Square Garden. Between eloping, the suspected pregnancy, joining the tour, and Marshall’s confession, my birthday had completely slipped my mind.
“You know—the anniversary of your birth,” he prompted. “Typically comes around once a year…”
Averting my attention, I poked at the lettuce overhanging my sandwich. “September eighteenth.”
“Cooper.” There it was, the ‘tone.’ Fries forgotten, he also gave me the ‘stare.’
Peeking up from under my lashes, I felt an immediate surge of guilt. The sentiment was unwarranted. I had forgotten. I hadn’t intentionally kept it from him. “What?”
“That was over three weeks ago! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We slept most of the day, and you had a concert that night. We were busy. I forgot. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? It was your birthday!”
“Tate,” I said with solemnity, “everyday is my birthday since I met you.”
Chapter 20
I had told him flowers. He bought me a dozen roses in blood red.
They came wrapped in a state of the art Prevost tour bus.
The thing was nicer than any home I ever lived in and probably cost twice as much too. It sported a plush leather sofa and two recliners in the living area, a large maple galley with granite counter tops, a backlit, natural stone backsplash, a convection microwave oven, an induction dual burner cooktop, and—as promised—a full fridge. Better yet, it had heated floors and central air.
To make room for a desk, Tate had one row of bunks removed, which left two large bunk beds for Levy. Levy, of course, chose the top bunk, which Tate had thoughtfully outfitted with a guard so that he wouldn’t fall out. If I could only keep him from climbing out…
The rear stateroom was fitted with a five layer ceiling with ribbon lighting, a queen size bed, oodles of cabinets for storage, soundproofing for a quieter ride, wall to wall carpeting, overhead storage and a lighted vanity. But the best part of all—in my opinion—was the master bathroom. It had an upgraded rain shower with side sprays, natural stone flooring, natural stone backlit panels, a large, maple vanity with granite counters, a vessel sink and a second toilet.
Yes, a second toilet. The living room had its own bathroom.
This wasn’t just a bus. It was a work of art.
The lights were everywhere. They were in the ceiling, in ribbons and abundant little LEDs. There was lighting in the floors on the walls, under chairs and cabinets, in backsplashes and framing the TVs.
And then there were the surfaces. Grains upon grains of wood in maple finished the walls, cabinets and doors. Burl inlays bedecked the cabin doors. Natural stone covered the floors, backsplashes, counters and walls. Upholstery festooned the windows and accents.
My eyes didn’t know which direction to turn.
Everywhere I looked, I found televisions, monitors and speakers. It was as if Best Buy vomited in the bus. The bedroom had a flat screen. Each bunk had its own DVD system. The kitchen had a small TV and the living room had a large one, though they were technically one room. There was even a larger monitor at the desk for my laptop so I had a place to work.
All of this, I had objected to at first sight. I didn’t want to come between Tate and his friends. They had been together for over half of their lives. They were a unit, a band of brothers.
Once they physically ousted me from the body bag and reclaimed their man-cave, I renounced my objections. I understood. I wasn’t dense. They wanted their bus back. The guys weren’t ready to resign the single life, and I was stunting their lifestyle. With me out of the bus, Carter could curse a blue streak. Shane could go back to smoking his weed. Jake, I wasn’t aware that he had any faults, except that he occasionally swore and he sided with the other idiots, but whatever.
I think it bothered me more than it bothered Tate. Of course, getting another bus had been his idea in the first place. He claimed he was providing for his family or some other honorable motive that I couldn’t argue. Personally, I think he just liked to take advantage of the privacy Levy’s naptime provided. We took advantage of Levy’s naptime quite often.
Ok, maybe the bus wasn’t so bad. Who was I kidding? I loved the bus.
“Coop.” Nibbling at my shoulder, Tate made a last attempt at rousing me from the bed. I had been tired as of late, and increasingly so each week. Tate’s progeny was sucking the life out of me. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t get up.”
Peeling one eye open, I found Tate staring back at me. “Mumphle.”
“I know. I know. You think I’m awesome, but we don’t have time for sex right now. We really need to go. Besides, Mini Cooper is up.”
Actually, I had said, “I’m up,” but the signals that ran from my brain to my mouth never worked first thing in the morning. It came out a husky, “Mumphle.”
Purring, I rolled beneath him, molded to his curves in hopes of buying a few more minutes of time to lounge in bed. Our ‘honeymoon’ was coming to an untimely end.
Tate’s hand found my hip, slipped downward, cupped my ass and lifted me to him. He rolled his hips in a slow circle. “Maybe we can spare a few minutes.”
My eyes flashed open.
“Ha. No.” Tate made no effort to hide our indiscretions. The second someone opened their mouth t
o hound us on our punctuality, he flashed that wayward smile of his. Anyone with half a brain could deduce the reason we were running late. “I won’t be blamed for picking your dad up late at the airport.”
Tate’s dad and Jake’s sister were flying in for Thanksgiving dinner. My parents couldn’t make it. They’d had six inches of snow the day before. Dad had fallen while clearing the driveway and broken his pelvis. I had wanted to fly home and offer my support, but dad insisted that I didn’t, that there was no reason for me to miss the holiday. With all the meds he was taking, he would be sleeping or grouchy, and not up for company.
“Just let me brush my teeth.” Tossing back the covers, I slid from the bed and shuffled into the bathroom, yawning and narcoleptic. Now, a month after moving in, I felt at home. My stuff had designated spaces, even my toothbrush. It sat right next to Tate’s on the vanity.
“I don’t know why you put yourself through the torture.”
“Because I’m meeting your dad for this first time and my mouth tastes like dick.” Squeezing a small dab of toothpaste onto my brush, I slipped it between my cheek and gums and began to scrub. I gagged more often than not when brushing my teeth in the morning.
Tate gave me a look that insinuated he was biting his tongue over the latter. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about, Coop. It’s just my dad. He’s going to love you.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the cleanest, friendliest little airport that I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen that many airports. But when I pictured airports, they were all large, intimidating establishments like Philly International. This was more like a shopping mall with airplanes. I mean, you didn’t even have to look for parking. It was there for the taking.
We found Tate’s father at the bar nursing a beer beside a younger, blonde-haired girl with sun-bleached curls—who I assumed was Jake’s little sister—and an anxious looking Emily.
Emily.
I hadn’t talked to Em since I left.
I had talked to Molly, my parents and Marshall because, well, frankly, I didn’t have a choice, but I had avoided Em, Garrison and Billy. It wasn’t fair to take things out on them, but neither was lying to me. I had felt humiliated by their conspiring, and cynical over our supposed friendship. Seriously. What friends kept secrets of that magnitude? I told her everything.
Looking at her now, however, my doubts evanesced. She obviously cared. Anything she had done, she had done to help me, including placing herself in danger. Grant could very well have turned on her if she had attempted to stand in his way. I had no doubt she would have.
Nevertheless, seeing her was a surprise. Tate must’ve invited her.
Tossing back the rest of her drink, Em squared her shoulders. She rose from her stool, a little wobbly in the knees. “I just flew on the smallest plane in the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced to come see you. Don’t even think about avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I’m just a little shocked to see you, and giving it to you straight from the shoulder: you look like shit. Are you drunk?”
Em put her chin up, but staggered over and draped her arms around me in a lush, drunken embrace. “Maybe.”
“Did this happen before or after the flight?”
“Both.”
We both broke down into laughter. When it died down, I backed her to arms length and looked into her eyes. Tate had moved on to greet his father, giving me time to talk to Em in private, so I didn’t hesitate asking. “What happened?”
“He didn’t return the sentiment.”
“Oh, Em.” I immediately understood the reason for the long face. Oh, Garrison Craig, what did you do? She looked heartbroken, utterly dejected. Doing the girly thing, I placed my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged and waved it off, but she was hurt. I could tell. “It’s my fault, really. He just wasn’t ready. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
I must’ve made a face in disagreement, because Em was quick to explain.
“He came to the group for help, Coop. He needed help. We shouldn’t have put him in the position we did. It was wrong of us. We knew he wasn’t over losing Melanie. He was a wreck, constantly afraid he was going to fail again—”
“Fail?” I interjected. It was a common misconception. Dopey, stupid man. If anyone was to blame, it was the criminal. “He didn’t fail. He was a victim as much as you and I.”
“I know that and you know that, but he doesn’t. Someday he’ll realize, but until then, he deserves to live in peace.”
“You moved out.”
“Over the weekend. I’m renting a place off eighth. It’s quaint. Small. Needs a little work. Hell, why bother lying. It’s awful. It smells like mothballs and geriatrics, but it’s within walking distance of everything. And maybe if I start walking to work, I’ll lose those ten pounds that settled in my ass since you left.” Remembering herself, she shook off the thought and forced a smile. “Listen to me rambling. I drank too much.”
“You’re entitled.”
“No, I’m not. I came here to apologize and here I am unloading my problems on you like a nitwit. I’m sorry, Coop.”
“No you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not. I’d do it again. I love you too much.” Em pulled me into another sloppy embrace and sent me on my way. “Go meet your father in law so we can get this show on the road. I haven’t eaten in days and my appetite’s come back with a force. I’m starving. I could eat a horse.”
Again, my expression must’ve shown my concern.
“I’m fine, Coop. I’m just going to go hang on Marshall’s arm. It’s like a ham shank. I could take a bite out of it right now.” Pondering the thought, her eyes narrowed to a sultry gaze, which Marshall noticed, because he abruptly made himself busy with scaring off the few passing spectators in the gate. “Maybe I’ll just have a seat,” she amended. “I’ll wait right here.”
Before I could fathom what she was doing, Em dropped to the floor. Thankfully, she went down slowly, almost gracefully. She landed on her ass, her legs splayed in a wide v.
Pushing her hair from her face, Em looked up at me, her face flushed, her expression sheepish. “I swear there was a chair there a minute ago.”
“Jesus, Em,” I exclaimed, giving her a hand. Only, she ended up pulling me down with her. The whole thing was a farce. Every man within a twenty-foot vicinity stepped in to assist. I watched with amazement as Em turned and winked, surrounded by a half dozen doting men. I was flabbergasted. I thought I knew her, but this was a totally different Em. I supposed she just declared herself back on the market. Hunting season was now open. Look out boys.
“Wow.”
“She’s wily, that one. Nolan,” Tate’s dad said, introducing himself. He was long and lean. I could see where Tate got his looks. I said so, and earned a crinkled smile. Other than the crow’s feet, he was rather young.
“A pair, then,” Nolan surmised, studying me. He wasn’t judging. He liked me. I could see it in his smile. He was looking at me with an artist’s eye, to see what he’d gotten wrong.
“No, I’m naturally charming. She’s wily.” Finished brushing myself off and smoothing my clothes, I looked him in the eye, caught a bit of twinkle. “Am I what you expected?”
“He told you, did he?”
“He wasn’t exactly forthcoming to tell you the truth. In fact, I’m probably more of a believer than he is.”
“I reckon you’re right, but why’s that?”
“Because I think he’s a gift from God, Mr. Watkins. He’s saved my life. Thank you for pointing him in my direction.”
“My pleasure.” Eyes wrinkling, he pulled me into an embrace. “My pleasure. Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”
“Momma!” Levy crowed. “I saw’d a airpwane!”
Stepping away from Tate’s dad, I turned to find Levy trundling in my direction, followed by Tate. “An airplane! Did you see an airplane?”
“Uh huh!” As I scooped him off the f
loor, he rattled off a long string of observations and opinions on how high the plane flew. Much of it was unintelligible, but I nodded along.
“What do you think?” Tate asked his dad while Levy babbled on. The two were grinning and staring at me with what I assumed was affection. I could feel my face flush with color.
“She has personality,” his dad replied. “I didn’t do her justice.”
“You want to paint her again,” Tate ribbed.
“Again?” his dad replied. “According to you, I didn’t paint her a first time. You don’t believe in all that ‘religious mumbo jumbo.’”
Rolling his eyes, Tate took Levy from me and propped him on his hip. You know, because I was pregnant I wasn’t supposed to lift heavy things anymore. I didn’t have the heart to correct him on this assumption. “I just meant that you want to paint her.”
“You want to write songs about her.”
“I have.”
“There,” his dad observed, gesturing to me. “Lookit the color in her face. That would make one helluva picture.”
“Coop,” Jake interrupted, striding toward us with his sister in hand. “I wanted to introduce you. This is my little sister, Matilda.”
She was pretty, tanned, beach blonde. Athletic. One hell of a figure. She had grey eyes, pale in color, almost clear. She towered me by about six inches. I tried not to hold it against her.
“It’s a horrible name. He only calls me that to torture me.” Smiling, she offered her hand. I accepted with a gentle shake. “Call me Mattie. Everyone does, well, everyone but Jake. But he’s my asshole—” Mattie trailed off, noting to the scoffs and jeers around her, but Levy was the first to point out her fault.
“Das a bad wood.”
“Way to go, Mattie!” Carter cheered, clapping her on the back. “Way to go! Leave it to the kid sister to curse in front of the children.”
“Oh, gosh.” She eyed Levy contritely. “I’m so sorry.”
“She can still stay on your bus, right, Coop?” Jake inquired. “She won’t curse anymore. Will you, Matilda?”
“Jake!”
“What? You can’t stay on our bus. It’s guys only. New rule. Ask Coop. Besides, her bus is much nicer and it’s family oriented.”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 28
