by Brenna Zinn
I’m home early. Can you stop by my place when you’re done tonight? I don’t care if it’s late.
Hell yes, she could. The faster the better. She had so much to tell him about the competition and the reception from the judges, not to mention the curiosity about his trip was about to kill her. Maybe now that his visit to New York had come and gone, he’d fill her in on what his meeting was about and why he’d been in such a queer mood before he left.
Tatum pulled the keys to her POS truck from her purse and jogged down the hallway back to the studio. “Miguel,” she called out on a ragged breath. “You ready to leave?”
Less than fifteen minutes later, she pulled her old truck into a downtown parking lot and prayed for an available stall, which were generally nonexistent on a Saturday night. As usual, Sixth Street, already closed to all vehicle traffic, overflowed with party-seeking pedestrians. The college kids were out in force.
After parking and waiting the requisite thirty seconds for the engine to finally die, she stepped out on feet that felt as though they were walking on clouds. She would see Bennett soon. Once they’d talked, she would rip off his fancy clothes, push him on his tasteful couch and not get off him until he screamed her name in ecstasy. Their lovemaking would be the perfect ending to an already fantastic day.
The spirited din of live music coming from the downtown bars filled the warm night air as she walked to Bennett’s high-rise condo. All around, couples sat close and drank at café tables outside lounges, long lines of diverse people waited to be carded outside popular bars and horses clopped on side streets pulling carriages lit up with hundreds of tiny white lights. This was Austin, Texas. This was her home.
When she arrived at his door, he met her still wearing a tie and a rumpled dress shirt tucked into navy suit pants creased from hours of sitting. Though clean-shaven, his face bore the tired look of someone who hadn’t slept in days. His lips pulled into a slight smile as she leapt into his arms.
“I’ve missed you, Slick. God, how I’ve missed you.” She leaned her cheek into the curve of his neck and breathed in his familiar scent. A rush of saliva filled her mouth. She wanted to lick every inch of his six-foot-four body and discover exactly where he had splashed his spicy cologne.
“I’ve missed you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
His voice lacked its usual fortitude. Instead, a weariness infused with sadness marked his tone. He squeezed her tight before pulling her back and gazing into her face with melancholy eyes.
“Everything okay?” Concern weighed uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach as though a tumor of lead grew out of control there. “The trip was good?”
“Yes. I think everything went well.” He smiled faintly.
She didn’t believe him. Clearly something bad had happened. He looked and sounded absolutely wretched. When he said, “Let’s talk”, and grabbed her hand to lead her into his living room, the tumor in her belly gained five pounds.
They sat knee to knee, Bennett on a sleek cream-colored chair and Tatum on the matching ottoman. Once he settled himself, he rubbed a hand over his face and up into the waves of his jet-black hair. Whatever troubled his mind seemed too difficult to share. He took several breaths and visibly swallowed before he opened his mouth.
Did someone die? Did he hook up with a former girlfriend and now needed to unload his guilty conscience? Was he sick of Austin and planning on moving back to New York for good?
“For goodness’ sake, Slick. Tell me what’s going on. My head is filled with all sorts of horrible thoughts.” Tatum grabbed one of his hands and held it atop his leg. “Whatever you have to say can’t be all that bad.”
He shook his head and used his free hand to brush the back of a finger over her cheek. “It’s not bad. I’m hoping it will be good news…for you.”
For me?
Surprised, she leaned back and frowned. “You went to New York for me?”
“Yes.” Bennett tightened the fingers entwined with hers. “I met with Alan Sanders.”
“The producer of Haute?” Disbelief rang in her voice as she slowly spoke each syllable.
He nodded, sending a curl of shiny ebony onto his forehead. “I found out through a mutual friend that Alan is losing a dancer in the chorus line. The woman is quitting to take care of her mother who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He needs to find a permanent replacement.”
The tumor in her belly gained another ten pounds. Her heart hammered behind her tightened ribs.
“So what are you telling me?” As she spoke, nervous energy arced through her right foot and leg. She couldn’t keep them from jiggling.
“I met with Alan to talk about you. He remembers your audition and your callback. I guess a six-foot-tall blonde dancer from Texas is someone hard to forget.”
The ability to form sentences failed her. The best she could muster was a barely intelligible, “Uh huh.”
“He told me to tell you that if you still are interested in the position on the chorus line, it’s yours.”
Her heart stopped mid beat. “Seriously?” she asked, unable to breathe.
“Seriously.”
Tatum released her grip from Bennett’s hand and placed both palms on her face to keep her head from popping off. The news was far too surreal to be possible.
This had to be a dream. After a lifetime of lessons, practice and calluses covering her toughened feet, had she actually been offered a job as a professional dancer? And not just for any dance company, but as a cast member of Haute.
A sudden burst of overwhelming emotion ripped through her. Her body shook uncontrollably and tears fell like hot rain over her cheeks. This was all too good to be true.
Fighting for air, she shuddered as she drew in a breath. “I can’t believe it.”
Bennett fell back into the chair. “Alan wants you to call him Monday morning with your decision. He needs to hire someone quickly and then get her trained before his current dancer leaves for Wisconsin.”
“Monday?”
That one word brought reality jolting back with enough force to knock her off the ottoman. The news Alan Sanders wanted her in his production had shocked her so badly, she’d completely forgotten about everything else happening in her life.
“What about my job at Iron Rods?” she wanted to know. “What about teaching the new strippers their dance routines?”
Her heart plummeted as the lead tumor spread to her bowels.
What about you? What about us?
Bennett loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his dress shirt. “Looks like you have some decisions to make.”
She grabbed the sides of the ottoman, letting her fingers sink into the cushion while a host of jumbled thoughts and emotions whirled around in her head like a cyclone. The dizzying effect produced waves of belly-testing nausea. An acrid taste of bile rose in her throat.
Why had he done this? Why had he done this? WHY HAD HE DONE THIS?
As the storm continued to rage within her, Tatum slowly raised her gaze to meet his.
“Why?” She’d spoken so quietly she almost hadn’t heard her own voice.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted himself from the chair and paced back and forth in front of his marble fireplace, hands deep in his pockets.
“Because I’ve fallen in love with you,” he finally said.
Her arms stiffened, bracing her as she sat and took in his response. She’d anticipated him saying that he’d helped get her the job because he knew it was her dream or because he wanted to see Iron Rods fail without her there to manage it.
His admission of love shredded her heart.
She’d done her best to avoid this situation. She knew how gut-wrenching having to choose between her love of performing and love for a man would be. But here she was, smack dab in the middle of a dilemma she’d unwittingly fallen into.
Half of her wanted to jump up, kiss him and profess her love for him as well with promises of never leaving his side.
The other half couldn’t wait to tell her parents and friends that she finally made it to the big time. She’d landed a job with a Tony-nominated production in New York.
How could she have gotten herself into such a horrible mess?
Arms and legs shaking, she stood and debated her next move. But the tug-of-war waging deep within her refused to let her think straight. She couldn’t think at all.
I can’t do this right now. I just can’t.
Before she knew what she was doing, she walked to the front door and opened it wide.
“I’ve fallen for you too,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of insistent door pounding woke Bennett from a restless night of sleep. Another in the long line of restless nights he’d had since making the excruciatingly difficult decision to contact Alan and talk to him about Tatum’s chances for getting a part in Haute.
He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. The digital display showed 10 a.m. Only three people would threaten to break down his front door on a Sunday morning. His grandfather was in New York and Tatum most likely wasn’t talking to him, which left his ill-tempered father, the last person he wanted to see. Unfortunately, Lyle was the type of man who actually would kick in the door to get to what he wanted.
Bennett’s heart panged at the thought of the last time he’d personally made toothpicks out of a wood door. Tatum had been in his arms then, smelling of honey, and he’d taken the opportunity to taste her sweet juices before having sex with her for the first time. He’d remember that day until he drew his last breath.
If he had listened to his brain rather than the other parts of his body, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He wouldn’t be in love with a woman who would eventually leave him for more important things, just as everyone but Anne had.
The battering on the front door grew louder and more forceful. Unintelligible twangy shouts sounded over the banging commotion. With a resigned groan, Bennett tossed back the covers, reached for his pants and slipped them on. The marble tiles on the floor chilled his feet as he padded to the front door, which vibrated from the constant blasts of his father’s heavy hand.
“Jesus, Lyle. I’m coming,” Bennett shouted back. “Enough with the pounding already. You’re going to wake the entire building.”
A muffled, “I don’t give a flying squirrel who hears me. Open this damned door before I stick my boot through it,” sounded back.
Bennett unlocked the two deadbolts and the knob lock. When he pulled open the door, he battled the urge to slam it closed.
Lyle, face red as a tomato and mustache sticking out like two gray points, stood in the hallway with his fists on his hips. Fire licked the ice of his blue eyes. The only thing missing from his display of absolute, thunderous anger was the blaring train whistle from a Looney Tunes cartoon.
“What in the blue blazes have you done?” Lyle bellowed, pushing his way past Bennett and into the condo.
“Come on in,” Bennett replied blandly, closing the door. “I would offer you coffee, but I’ve been too busy trying to sleep to have made any yet.”
His father stomped into the kitchen leaving black marks each time his boot heels slammed on the white marble floor. He’d evidently left the ranch in a hurry. His shoulder-length hair looked slicked back with sweat. And rather than his usual dark blue jeans or khaki cargo shorts, he sported skintight orange bike shorts and a rainbow tie-dye T-shirt in a dizzying spiral pattern.
“I don’t want no coffee, boy.” The old man spun around. “I want to know what you said to Tatum. She called a few minutes ago to say she may be leaving to work on a chorus line in New York.”
Bennett’s gut dropped as though he’d been thrown out of an airplane without a parachute. He reached into his pocket, locating the Susan B. Anthony coin. Unfortunately, the small piece of metal couldn’t steady his jumbled nerves.
“So she’s leaving?” Bennett asked flatly.
“No. Not yet. She said she’s got to make a decision by tomorrow.” Lyle narrowed his eyes, creating a deep crease between his unruly eyebrows. “What did you do?”
Purposely keeping his features neutral, Bennett ignored the question and countered with one of his own. “What makes you think I did anything? She’s been auditioning for years. Maybe her number finally turned up.”
“Because,” Lyle said, jabbing the end of a finger on the enameled lava kitchen countertop as he made his point. “I know you will stop at nothing to try to keep Iron Rods from reopening.”
Bennett pulled the coin from his pocket. After giving the Susan B. one final squeeze, he flicked it to Lyle. “Here. I never want to see it again.”
“What the hell is this?”
“Something you gave me a long time ago.” Bennett nodded to Lyle’s hand. “That fucking coin represents the only day you believed in me. The only day I was deemed worthy of your time or your praise.”
Lyle glanced at the coin, his face a tableau of confusion.
“I was seven, Lyle, when I started learning magic from some of the guys in the back of Iron Rods to try to impress you. The one day I caught your attention long enough to show you one of my tricks, you tossed this to me. Then you turned away, saying you had to get back to taking care of the club.”
Iron Rods, the fucking bane of his entire existence. That trashy strip club had caused nothing but strife and heartache in his life, including his meeting and falling for Tatum. If he had a stick of dynamite in his possession, he’d march over to the derelict building this minute and blow the whole damn thing sky high.
Years worth of hurt and disillusionment that had never stopped roiling around in his mind, his heart and his belly suddenly collided with the heartache of Tatum’s decision to leave, creating a firestorm of emotion and rage.
To hell with his father. To hell with trying to earn the crazy old man’s love and acceptance. To hell with all of it.
Bennett’s chest swelled as he drew in air and prepared to unleash the fury that had built piece by piece over his lifetime.
“That club and Truitt Holdings are the only things you’ve ever cared about, aren’t they, you old son of a bitch?” Bennett ground out, hands shaking. “Not me, not my mother, not even Anne. Do you know the reason you have that big dog you hate so much is because you aren’t home enough to give Anne the attention she needs? That’s right. She’s lonely. The woman you say you love so much is lonely. But do you have an inkling how she feels? Hell no.” Each word exploded from his mouth as though being fired by an assault rifle aimed straight toward his father’s selfish, uncaring heart. “Your work and your hobbies are all that you have time for. They’re all you’ve ever had time for. You’re pretty damned lucky Anne decided to only get a huge pet instead of leaving your ass like my mother did.”
Lyle’s face screwed up into a mask of hellish anger. But Bennett was on a roll. No way would he stop until he’d let everything loose.
“It’s because of you that my mother killed herself. She’d hoped that you would eventually care enough about her to come to New York and get her—to get us. Instead, you did nothing but throw yourself into that strip club. She hadn’t even given up on you after Grandfather forced her to get a divorce. She held on until she’d found out you’d married someone else. Right after, she put me in that horrible boarding school and took all those pills. It’s all your fault, but you’re too self-absorbed and uninterested in anything but yourself and that fucking club to care.”
His last remark apparently hit home. All the color in Lyle’s face drained. The old man fumbled for a barstool beside the kitchen counter and sat down.
Though their shouting still resonated in Bennett’s ears, the kitchen suddenly became quiet. Several long moments passed as they both let Bennett’s words sink in.
“I know I’ve made mistakes.” Lyle’s voice quavered when he finally spoke, breaking the silence. “I’m trying to make amends. To make things better.”
“Better?” Benn
ett blasted, incredulous. He charged around the counter to confront his father face to face. Man to man. “Aside from letting Anne get that dog, tell me one thing you’ve recently done to try to make things better. Just one.”
Without hesitating, Lyle provided his answer.
“I hired you and brought you back to Texas.” The old man raised watery eyes to Bennett. “I love you, son. I always have. You’re my boy. My blood. I want to make things right between us.”
The declaration struck like a thunderbolt. Bennett’s chest tightened without mercy, painfully squeezing the air out of his lungs.
In all his thirty years, he’d never heard his father say he loved him. Not once. Not even at his mother’s funeral had the old man professed his feelings for his only son.
“I hoped by having you here in Austin with me, working by my side, we could get things mended,” Lyle continued. “But I suppose I’m an old man set in my ways, and I let too much water pass beneath the bridge. I’m sorry, son. I’m truly sorry. I hope one day you’ll find a way to forgive me.”
Unable to make sense of the onslaught of feelings jumbled inside him, Bennett turned and looked out the glass wall separating him from the cloudless sky. Outside the world looked peaceful and calm, a very different place from the chaos in his small world. The Colorado River flowed tranquilly through downtown while several paddleboarders skimmed its placid surface. A handful of joggers and walkers followed a trail along the riverbank. The scene before him was serenity at its best. Why couldn’t his life be more like that?
“I thought I was showing my love for y’all by working hard and making enough money to buy y’all the things I never had. And as for my hobbies, well, I guess I should have done more to include y’all,” Lyle said.
“All I wanted was your time and your approval. That’s it.” Bennett refused to turn around and look at the old man. Instead, he stood so close to the window his hot breath fogged the spotless glass.
“For what it’s worth, you have my approval. I’m damned proud of you. You grew up to be a man any father would be proud of. As for my time, I swear I’ll do better with that, starting today. I want to be a better husband to Anne and a better father to both you and Camma. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get it right.”
