“Me ne frego,” Luca said. “I don’t give a damn. I never get to be the bad cop, and besides—if there was ever a situation that called for two bad cops, this is it.”
“This is not it,” Tate argued. “And everything would be fine, asshole, if you two would only leave me the hell alone.”
Luca chuckled darkly. “And here I thought it was the Italians who were supposed to be inept. But look at you, trying to speed on the JFK Expressway with a little thirty-year-old Vespa.”
“All right, Dirty Harry,” Tate groaned. “Would you please cool your jets?”
“No, really. You’re being even more intractable than usual.”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re going to use this as an excuse to take out ten years of unaired frustrations on me?”
“Because that’s what you or Red would do.” Luca settled into the green armchair next to Tate’s bed, and sighed, “Listen, Tate. Do you remember all those years ago, when we first started school? I was such a fish outside the water, just like you used to say. You and Red were my only American friends—the only ones who took the time, at first, to find out anything about who I was as a person.”
“Dude, we had to,” Tate blustered, growing uncomfortable with the direction Luca was taking. “We lived together.”
“You didn’t have to,” his buddy argued softly, “And you and I both know it.”
“Okay, fine. So, you were mildly entertaining. What does that have to do with me now?”
“Okay, well—how about last year? Don’t you think I was nervous to come back here?” Luca inquired. “To all of the uncertainty about what was the proper thing to do, and whether I was saying words correctly or acting strange to Americans?”
“I have to tell you, bud, I was knee-deep in fringe-group fuckfaces at the time. I wasn’t spending a whole lot of time noodling about your emotions,” Tate said.
“I have no doubt. But I guess the point I’d like to make is that both times, I might have been out of my element, but at least I had you and Red. You two gave me a push when I needed one, and look at me now. Happy as a mollusk.”
Tate snorted. “I hate to say this, but for some unknown reason, clams are the only specific mollusks known for being happy.”
“Be that as it may,” Luca fired back, getting testy now, “if it weren’t for your unwavering loyalty, I might not be here. Therefore, I intend to repay the favor, and I will do it using any and every means I find suitable. Even doubling up on the Bad Cop routine, to get you out of your comfort zone.”
“Damn it, Luca—the least you could do is throw a punch or two. How the hell am I supposed to fight romance like that?”
“You could try some romance yourself, Tater Tot.”
“Okay, A—you know I don’t play for that team. And B—I’m pretty sure we determined about ten years ago that neither Red nor you would be calling me that ever again. You might recall the chokeholds.”
Luca tilted his head. “That’s strange, I don’t. But I recently ate one of those little potatoes in the hospital cafeteria and I think the name might suit you, after all.”
“Do I even want to know how you came to that bizarre conclusion?”
“Well, let’s see. They’re a bit salty. They can take the abuse of blisteringly hot oil and disgusting ketchup and still remain perfectly fine. And, as long as we’re remembering things today, I have a distinct memory of a young lady referring to you as delicious in junior year. And…a different one senior year, come to think of it.”
Tate groaned, “Luca, this is officially the worst pep talk in the history of pep talks.”
“Good, because it isn’t meant to be a pep talk. It’s supposed to be a stop screwing around, you idiot cazzo, and get your ass in gear talk. Now, then. You fell for the woman of your dreams, correct?”
“Sure.” As long as everyone was going to assume it anyway, Tate figured there was no harm in copping to it.
“You basically saved her life when she needed it, yes?”
“Barely. Lyla still had to shoot the dude.”
“Even so, you got the job done. And now, though the obstacles to you two being together have been disposed of, you are still dithering about riding up on your white horse and declaring yourself to her. Do I have this correct?”
“No, asswipe, you don’t. I am still in the Army until they tell me otherwise. And even if that Jones fucker is out of commission right now, it doesn’t mean I’m any good for Lyla. Christ, I’m not just geographically undesirable now,” Tate cried. “I’m probably about to be unemployed. What am I supposed to do? Wait tables while she swans around being amazing all day?”
Tate scrubbed his hands over his face and added glumly, “Not to mention the fact that I’m basically a mental case.”
“Seriously?” Luca shook his head at him. “We’re back to that again, are we? You’re completely sane, Tate. All of your fears and reactions and triggers are perfectly normal and rational manifestations of the life you’ve been living for many years. Sane. Normal. Rational. Really.”
Yeah, right. Easy for Luca to say—he didn’t see the faces of dead men in his dreams every night. Tate wasn’t going to be a shit and point that out, however.
Instead, he asked, “Luca, have you stopped for one minute to consider what I’d be offering Lyla? Forget about all the other stuff—just focus on the fact that I used to play football in school. Now I’ve had a TBI, and whatever else I’ve done to myself this time. I’m, like, a sure bet for getting CTE, dude.”
Luca threw his clipboard onto the nightstand and steepled his fingers, instantly flipping into physician mode. “Tate—”
Tate didn’t want to hear statistics, though. “No, really. I’ll probably end up a drooling zombie long before my time. So, what kind of ogre would I be, to knowingly saddle Lyla with that? She’d have to take care of me, instead of the other way around. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
Luca was frowning thoughtfully. “Have you had any other concussions besides the one?”
“No, dude. I was too quick to get tackled back in the day,” Tate boasted. “Probably still am.” But then he sobered. “That hardly matters when you’ve been blown clear out of your boots like I have, though.”
“There are a lot of research studies on this. You could—”
“Luca, seriously? What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry. We can talk about all that later.” His friend sat back and contemplated him. “For now, please know that you can’t decide for Lyla whether that risk is one she doesn’t want to take. It’s her decision to make, so you have to present her with the facts and go from there.”
Tate exploded in utter exasperation, “I don’t even know if she loves me back!”
Dead silence. Like a fucking tomb.
“And now we come to the real problem,” Luca said softly.
“Oh, it’s a problem all right,” Tate muttered bitterly. “With fangs and claws and a whole army of orcs to help it on its way.”
“I am not going to ask you what an orc is right now. But let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that Lyla might feel the same way. Are you going to be happy with yourself five years from now, knowing that you missed your chance? Knowing that both of you sat around for ages, wishing the other one knew how they felt? That’s awfully morose, even for this new version of you.”
Tate sagged into his pillow and realized he had no answer for that.
Sure, he and Lyla had shared some fun times in and out of the sack, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything more from him. It didn’t automatically translate into happily-ever-after.
It had just been for kicks. Something to cut the ever-present tension hanging over them while they waited for her stalker to make a move, or slip up. Tate didn’t count for more than his muscle in Lyla’s eyes.
Only—it had never once felt like that with her. It’d felt real, every minute.
“But…”
Luca jumped right in. “What?”
“Not that
the odds are high or anything, but if I were curious, how would I even find out how she really feels?” It wasn’t like Tate could simply ask her—he’d spent days avoiding the woman for crying out loud. By now, she probably wanted to shoot him, too.
“Well, that’s where things get tricky,” his friend admitted. “I can’t tell you the words to say, because that has to be something between you and her. I can tell you this, however—you’re going to have to take a risk. You’ll have to stick your neck out.”
“That’s some a-plus advice, coming from a fucker who supposedly saves lives for a living.”
“Yes, well—I feel confident that grave injury will not result.”
“Pollyanna? Party of one? Your table is now available.”
Luca smirked. “Look, you’re a natural at waiting tables, already.”
“You haven’t seen me in an apron,” Tate groused.
“Nor do I intend to. But at least think about this. If we agree to release you, you’re planning to go home and see your parents this weekend, right?”
“Yeah.” Tate had to show his face in Ohio, or his mom would never stop worrying.
“Then, take the time to clear your head and figure out what you really want,” Luca told him. “If it’s Lyla, then come up with a way to tell her. The rest will sort itself out. I promise you.”
“That’s what Red says, too.”
His buddy nodded sagely, “Yes, well—we both have very recent experience in this area.”
Tate laid there and considered it, but it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose by agreeing to do some thinking—hell, the last remaining shreds of his dignity had flown the coop days ago.
“All right, bro. I’ll do it,” he said. “But I wouldn’t expect any miracles or anything.”
Luca just chuckled. As blissed-out and in love as he was, the dude probably walked around expecting miracles every day of his life, these days. Bastard.
“And maybe, as long as you’re contemplating things, give some thought to this.”
Luca set a thick pamphlet down, and Tate felt all the acid in his gut curdle when he read the cover.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“It’s a guide to assist wounded veterans reintegrating into civilian life. I have a couple of contacts that I can introduce you to—”
“Luca. For fuck’s sake,” Tate complained. “Could you please back the fuck off for one goddamn minute?”
“Well, I’m trying to segue into Good Cop now.”
“No, thank you.”
“Listen, I know you think you aren’t good for anything, but there is a lot you could do if the Army ends up discharging you. You could be a police officer or a private investigator. You could be a bouncer or a bodyguard or even a teacher. There are many military contractors around, too. Any of them would be thrilled to have you.”
Tate groaned. It was like talking to his dad all over again. “Please, please stop talking,” he begged.
Besides, if it wasn’t going to be Lyla’s sweet body Tate was guarding, then it wasn’t going to be anyone’s.
“Or you could even go home and farm like your parents.” Luca paused and frowned. “Do I have that right? They are farmers?”
Tate had to laugh at the poor guy’s confusion. “They raise alpacas. Close enough.”
“Alpacas? Like llamas?” It was obvious that was news to Luca.
Tate explained, “Alpacas are smaller and have way better hair.”
“I am certain I did not know this about you.”
“Moving on,” Tate said pointedly, “you maybe remember that I have a degree in poly sci, not agriculture. I will not be opening my own alpaca farm. Okay?”
“Fine,” Luca conceded. “Just promise me you will evaluate all your options. You have many.”
“Sure. If it will get you to shut up and leave, then I promise.”
“And come stay with me and Daisy when you get back.”
“Not on your life.”
If Tate hadn’t wanted to intrude on Love Street before, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now that he was riding the Bachelor Express again. Three minutes with Luca and his lady love, and Tate was bound to be pounding on Lyla’s door, begging for her to take him back.
He couldn’t do that, even if he already felt the absence of her like a phantom limb. Painful. Chronic. No freaking cure.
Tate had to get out of this town before he did something stupid that they’d both regret.
THIRTY-SIX
LYLA GAVE HERSELF one week—a mere seven days—to wallow in the misery that consumed her once she finally accepted that Tate was gone for good.
She would let herself feel all the hurt and disappointment, the sadness and the worry, and then she’d force herself to move on.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen any of this coming, after all. She’d known very well how hard it would be to let Tate go, once the time came. Lyla simply hadn’t factored in how much worse it would feel for him to leave the way he had.
Tate hadn’t given her some passionate, movie-worthy kiss on a street corner to bid her a fond farewell. Instead, he’d skulked out of town like a fugitive, without a single word of goodbye.
He was there, fighting off Lyla’s attacker with every ounce of determination in his body, and then he was gone.
And by gone, Lyla meant really, really gone, too—Tate didn’t call, he didn’t write, and he didn’t send apologetic flowers. It was as if her former bodyguard had been nothing more than a fantastic-looking mirage. An erotic dream, haunting her for weeks.
But even if Lyla could acknowledge how much his departure stung, she couldn’t fathom why Tate had chosen to do it the way he had.
What they’d shared in their time together had seemed so real—so right. How could a person simply walk away, without feeling a thing?
Lyla couldn’t prove that part for sure, though, could she? Maybe Tate felt all kinds of things right now. A sense of freedom. Happiness. Relief.
All she felt was heartbroken.
HER CRY IT out, then forget him campaign might’ve gone swimmingly, if everyone Lyla knew hadn’t come out of the woodwork partway through, wanting to discuss what she was going to do about Tate.
First up was Piper, the romance author she’d been friendly with for years, who’d gotten engaged to Lyla’s boss recently.
She’d wheedled Lyla into meeting her at a new coffee shop in Midtown, then casually commented, “So, Red heard from Tate. Sounds like he went back to Ohio for a bit.”
“Not my business,” Lyla said.
She was only on day four of her Tate-withdrawal program, and things weren’t exactly proceeding smoothly. The less she had to talk about him, the better her chances of holding herself together in public.
“He told Red he had another medical board evaluation coming up, and that he wanted to return his brother’s truck.”
“Again—Tate has made it eminently clear that his life and mine don’t overlap anymore, Piper.” Lyla tried to say it gently, so her friend wouldn’t take offense.
Piper was determined to say her piece, however, and continued doggedly, “Supposedly Tate refused to leave New York until Red confirmed that your old neighbor was locked up for the long haul, and that you were doing okay. Those were his exact words, Red said—Is Lyla okay, or not?”
Lyla frowned. Why should Tate care? “I hope Red told him that I am as okay as ‘okay’ can possibly be.”
“I assume so,” Piper said. “But…are you really?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lyla had even put on extra eye makeup today, just to make that eminently clear.
Piper peered at her over the rim of her latte. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe because Tate’s being a complete dolt by ghosting you?”
“Is he, though?” Lyla sat back and contemplated that. “He took a job, performed the job, and when the job was over, he returned to his regular life. I don’t think we can fault him for that. He did exactly what he promised to do.”
She dunked her tea bag in the little pot of water a few more times, but it was obviously not hot enough to brew anymore. Lyla sighed.
Story of her life.
“Except…you’re kind of glossing over some of the important middle parts, aren’t you?” Piper prodded.
“Not really. We got along great, but we both knew he was intending to return to active duty at some point. It’s not like we had a whole future planned out together, or anything.”
“Even so, that doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt by what he’s doing.”
Trust another author to be inconveniently nosy. Unfortunately, as Lyla studied Piper, she couldn’t remember anymore why it was so important for her to put up a good front today.
She might as well admit that life wasn’t entirely fine and dandy. It wasn’t like other people didn’t get their hearts broken all the time, too.
“I know, and it does hurt,” she confessed. “But giving in to it will get me exactly nowhere. Tate doesn’t want to talk to me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, apparently. That narrows my options considerably.”
Piper pressed her lips together unhappily, then went with, “Red thinks he’ll come around eventually. I do, too.”
“I hope you will both understand if I don’t sit here holding my breath, waiting for it to happen,” Lyla told her.
“I do. And maybe I’m not reading the situation well. I had the impression that you cared a lot about Tate, but if you don’t…” Piper’s eyebrows knitted together, and she examined Lyla with a worried frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s okay. You aren’t wrong. Tate’s a really good guy—the best, actually. I wish…I wish…” What did Lyla wish for? She had a sinking suspicion it was still everything—all of him, forever.
“I wish Tate had stuck around a little longer,” she told Piper sadly.
“Me, too,” her friend said. “And we really do think he’s crazy about you, Lyla. Maybe don’t write him off just yet. If you can manage it.”
“Don’t worry. I have no desire to run out and hook up with someone new this week.”
The Hero Was Handsome (Triple Threat Book 3) Page 32
