Page 116 of Tate
Except, he just couldn’t stop himself. “I’ll help you—we can meet in the mornings, and I’ll let you rescue me.”
So much surprise and hope filled her eyes he felt like a jerk for not believing in her.
“Thanks, Ford.”
He didn’t trust himself not to offer something else, like a ride home, dinner, his heart, so he splashed her back, winked, and swam to shore.
He picked up his shoes and shirt and walked over to a shower, cleaning off before he pulled his shoes on. Rinsed out his shirt and pulled that on too.
His gaze found her then, swimming freestyle in the ocean.
And for the first time, he really wanted her to make it.
Tate sat in the hotel sauna, silent, letting his thoughts stew.
A smart guy would know when to surrender. To slink out of town, the broken pieces of his stupid, impulsive heart in his hands, and not look back. Tate should hop on a plane and head down to San Antonio, where he’d left his truck after the impulsive decision to take on the gig as the Yankee Belles’ security.
That guy might have a chance of gluing his life, not to mention his sanity, back together instead of spending the past week ignoring the niggle in his gut that this wasn’t over.
Not him and Glo.
Not even the threats against Glo.
But apparently, Tate wasn’t smart, because all the evidence suggested otherwise. Here he was, hanging around in a town where everywhere he looked, Senator Reba Jackson’s face on billboards and yard signs reminded him of his mistakes.
It didn’t help that Glo had turned into the darling of CNN, appearing in the news almost constantly this week as she hit the campaign trail with her “bold and innovative” mother.
Reba’s changing of political parties was being heralded as the move to “unite all women.” Apparently with her moderate stance, she still appealed to her base and had gathered in the women of her new party.
Glo and Slick were definitely a team because Tate wasn’t unaware of his presence in the camera shots standing next to her, his hand always on her back. Or her shoulder.
Holding her hand in raised victory.
Like he belonged there.
As for security, Tate occasionally caught glimpses of Sly or Rags or even Swamp as they hustled Reba and her entourage into a nearby transport. However, since his outing of Reba’s lies, apparently everyone was breathing a sigh of relief.
Clearly, they were bypassing the lies part. But she was a politician—no doubt she’d slithered her way out of any culpability.
The sauna door opened, letting cool air from the hotel locker room in to the steam room. The newcomer sat on the lower bench and picked up a scoop of water. “Do you mind?”
Tate didn’t say anything, and the man poured the water over the hot rocks of the sauna stove. Steam rose, and the sweat on Tate’s skin boiled. He hung his head. His knee was starting to loosen up, along with the stiffness of his muscles after his run today. And last night, he’d gone to a local gym and warmed up a heavy bag, putting everything of the past three frustrating months into his punches.
A little of it was directed at the nightmares that left him knotted in his sheets at night. Jammas and sometimes Raquel and even the bombing in San Antonio. Never mind the daymares that he saw every day on the news.
He was sort of a glutton for punishment, maybe, because he even had a news alert on his phone with Glo’s name.
Yeah, he should get on the road. He wasn’t sure what he might be waiting for. Glo to run after him, tell him that she was wrong? That she loved him?
The worst part was—he got it. He wouldn’t choose him either. Not with her bright, shiny future ahead of her.
More than a few of his punches had Slick’s face on them.
Tate breathed out again, aware that his heart rate was rising, probably faster than it should.
Or maybe that was just him, reliving the moment when he decided to make Glo choose.You’re all things to all people. But who are you? And what do you want? Me? Your mother?
Yeah, that had been a brilliant moment of following his gut right into heartache.
