Page 36 of Tate
He frowned.
“She’s an addict, and it sounds like she’s using again. And I wouldn’t be worried if it wasn’t for Gunnar and the fact that his dad is probably using too.” She looked away, out the window,and blinked hard. No more crying. “She was in AA and doing well when I left.”
“That’s horrible,” he said, coming over to her. “I’m so sorry.”
Then, the man completely dismantled her and pulled her into his arms. A polite, friendly, I’m-here-for-you hug, and she just, well, for a long moment, surrendered.
Because she didn’t have the strength to do anything else. And he smelled good.
Oh boy.
He held her against that amazing chest, his heart beating a steady, calming thrum.
She pushed away, offered a smile. “Thanks. I think…I’ll be okay.” She stepped back. Gave herself some room to think, away from all those muscles.
“We all have a week of post-deployment leave—take it and go home.”
She looked at him, lifted a shoulder. “My mother lives in Rockland, Idaho, nowhere near an airport. And my car…it’s trashed. And…” Oh, she hated to say this. “I don’t have the money. I send everything but my mortgage payment home to my mother while I’m deployed.”
He shoved his hands into his pocket. “Okay, so I’ll give you a ride.”
She just blinked at him. “A ride? ToIdaho?”
“Why not? I’m headed home this weekend. My brother’s getting married in a week, and I have leave so…but, I could drop you off. And pick you up on the way home.”
He said it like he might be going into town for groceries, was going to leave her off at the laundromat.
“You’ll just…drive me home? What—on your motorcycle?” She glanced out the front window. He had a Kawasaki Ninja—a rice rocket. Hot for driving around the city, but… “Fourteen hours on a bike…I dunno?—”
He laughed. “No, Red. I have a truck. We’ll take that.”
Oh. And not that she wasn’t exactly disappointed, but?—
“I will, however, give you a ride to the barbecue.” He picked up his keys. “C’mon. We all lived. It’s time to party. Fiesta is making nachos. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
He walked past her and opened the door, holding it, beckoning her, the sun turning his skin golden.
And she couldn’t stop herself from following him right out into the light.
4
With one article of clothing, Glo became a new woman.
A woman who fit into her mother’s world of politics, glad-handing, glamour, and power.
Glo barely recognized herself in the mirror, and even if she looked closely, she couldn’t make out the dark circles under her eyes or any remnants of her bruise.
Apparently, her mother had magicians for makeup artists.
Although, they could do little for the red streaking her eyes, despite the Visine she’d added. She was getting better—last night she hadn’t woken in the middle of the night, gasping, the memory of Tate clawing for breath haunting her.
No, she’d simply kept replaying the look on his face as she broke both their hearts.
Maybe, someday in the future, she’d be able to piece hers back together. Get a decent night’s sleep.
Until then, she’d fake it. Paste on a smile and slide into the black Versace gown. And sure, the slit up her thigh felt a little high, the neckline a little low, but she wasn’t herself in so many ways these days, it felt like another layer of pretense.
Her mother, making her over into the woman she needed Gloria Jackson to be.
