Page 119 of Tate
“Maybe it’s because Kobie is the son of the mayor of San Antonio?”
“So politics as usual.” Tate wanted to hit something. “You around for a while?”
“I have training, but I’ll be in town. Why?”
Rags walked into the locker room area, a towel around his hips.
“Throw some sheets on the sofa. I’m on my way.”
Tate closed the phone.
Rags’s gaze was on the ink across his chest. “Surrender is not a Ranger word.”
“No,” Tate said as he got up and tossed his towel in the wire basket. “No, it’s not.”
Last time Glo stared out the window of a hotel room, she had just kissed Tate Marshall. Had started to believe that she might be the special one. That her life was going to change.
The thought brought her up, back to herself, to the current view of San Diego—the pool, the ocean, and the multitudes of high-masted sailboats moored in the harbor—and the chatter around her in the VIP suite of the Hilton Bayfront. To Sloan making arrangements with Nicole about tonight’s event. The private dinner was a warm-up to the big stage event tomorrow night, but it still had her stomach in a knot.
I think Gloria should give a speech.
Yeah sure, Mother, great idea. But here she was, twenty-four hours later, her name on the program.
She’d even tried to appeal to her father, but he’d just sat across the table, giving her a shake of his head.
How did she get in this far? She never really wanted the limelight, not really. Just wanted to be with Kelsey and Dixie. And yes, she’d wanted to be with her mother.
But most of all, she wanted to be with Tate. His absence this week as she attended her mother’s events, clapped, even introduced her—yes, she could see the slow sinking into the mire—and especially in the evenings as she sat in her darkened room wishing he might be on his chair beside the pool, left a widening hole in her.
Please, come with me, Glo.
Oh, she’d hurt him, and she knew it. But she’d made her choice. She’d have to live with it. She glanced at Sloan sitting at the conference table, dressed in a blue oxford, the sleeves rolled up above his forearms work-style as he bent over her stupid speech for tonight. He must have seen her looking at him because he glanced up. Smiled at her.
She smiled back. Clearly, she’d been too hard on Sloan. Sure, he was overly protective of her, and her mother, but that washis job. And, he’d been her groupie before anyone else knew her name.
He seemed to respect her aching heart, too, because he hadn’t tried to kiss her, not once this entire week. As if giving her space.
He went back to his work, and she slipped into one of the anterooms that overlooked the pool. A balcony jutted from their second-story VIP suite they were using as a greenroom. She toed off her heels, picked up her phone, her earbuds, and stepped outside.
The sea salted the air, and the humidity, along with the heat, blanketed the afternoon with a sort of sogginess. Down at the pool, kids splashed. She measured the drop down. Two stories. Not a terrible drop, but nope, probably too far. Still, her entire body longed for the cool water.
Something to wash away the heaviness in her soul.
Where did the woman who used to paint on a tattoo and wear leather onstage go? I miss that girl. Now…you’ve vanished… And what do you want?
Tate was haunting her. She put in her earbuds and queued up her Pandora. Sat on the lounge chair and watched a seagull stalk a plate of food.
The husky blues voice of country singer Benjamin King came through her buds.
We said goodbye on a night like this
Stars shining down, I was waitin’ for a kiss
But you walked away left me standing there alone
Baby I’m a’waiting, won’t you come back home…
It brought to her mind the explosion of their tour bus during a gig in Mercy Falls, Montana. Ben had invited them to his house to regroup and talk to the local police.
