“Damn, girl. You’ve always made the best scrambled eggs.” I wiped my mouth on a napkin and sat back in my chair, more at ease than I remembered feeling in years.
“Rocky loves them, too,” she said, grabbing my plate. “That boy eats like a horse.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. I’d experienced his bottomless-pit firsthand on our beach day together. “He’s a great kid. You’ve done a good job with him.”
Slade’s eyes liquefied. She turned to rinse the plates, and I watched, helpless, as she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Thank you,” she said, voice strained. “It’s hard. I never know if I’m doing things right. I’m always second guessing myself, wondering if I’m doing more harm than good.”
Goddamn. I sat, speechless, battling rage and pointless regret. Had I stayed, Slade and I would most likely be raising our own children together. Man and wife. Mother and father. A family. Like we were supposed to be.
Instead, I’d left her to fend for herself—a pure, white bunny dropped dead center into a wolf’s den. Hardest part? She’d thrived.
Without me.
I wanted to be angry at her for moving on, despite the fact that I’d left her no choice. Anger had become as much a crutch as it had been a weapon. I couldn’t bring that into Slade’s home. So I sucked up my wounded ego and said, “For what it’s worth. I’m proud of you.”
No response. Couldn’t blame her.
I offered to help with dishes. She turned me down. So I watched her move about, graceful and gorgeous, offering me little more than an occasional thoughtful glance.
“Can I ask you something?” she finally asked, crossing her arms, cocking her head to the side.
I straightened in my chair, eager for any interaction. “Anything.”
“Are you okay? I mean, you haven’t talked about your mom. I know how much it hurts to lose a parent. My mom’s death was an accident, but your mom...” Slade winced, then shook her head in apparent disbelief. “No way that isn’t twisting you up inside.”
As much as I loved hearing the genuine concern in her voice, I wasn’t ready to discuss my mother’s death with anyone. “Sure. I’m okay.”
Slade quirked her brow, letting me know she wasn’t falling for my shit.
Yeah. That was my cue to leave. “Listen. I should head out. I need to spend some time with Pops.” I retrieved two keys from my pocket and set them on the kitchen table before getting up. “Use these. Promise me.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
“I have to go,” I said, forcing my legs to move.
“Okay,” she mumbled, turning around to busy herself at the sink, as if my leaving meant nothing. I had to mean something.
I stared, disbelieving for a moment, before making my exit.
Turn around, babylove. Turn around.
She didn’t. I left. Wounded ego? Fuck that shit. Mine had just been decimated.
DAD STOOD, IN ALL HIS REGAL GLORY, staring out the window of his home office, no doubt admiring the view. He hadn’t heard me come in.
Phone to his ear, he said, “That property is not for sale. Even if it were, Styles, I wouldn’t sell to your client. Sorry. No. Keeping my hands clean on this one.” Dad released a loud sigh and ran a hand over the top of his head. “They are not an organization I want to be tied to.”
He must have caught my reflection in the window. He whipped around and gestured for me to sit. “Styles. That’s low, even for you. A negotiator? No. There’s nothing to negotiate. Is that a threat? This conversation is over.”
Dad ended the call. Rolled his shoulders. Pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Styles still ruffling your feathers?” I asked, admiring his physique. Had to admit … the man looked damn good for his age. Lean. Fit. Few wrinkles, but not enough to give away his age.
“Fucker keeps pushing me to sell our mountain acreage. Thinks he can twist my arm.”
“You haven’t been up there in years. Why not sell?”
“Styles sounded desperate.” He blew a long breath, cheeks puffed, and combed fingers through his hair. “His clients are shady, at best. I’m not lying in bed with criminals.”
My stomach twisted at the mention of criminals. “Who are they?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Dad shook his head. “How ya holding up, son? Ready to discuss my offer?”
The Rossi Corporation. Built from the ground up by my father. Real estate, hospitality, media, publishing, advertising, restaurants, golf. Carlos Rossi had carved himself a mini-empire in our little corner of the Pacific Northwest. It would be mine someday. Dad was eager for me to take some of the weight off his shoulders.
“You and I have some shit to hash before we talk business.” I made myself comfortable on the leather wingback next to his bookshelf.
“Sure, T. What’s up?” Dad asked, tucking into the chair behind his desk.
“It’s about Slade,” I said, ice filling my veins.
His face paled. “You’ve seen her?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Dad cleared his throat, straightened his back, and poured himself a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue.
“Why did you lie? Why’d you keep me from contacting her?”
He didn’t hesitate. “She was no good for you, son.”
“That was never your choice to make.”
“Sure it was. Your mother and I weren’t going to sit back and watch our only child throw his life away over some white trash waitress.”
I could feel my monster clawing to make an appearance. “Pops. Don’t talk about her like that.”
Dad studied my face briefly before dropping his gaze to his drink. “You had a future. She didn’t.”
“Did you know she had a scholarship, too? That girl worked her ass off in school. Earned a free ride through smarts and sheer determination, not because she could throw a football.”
Without a lick of regard, he replied, “Look where that got her. Single mom. Working at the same diner as her whore of a mother. Leaving her was the best move you ever made. Your mother and I tolerated your friendship, because we knew it was a passing fancy. People grow up, T, become a product of their environment. There was no hope for her, but you—”
I needed to hit something. Or better yet, someone. “Slade owns that damn restaurant and the land it sits on. Kept it running for her mother, doesn’t owe a dime on the mortgage. It’s hers, and she’s managed to deflect your attacks and attempts at getting your greedy fingers on her property. Pretty damn successful for a twenty-four-year-old single mom. That white trash girl of mine has more gumption, more class, than everyone in this fucked-up family put together.”
Dad slammed his glass down and pushed to his feet. “Watch your tongue, Tango.”
I rose to full height, bringing me a head taller than my father. “I’m not a boy anymore, and I’m not your punching bag. We’re not gonna duke it out like we used to.”
My parents had been old-school disciplinarians. Spare the rod, spoil the child. When I was old enough, rather than bend me over his knee, Dad would strap a pair of boxing gloves on my small hands. It had always ended with me getting a stern lecture before he’d knock me on my ass, but along the way, I’d learned to love boxing. It wasn’t until my late teens that I realized it was Dad’s way of bonding with his only son.
“I love you, Dad, but I’m only going to say this once. I loved Slade with everything I had in me. You will never speak ill of her again. If you see her on the street, you’ll damn well show her the respect she deserves.”
“Or what?” he asked, face turning a menacing shade of red. “You threatening me now?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. You, better than anyone, know what I’m capable of.”
Dad’s glass hit the wall across the room and shattered. He slumped back into his chair, elbows to his desk, head resting in his palms. “What happened to you?”
“I’m a product of my environment, like you said.” I stalked closer, presse
d my palms on the smooth wood, and leaned toward him. “I fucked up six years ago, in too many ways to count. Been fucking up ever since. It’s time for me to make it right.”
“Make what right? You’ve got a promising career ahead of you. That’s what you should focus on. Not your childhood sweetheart, who, as you just pointed out, has been getting along fine without you.”
“I cheated on her.” I had never told my parents why I’d left so abruptly. They had been so thrilled that I’d chosen New York over Texas they hadn’t given my last minute change of heart much consideration.
Dad loosened his tie, shuffled papers, then blinked up at me.
“That’s why I left. And that, Pops, is why I didn’t come back. Like father, like fucking son. You must be proud.”
A soft knock broke the thick tension.
“Yeah!” Dad shouted.
The door opened, and Kaylee walked through wearing a short little number that showed entirely too much skin. Her eyes widened at the sight of me. “Oh, Tango. I’m sorry to interrupt.” She glanced at Dad. “Mr. Rossi, I brought the swatches you requested.”
Dad pushed back to his feet, cleared his throat, and straightened the hem of his shirt. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was nervous. “Enough with the misters, okay Kaylee? Just Carlos.”
“Sure,” she said, studying her feet.
Dad cleared his throat again, and loosened his tie. “Tango, can we continue this conversation later?”
“Yeah.” I looked at my father, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Kaylee. “Sure, Pops. Later.” I stormed out and headed for my bedroom.
Kaylee caught my arm before I made it to the stairs. “I, um … I want to apologize for the other day. You know, at The Stop.”
“Slade is the one you owe an apology to,” I said without hesitation.
She crinkled her nose. A new nose, if I wasn’t mistaken. “Are you two a thing again?”
Protective fury churned through me. I grabbed her shoulders and squeezed hard enough to make my point. “Slade and I will always be a thing. You’ll be wise to remember that. You fuck with her, you’re fucking with me. I put up with your shit in high school because I had to, for Mom. I’m not that guy anymore.”
My intention was to scare her. Sure, it was a shitty move. Problem was, it only seemed to turn her on.
“Who are you now?” she stared at my mouth and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
This girl had tried to wedge herself between Slade and me for as long as I could remember. Apparently, she had no intention of relenting. A habit she’d learned from my mother, no doubt.
Without offering a response, I dropped my hands, took the stairs two by two, and kicked the bedroom door shut behind me. I fell back on my bed and stared at the vaulted ceiling. Hard as I tried to wrestle away thoughts of Mom, memories bombarded me.
Tango. I know it hurts. It’s just a bruise. Get up. You don’t quit. You never quit.
What do you mean they didn’t put you on Varsity? No, you aren’t quitting football. You get back in that gym, and you train harder. Rossis are not quitters.
You don’t stop until you’re irreplaceable.
Rossis don’t quit.
Mom had quit.
I hated her for it.
Truth was, Mom and I had been estranged from the moment I’d told her I would choose Slade over my family if they forced my hand. That was the same day I had threatened to stop dancing. It was also the day I had decided to buy Slade a ring and make her mine forever. I still didn’t know what had upset Mom more, hearing I might never perform for her again, or realizing I loved Slade more than anything or anyone.
I would never know.
I was okay with that.
“Are you okay?” Maurice asked.
I studied the weathered hand resting atop mine. Blue veins pulsed beneath graying, wrinkled skin. I detected a tremble, but it didn’t stop those spindly fingers from holding me tight. “Please. Sit for a minute.”
I sighed and looked around the dining room. The Truck Stop was at capacity, but my waitresses, Margie and Kim, had everything under control. They always did. I had the best employees. So good, in fact, I never had to work the floor if I didn’t want to.
Maurice winked at me and gestured to the seat. “Do an old man a favor, will ya?”
How could I say no to him? “Okay, but only if you buy me a cup of coffee,” I said, dropping my butt into the chair opposite his.
It wasn’t the first time Maurice had invited me to join him. I enjoyed our visits. The man was our oldest and most loyal patron. I was pretty sure he’d been coming to The Stop long before my mother had bought the place.
“How are you today?” I asked. He looked chipper for a man nearing eighty.
“I couldn’t be better. The sun is shining, my ticker still works, and I’m enjoying a cup of coffee with the most beautiful girl in town.”
“You’re too sweet.” I tilted my head and batted my lashes. It always made him laugh when I did that.
His grin faded too quickly. “You seem different today. Your eyes are sad. You haven’t had sad eyes for a very long time.”
“What do you mean, Maurice?”
“I’ve known you longer than anyone in town. Watched you grow up. Watched you take care of your mother.” His eyes glazed and puddled. “I was there when a certain boy broke you, and I watched you fake a smile every day for a very long time. It was only after Rocky came along that your joy seemed genuine again.”
My tongue failed when I tried to respond. He was right. I’d been a walking corpse for months after Tango had left. Rocky had given me a reason to go on. He’d become my sole focus, and it was impossible to be sad around that beautiful boy.
My eyes burned with the threat of tears. Memory lane was a bitter bitch, and I’d walked its beaten path too many times since Tango’s mother had died.
Maurice rested his forearms on the table and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Secrets are a terrible thing. They’ll rot you from the inside, and by the time they work their way out, the damage that’s been done is irreparable.” His voice quivered and broke. He squeezed his eyes shut.
I fought off a terrible shiver. What was he trying to say? I’d never seen him so somber. I reached over the table and squeezed his hand.
“I lived without the love of my life for fifty years, because I wasn’t man enough to tell the truth. I was weak. That lie cost me a family. I thought I was protecting them, but they suffered, and now, I’m an old man, bent and deformed under the weight of too much regret.”
“What about Elizabeth?” I asked, half afraid of the answer. Maurice’s wife had died a few years ago. He had never brought her to the diner, despite the fact that they lived a short distance away, sharing a property line with The Stop. I could see his house from the west window, a large Tudor-style home overlooking the lake from atop a hill. He talked about his wife every day—his sons and grandchildren, too. They’d been married for as long as I’d known him. I’d always believed she was the love of his life.
“My dear Beth was an angel, and I couldn’t have asked for a better companion.” He pulled his hand from mine and covered his face. His shoulders bobbed, and he drew two deep breaths.
When he looked at me again, the pain he wore cut my heart wide open.
“You can love more than one person in your lifetime. Very few of us are lucky enough to experience soul-changing, undeniably fated love. I had it and walked away from it. You had it, and it slipped through your fingers. If ever any two people were meant to be together, it’s you and that Rossi boy. I’ve sat in this very same booth, every morning, watching your story unfold. I know you love him, I know what you did for him, and I know you think he won’t be able to live with the truth.”
I couldn’t believe what Maurice was saying. He couldn’t possibly know what I did for Tango. My body flushed with heat. “What do you mean, you know what I did for him?”
“I pay attention,” he whispered, and the hard set of hi
s face, the knowing in his light blue eyes, assured me he was not bluffing.
A high-pitched scream, followed by laughter, drew my focus outside. A group of kids were unloading their car, no doubt headed down the trail toward the swimming area. I owned the property directly above the water’s edge, but not the beach itself. However, the Truck Stop parking lot was the only way to access the foot-worn trail that led down the short cliff to the secluded swimming hole. I didn’t mind that people used my lot. It brought a steady trail of summertime customers.
A man stood next to the kid’s car, cigarette in hand, leaning against one of the guard rails. His dark T-shirt and black leather vest revealed skinny, tatted arms. He hid behind dark glasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. My stomach soured.
The man flicked the cigarette butt as if he were aiming for me and turned to get on his motorcycle. My heart exploded in my chest. The back of his vest read Satan’s Slayers.
Suddenly I was falling through a dark tunnel, shadow and light passing by in a nauseating whirl. From somewhere far away, I heard laughter. Addison’s crazed cackle. Then Rocky. Then horrible cries, begging for mercy.
Kill me. Please. Make it go away. It hurts so bad. Make it stop. If you love me, you’ll make it stop.
“Stop. Stop pushing. I got her. What happened?” someone shouted above me.
An arm curved around my shoulders, another under my knees. I tried opening my eyes, but my face was smashed against soft cotton.
Charlie’s voice sounded far away. “Bring her in here, T.”
I jerked my head up and bumped into a hard chin.
“Ouch, shit,” Tango grunted.
“Hey, she’s awake.” Charlie patted my shoulder.
Tango lowered himself onto the worn couch that decorated my office and held me tight in his lap, stroking my arm. “You scared the shit out of me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the top of my head.
I put my hand on his chest with the intention of pushing myself away, but he was hard and electric beneath my fingertips, and I lingered a moment before deciding to stay put.
Truck Stop Tango Page 6