by Miles, Ava
Rye spent the afternoon in Clayton’s suite, going over the information that had been gathered by Georgia, Clayton, and the investigator, only pausing once to talk to his daddy about Tammy and the kids. Hampton had actually cried, which had only made Rye feel more helpless. None of them had realized what a monster Sterling was.
When the investigator confirmed that Tory had indeed made him a birthday cake at the Forum, Rye downed two shots of bourbon, hoping it would ease the pain. It didn’t prove she hadn’t given Luke the information, but at least she’d been telling the truth about something.
No one had found a connection between the lighting tech and the tabloid that had reported the story, and the investigator said it would take time. When he suggested interviewing Tory, Rye roundly refused. She might have been the leak, but he couldn’t bear to have her interrogated.
He just wanted her out of his life.
Clayton arranged for Tory to have another room like he’d asked, and when it came time to change before his birthday party, Rye asked Clayton to get his clothes for him. He didn’t want to run into Tory if she hadn’t finished packing.
He trudged up to his family’s suite for dinner before the main event. He didn’t want to hurt them by telling them Tory might have been behind the leak, so when they asked about her, he told them she wasn’t feeling well. He could tell no one believed him.
Rory glared at him over room service, and everyone’s nerves were strained—even his always sunny niece looked tense. When he rose to leave for a quick meeting about the information leak, no one pressed to attend his party later that night. None of them was in a partying mood.
When he caught sight of himself in the mirror in the hallway beside the suite of his lawyer, long–time friend, and sometimes songwriter, John Parker McGuiness, he sighed. Christ, he looked like ass, like he’d spent the night puking up drink like a college student, and there was a crease in his forehead from too much tension. Good thing he’d been promised there would be no pictures tonight.
He knocked on the door and tapped his fingers on the doorframe as he waited for his friend to answer. As soon as it opened, he swept through it and headed straight for the bar.
“About time you arrived, J.P.” he growled as he poured himself another drink, hoping it would numb his pain.
Tory had somehow betrayed him, and he wanted to tear the whole room apart, the whole world.
“It’s good to see you too, Rye,” J.P. settled himself on the couch and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I know it’s hit you and your family hard.”
Leave it to J.P. to make a comment like that. He’d always been the softy of their Vandy trio.
“I’ve been hard at work since Georgia called me this morning,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know that I was able to locate the lighting tech.”
“How?” he asked.
“I called his daughter and said we wanted to pay him for information.”
Rye downed his bourbon, still standing in front of the bar. Yeah, the investigator wouldn’t have that kind of power.
“And?” he said.
“He called me back, and after a little game of sticks and carrots, he confessed that though he tried, he never found enough information about you to share with his old employer. Said Tory was tight–lipped and one of the sweetest people he’d ever met.”
Rye had to grab hold of the bar. She hadn’t done it. The relief was intense. After hours of not being able to take in a full dose of air, he gulped a couple deep breaths. And then a couple more.
“He said he felt bad about it all and wanted me to pass his regrets along to her,” J.P. continued. “Seems he’d gotten in deep with some gambling debts and was trying to dig his way out.”
Rye sank onto the couch beside him. “Jesus,” he said as the relief spread through him from top to toe, making him light–headed.
“No need to take the Lord’s name in vain,” J.P. said. “I also looked into the local bankers who helped transfer the money to Sterling’s private account. The leak was definitely not from their end. I haven’t dealt with your bank yet, but I doubt they’re involved.”
His body suddenly as heavy as lead, Rye sank back into the cushions. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “Any of it.” And his mind spun back to Tory.
All his years of mistrust, of being made to feel wanting by his mother, of being used by the women in his life had risen up inside him, and he’d eviscerated her.
“I know this has cut you deep, but you need to keep your head here,” J.P. said. “We’ve got a major issue, Rye. But I have to say that I’m glad it’s not your cook—for your sake. Clayton told me he’s never seen you like this with a woman.”
He lowered his head into his hands. “I hurt her, J.P. When I thought she’d done this, I was so angry…”
And a little boy had stepped up to defend her. Jesus, he was ashamed of that.
His friend rested his hand on his shoulder for a moment, as much male bonding as either of them would allow. “That’s natural, and you’ll just have to make amends. Look, we need to get you to the party now, or Clayton will have my head.”
Going to a party was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to find Tory, and he dug out his phone and called her. It went straight to voicemail, and he left her a brief message to call him.
“Let’s get this over with then and hope to hell Clayton managed to keep the press out.”
“You can count on him,” J.P. said.
Yeah, he could. They might lock horns every once in a while, but he knew Clayton had his back.
“Rye, I’ve also looked at your sister’s divorce like you asked to make sure your daddy handled everything appropriately. There won’t be a problem.”
Rye’s hands clenched into fists. “Well, there’s gonna be. I think he hit her some.” He was still enraged about it.
J.P. turned from his easy–going friend to the ruthless lawyer Rye knew him to be in about a second. “No man should hit a woman.”
“No,” Rye growled. “I want his blood.”
“You’ll need to talk to your sister and see what she wants to do. Domestic abuse can be hard to prove, and it could get dirty quick. Rye, you can’t let this be about you. It has to be about her and the kids.”
The control he’d been trying to keep a leash on all day finally snapped. “Like I don’t fucking know that? They’re moving in with me, aren’t they?”
J.P. cleared his throat. “It’s a big step. You do realize you’ll have to make some changes to your current lifestyle, right?”
“I do.”
As they walked to the elevator, all he could think about was finding Tory and saying he was sorry, but this time, he didn’t think she’d listen. He might have lost her good opinion forever.
“Come on, Rye,” J.P. said, pulling him along. “Man, don’t you ever get tired of wearing tight jeans?”
His friend’s playful sneer snapped him out of his misery a moment. “Christ, I’m glad you’re here.”
J.P. gave his back a good pounding. “Happy Birthday, Rye.”
If only.
All you smokin’ hot ladies,
Let me tell ya something about myself,
I’m not that kind of guy,
The one to put stars in your eyes.
I’m not into settlin’ down,
So please don’t give me that frown,
Oh baby, baby, baby.
So kick up your feet,
Have a longneck with me.
Let me give you what you need.
But it’s not gonna last.
I’m not that kind of a man.
So don’t give me the look.
It’s as old as the good ol’ book.
For the long haul, I just can’t give ya what you need.
So don’t expect too much of me.
Rye Crenshaw’s Number One Hit, “Man of Low Expectations”
Chapter 22
Rye awoke with a punishing hangover. No one had been
able to find Tory last night, and he’d given up calling her phone. This morning, Clayton had persuaded the hotel staff to let him accompany them to her room after she didn’t answer the door. The bed hadn’t been slept in. All her clothes were gone from his suite and the bus, and the fear that she might have left without a word left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The desolation was too much, and it took serious effort to clean up and go to his family’s suite to spend time with them since they were leaving today. He ran a hand through his damp hair as he walked down the hallway, and then knocked on the door.
His heart sputtered when Tory opened it. Her green shirt brought out the color in her eyes, but he noticed there were dark circles around them.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in total shock. She hadn’t left.
“Hello, Rye,” she said calmly. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Good. I wanted to talk to you too.”
“Yes, I heard your voicemail, but I figured I’d rather have this conversation in person.” And she took a deep breath.
“Where is everyone?” he asked as she stepped back to let him in, wondering why she wasn’t taking a swing at him.
“They’ll be back in a few hours.” She sat down in a chair and reached for a water bottle with a shaking hand.
Rye stayed where he was, fiddling with his belt loop. He braced himself for the ass–kicking he deserved. “I thought you’d left.”
She turned the water bottle over in her hands. “The thought did cross my mind.”
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
“Amelia Ann let me stay with her. I needed…some time.”
Yeah, he’d never thought to check here, not after he’d forbidden her from seeing his family. Jesus, the very thought of his ugly words made him ill. “Tory, I owe you an apology, and there just aren’t enough ways to say it. Luke said you didn’t do anything and—”
“I’m glad,” she exhaled forcibly. “I was afraid…Well, no matter now. I didn’t stay behind to talk about that. I stayed to talk about your family. I…decided there was something you need to hear, and that I might be the only person willing to say it.”
Dread swept across his belly, and he waited in silence.
“Rye, Tammy, Rory, and Annabelle are moving in with you shortly. Do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?”
This is what she wanted to talk about? “Look, it’ll be fine. What I really want to talk about is us… I need you to understand how sorry I am.”
She held her hands out. “Well, I don’t. There’s nothing left to say. You can’t trust me. Ever. And the truth is you warned me about that a long time ago. I’m leaving today, but you have some very fragile people coming into your life, and I’m worried about them. Do you understand that you can’t have any more crazy parties at your house? Can’t have women running in and out of hot tubs naked? Rye, I suspect Tammy has been physically abused. And her husband certainly verbally abused her.”
His eyes shot to hers, and the anger he felt over what had happened to his sister coursed through him again. “I know that, dammit.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if composing herself. “I don’t know about the kids, but you’ll have to find out. They’re children, Rye. And whatever happened, they need a safe, loving family.” She wiped away a stray tear. “The man I thought I met in Meade can give them that, but he needs to show up now. If he doesn’t, I’m afraid you’re all going to get hurt even more.”
Like he’d hurt her.
“Rye, your family needs you to be stable, dependable. Right now, you’re caught between the man you used to be and the man you started becoming in Meade. The Rye Crenshaw I first met would never have invited his family to live with him.”
Rye felt like Memphis’ muggy haze had descended upon him. “But he would have accused you of selling him out.”
“Yes,” she said and walked toward him. “Don’t you see? You’re somewhere in between Rye Hollins and Rye Crenshaw. And I’m afraid that if you don’t admit that, you’ll never be happy or able to truly trust and give to the people around you.”
Her words were making his heart crack open like an old sidewalk. “How can I make things right between us? Make up for what I’ve done?”
“You can’t. That kind of mistrust isn’t something I’m able to forget. Perhaps if it had only happened once, but…” She pressed her lips together.
He hung his head in silence, wishing he could just yank her into his arms and close the gap between them, but he knew that was impossible. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for us, Tory.”
“I don’t want your gratitude, Rye. I want you to stop selling yourself short. You’re more than some bad–boy country singer. The problem is, you’re beginning to realize it, but you don’t know what to do about it yet.”
Her insights were too sharp, and they cut him into ribbons. Didn’t he already know he’d failed her? “Please don’t say anymore.”
“I’ve said what I had to say, so I’ll be going now.” She looked at her watch. “My plane leaves soon.”
His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. He realized she’d never told him her flight time. God, there was so much she hadn’t told him. About how much money she still owed. About what she was planning on doing when she left him. He pressed his hands to his temples. Christ, he didn’t need a hangover making him fumble, not at a time like this.
“I wish you and your family well, Rye.”
“You’re wishing me well?” His heart pounded in time with his head.
“Yes, of course I am. Isn’t that what you usually say when things reach their natural end?” She picked up her purse.
Her calm demeanor made him doubt everything they’d shared. Deep down, he had been sure that she loved him—that they maybe loved each other—but the way she was acting…
She picked up her suitcase, and he automatically reached for it, the desire to stop her and help her dueling inside him.
“No, I’ve got it.”
Her brush–off sent him into a panic. “Come to Padre Island with me, Tory. Let me make this up to you. Don’t just leave like this. I…care about you.”
“I can’t. This time you hurt me too much.” She ran her eyes over his face as if to memorize what she saw there. “You asked me to sing for you once, and since I didn’t get a chance to…Happy birthday to you,” she sang softly, and wasn’t it a bitter pill that her voice was beautiful, just like he’d guessed it would be. Her voice broke when it crested over his name, but she finished the song, her eyes shining with tears.
It had never happened to him before, but he was sure his lip trembled.
“Goodbye, Rye.”
When the door closed behind her, he stared at it for a long moment before finally slamming his fist into it.
When he headed back to his suite and entered the sitting room, a birthday cake was waiting for him there. He approached it wearily, the three layers of white frosting giving him pause. Though elegantly decorated, it seemed almost too simple to be from one of the gourmet bakeries in Memphis. And then he spotted the cake’s centerpiece—a plastic Elvis figure in a white jump suit.
His breath rushed out, and he knew in that moment it was the cake Tory had baked for him as his surprise.
There was a cake knife and server, and a plate beside it. As he drew closer, he stumbled. It smelled like her, and he knew it would taste like her too.
There was no fighting the temptation of eating the final thing she’d cooked for him. It lured him like a siren. He forked a morsel, not bothering to cut a piece. The frosting hit his mouth first and then the spongy, white cake knocked his taste buds out of the ballpark. He grabbed a napkin and gagged, unable to force it down. It tasted like it was mixed with the hemlock of broken promises and bruised hearts. As Tory’s face swam in his mind, he put a hand out and lowered himself slowly into a nearby chair, sick beyond record.
She was truly gone.
Why did he fea
r he’d never be the same?
***
The plane ride was terrible. All Tory could think about was Rye’s betrayal. Well, what had she been expecting? This was real life—and fairy tales didn’t happen to girls like her. Beastly country singers didn’t suddenly turn into nice guys. Cooks and servant girls didn’t become princesses.
Hadn’t she been alone for a while now? You’d think she would have learned from it.
Then she thought of Rory, how he’d told her she wasn’t alone anymore, that he would be her family, and she had to reach for a tissue to dab away her tears.
By the time Tory made it home via the Super Shuttle—she’d told Myra not to pick her up—her travel Kleenex had run out. She hauled her suitcase into the empty house, and wrinkled her nose at the stuffy smell. Sighing, she carted her baggage to her bedroom.
After taking a shower, she poured herself a glass of wine and settled onto the couch. When she heard the knock on the door, she trudged over to answer it on wooden legs. Myra’s smile fell when she opened it.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured and opened her arms.
Tory pressed her face into the other woman’s shoulder and cried. Myra held her tight and led her inside after a few minutes.
“Okay, now, come on and tell me,” she said, patting the place on the couch beside her.
Tory told her everything, not caring about confidentiality anymore. Myra’s eyes shone bright with tears a couple of times, but she didn’t let herself cry. She rubbed her hand up and down Tory’s arm as if to warm her.
“So, he’s a troubled and confused man, and he hurt you terribly,” she murmured.
Tory leaned against her. “Yes, and I knew it—except there was more to him, Myra. So much more. And then he…”
Myra made a tsking noise with her tongue. “We’ll have to hope and pray he comes around then—for himself and for his family. And maybe even for you.”
“No, not when everything we shared couldn’t balance his inability to trust.”
Myra grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Tory, something arrived in the mail a few days ago. I decided to wait to tell you because I knew you were coming home soon. Now seems like the perfect time.” The thick manila envelope she drew out of her purse made Tory’s heart race.