by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan
He turned and hustled up the stairs. But as he left and Ella glanced back over the disaster, she wasn’t sure how anything would be okay in time for Christmas. Someone was clearly targeting her, and she didn’t know why. But more than that, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that all the trouble in her bar had started exactly when Tate Kendrick had rolled into town and crashed back into her life.
She wanted to believe he really was here for her. That he’d tracked her down after nine years because he did miss her. But something in the back of her mind warned her not to be naive. And though she didn’t want to believe his appearance and her break-ins were related, something in her gut couldn’t quite convince herself of that fact.
Chapter 6
They’d made it.
Ella braced her elbows on the desk in her apartment, dropped her head into her hands, and drew in a shaky breath. Every muscle in her body hurt, and she was so exhausted she was afraid she might fall asleep on her feet. But her night was just beginning.
Her employees had all pitched in and come in early to help put the pub back together after the police had wrapped up their investigation. Kelly had run into Asheville to restock the alcohol they’d lost in the damage. Tate had directed the cleanup crew, while Ella had arranged for new tables and chairs to be delivered from the local woodworker who’d originally furnished the bar, and helped Matt shop for food to replace what had spoiled when the freezers were left open.
It was now 4:45 p.m., and they were scheduled to open at five for the dinner crowd. Six hours later than normal, but better than nothing. Christmas Eve was Ella’s busiest night of the year. With the Winter Wonderland Festival happening tonight, Holly would be packed, and if Ella had any hope of getting out of this town in the next few months, she couldn’t sit tonight out.
In the corner, the radio she kept on low pumped out a rock tune she didn’t recognize. Dropping her hands, she leaned back in her chair. She needed a shower, but she didn’t have time. Her gaze drifted to the light snow falling again outside her window. All she really wanted to do was grab a blanket and curl up on her couch for the next ten hours, but she couldn’t because she had responsibilities and bills and people counting on her. Sighing, she glanced toward the front door and told herself to get back out there. But before she could push to her feet, her gaze landed on Kyle’s old leather jacket hanging on a hook by the front door. The one thing of his she’d kept.
A heavy weight pressed against her chest. Today was the day. The anniversary of the accident that had killed him two years before. She’d been so distracted by Tate and the break-ins that she’d let the date totally slip her mind.
Guilt rushed in, followed by a wave of heartache she usually kept locked tight inside. She tried to swallow it down.
You can get through this. Just keep doing what you always do.
But she couldn’t keep doing what she’d always done. Because nothing was the same anymore. And Tate Kendrick was the reason everything was now different. As she stared at Kyle’s jacket and blinked back tears, she realized that, for the first time in forever, she didn’t have to be alone if she didn’t want to be. She had someone to lean on. Someone she could turn to when she needed help. Someone who cared about her and only wanted the same things she want—
The song ended, and the DJ’s voice came on the air. “That was Liam McMillan’s ‘Rage.’ Great song for the holidays, dontcha think, Kristen?”
“Lotta suicides this time of year,” Kristen, the news reporter for the rock station Ella always listened to so she didn’t have to be inundated with Christmas carols, said with a sigh.
The DJ chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a pretty depressing time of year for a lot of people. Wouldn’t be quite so bad if more listeners subscribed to this philosophy, though. Folks, here’s an oldie but goodie. Rock out to ‘Revenge’ from Kendrick while Kristen gets the news ready for you on this snowy Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, I love this song,” Kristen exclaimed, her voice lifting. “There’s nothing better than sticking it to a jilted lover, especially during the holidays.”
Heavy bass pulsed out of the radio, followed by the sound of a twisted electric guitar and Tate’s familiar raspy voice belting out an angry tune Ella hadn’t heard in years.
She’s the poison in my cup.
She’s the reason I’m fucked up.
She’s moved on while I’m alone,
She’s why my heart’s made of stone.
But I won’t dare give in.
I can’t let her win.
I’m too strong to lose.
I’ve got a plan with no excuse.
Revenge.
The sweetest word in my life.
Revenge.
The weapon I’ll use like a knife.
Revenge.
Oh…oh, oh, oh revenge…
The words swirled around Ella while she sat behind her desk, staring at the radio. The song had been popular years ago. She racked her brain, trying to remember when. She’d heard it on the radio the night she drove to Holly. The night she saw Tate with those groupies. She’d been so upset that she’d flipped off the radio, then wiped her eyes so she wouldn’t swerve on the small road. And even now, at least six years later, she couldn’t listen to that one song without associating it with that memory.
But now, as she focused on each and every word, she couldn’t ignore the fact those words had been written for a reason. And knowing Tate and how he wrote from life experiences, coupled with the timing of that song’s release, a place in her chest squeezed tight with the realization it had to be about her.
Her pulse picked up as the wrathful song played out, a thump-thump-thump that turned to a whir in her ears. Pushing away from her desk, she slowly stood, swallowed hard, and turned a circle as she looked around her sparse apartment. Tate’s duffel lay half-open in the corner. The pillows and blankets they’d slept on were still strewn over the carpet in front of the fireplace.
“There’s nothing better than sticking it to a jilted lover, especially during the holidays.”
The DJ’s voice echoed in her head as the song ended. Was that why Tate was really here? To get back at her for hurting him all those years before? Was this all about revenge? She didn’t want to believe that. Couldn’t believe it. Not after the amazing night they’d just spent together. But something in the back of her mind whispered, Sure, it might have been amazing, but he didn’t tell you he loved you. He only said he “missed you.” If he really loved you and wanted the second chance he claimed he wanted, wouldn’t he have said as much?
Her hands shook as she crossed to the door and pulled it open. She needed to talk to him. Needed to reassure herself that she was worrying for nothing.
She moved down to the pub, but he wasn’t there. Stepping past the bar, she headed into the kitchen, but the only people in the room were Matt and Angela and Bobbie, chatting before the night got crazy. They waved to her, and she waved back, but she didn’t have the time or patience to get into a conversation with them, so she turned for the restaurant once more. Just as she reached the bar, Kelly’s voice rang out behind her.
“I think we’re all set, Ella. We’re going to hit that five-o’clock opening like you wanted.”
At the moment, Ella barely cared. She turned to look at her friend. “Have you seen Tate?”
Kelly stepped past her and set a trio of bottles on the bar. “Not in the last ten minutes. Maybe he went upstairs.”
Ella had just been upstairs, and he wasn’t there. She bit her lip and tried to figure out where he’d gone. Even though he’d brought his stuff down to her apartment earlier, it was possible he’d forgotten something and gone up to the third floor to get it.
“Thanks, Kelly.” She turned for the stairs.
“Hey,” Kelly called after her. “We’re about to open.”
“I know. I’ll be right down to help. Promise.”
Ella skipped steps to get to the third floor quickly. By the time she rounded the last turn, her
lungs burned and her legs ached, but she ignored both and focused on the far end of the corridor, which opened to a loft area that had once been used as storage. The lights in the stairwell were off, and as the sun had already set, the third floor was already dark.
She didn’t particularly like coming up here. The upper floor was run-down and musty. Shivering in her thin sweater, she breathed deeply and told herself—again—that in a minute she’d laugh at how stupid she was being. In a minute, Tate would reassure her that everything was okay.
“No,” Tate’s voice drifted back to her. “She doesn’t know.”
Ella couldn’t see him, but she quickly realized he was on the phone and slowed her steps.
“She’s too busy with the bar to notice,” he said.
Her spine tingled as she stopped at the end of the hall, where it opened to the loft, and listened. She wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but something in her gut said not to let him know she was listening. Tipping her head just enough so she could see around the corner, she spotted Tate. He was dressed in loose jeans and a long-sleeved, white Kendrick T-shirt, facing the window, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“If I keep playing it the way I have been,” he said into the phone, “everything will go according to plan. No, you were right. This was easier than I expected. I told her I was only passing through and was wondering what she’d done with her life. By the time she figures out that was a lie, it’ll be too late.”
He paused, then laughed. “Right. What we want. I know it was your idea. It was a great idea. There. I said it.”
He listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone, then smiled wider. “Don’t let it go to your head. Look, I gotta go before someone realizes I’m missing. I’ll call you later to let you know how it’s going.” He hesitated again. “Right. I know that. Don’t worry, I’m not stupid. Love you too, sweetheart. Bye.”
Sweetheart…
He’d been talking to a woman.
“She’s too busy with the bar to notice…”
They’d been talking about her.
“By the time she figures out it was a lie, it’ll be too late…”
He’d lied to her. His reason for being in Holly wasn’t what he’d said. Which meant he was here for something completely different.
“There’s nothing better than sticking it to a jilted lover, especially during the holidays.”
Ella stepped around the corner and tried to hold herself together, she really did, but nine years of heartache and misery and disappointment bubbled up and over before she could stop any of it. “What are you really doing in Holly, Tate?”
* * *
“Ella.” Tate swiveled at the sound of Ella’s voice and quickly shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I know you didn’t.” She stepped farther into the room, and as soon as the glow from the streetlights swept over her hardened features and narrowed eyes, he knew something was wrong.
“What is it?” He moved toward her. “What’s happened?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me.” She stepped back before he could touch her. “What are you trying to do to my pub?”
He wanted to reach for her again, but something in her expression warned him not to. “I don’t understand.”
“Why are you trying to ruin my business?”
Shock rippled through him, followed by a horrific understanding. “You think I’m the one responsible for what happened downstairs?”
She held up her hand and ticked off her fingers. “The power outage, last night’s vandalism… You were here for both. You weren’t with me when they happened. And nothing like this has happened at Yuletide Spirits before. It all started when you came to town.”
He could barely believe what he was hearing. “Ella, I was in the cellar with you when the power went out.”
“No, you were in the cellar with me after the power went out. How do I know you didn’t cut that line, then hear me down in the cellar and come down to make me think otherwise?”
“Oh my…” he muttered, unable to believe they were even having this conversation. He took a careful step away so he didn’t totally lose it and try to shake some sense into her. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know!” She threw her arms out wide. “Revenge, maybe? I heard that song you wrote after we broke up nine years ago.”
He was having trouble following her. Revenge… Why the hell would she think…?
Oh shit. That song.
“Ella.” He moved toward her quickly and reached for her hand. “I didn’t write that song. Tommy in the band wrote it for—”
She jerked her hand away and stepped back again. “And then I come up here and hear you on the phone talking to…whoever she was…about your little plan. Well, I’m not going to let you do it.”
Crap. She’d heard at least part of his conversation. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Heat rushed to his cheeks, because the explanation was going to sound totally lame. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think.”
She turned for the hall, and panic condensed in his chest when he realized he was about to lose her if he didn’t explain. He caught up with her and reached for her arm, twisting her back to face him. “Hold on. I wasn’t talking to another woman. I was talking to a twelve-year-old girl.”
She yanked her arm from his hold. “A twelve-year-old? Even better.”
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “Whoa. Is that seriously what you think of me?”
“I think my life was a whole lot easier before you came back into it.”
Holy shit. She wanted him to leave. Stepping back again, he clenched his jaw and perched his hands on his hips. “So that’s it. You don’t even want to hear what I have to say.”
“Will it fix my bar?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. She seriously thought he was behind the trouble she’d been having lately.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, turning away once more. “I’ll leave your stuff in the hallway downstairs. You can pick it up on your way out.”
She disappeared down the corridor without another word. And as Tate listened to her footsteps fade on the stairs, he drew a slow breath and tried to tell himself this was for the best. He’d been crazy to think they could pick up where they’d left off so easily. And the fact she’d jumped to conclusions and hadn’t even listened to his side told him loud and clear that she really didn’t want him in her life.
A heavy, familiar weight pressed down on his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He didn’t need this again. Didn’t need to be kicked in the teeth by her once more and spend the next two years in a funk because he couldn’t have her. She wanted him gone? Fine, he was gone. After all, he had a gig in Miami and as many women as he wanted, all waiting at his hotel.
The only problem was, he didn’t want them. He wanted Ella. Only now he was never going to have her.
Chapter 7
Ella made it to her apartment just as the flood of tears spilled over her lashes.
He hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t explained why he was talking about her on that phone. He’d just stood there looking guilty and dazed.
She knew she’d shocked him. Knew she’d jumped to way too many conclusions. But he hadn’t argued against them. Was he responsible for the break-ins at the bar? She still wasn’t sure. But the fact he’d let her go so quickly told her it was better that he left now, before she got even more attached. Even if he wasn’t somehow involved, he’d leave soon enough. And then she’d be right back where she was now.
Alone.
Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor in a fit of tears. The day, the week, her life… It was all too much. This was why she kept people at a distance. Because she hated this feeling. This icky pressure in the center of her chest that came from opening up her heart to someone else.
“That was Kendrick’s ‘Spitfire,’”
the DJ said from the radio Ella had left on. “They’re playing Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve in New York next week, and to get you in the mood, we’re showcasing some of Kendrick’s greatest hits through the next hour.”
“I love the way their music just comes from the soul,” Kristen the reporter interjected.
“It sure does,” the DJ said. “While the last track was playing, I went back through the archives and found this interview Donna Michaels from Billboard’s Top 100 did with Kendrick just a few months ago. It totally takes that point home. Take a listen.”
The recording crackled, and Donna Michaels laughed. “So let me get this straight. ‘Everything,’ the first hit single from your Nowhere album, is about the one who got away?”
“Well, now you’re putting the man on the spot, Donna,” a band member said.
“We’ll come back to Tate later,” Donna answered quickly. “Tommy Howell. Tell me about this song Tate wrote.”
“I don’t know if I should,” Tommy, Kendrick’s bass player, said warily. “I might not be alive by the time this interview airs if I do.”
“Damn right,” Tate muttered.
“It’s pathetic, really,” another band member cut in. “Dude’s like a lost puppy dog. It was forever ago, but he still holds a candle for this chick. We’ve thought about cutting him loose, but his pipes are just too damn valuable at the moment. Otherwise, trust me, we’d be kicking his ass to the curb.”
A grunt echoed through the radio, then Donna Michaels said, “For those of you listening, that was a shoe that just sailed across the room and nailed drummer Jace Malone in the head.”
The band laughed.
“So seriously,” Michaels said, her tone sobering. “Tell me about this track. The sound is absolutely spine tingling. It starts out slow and almost sad, and the listener can literally feel the longing from the music. Then, by the end, it’s fast and uplifting, and there’s this feeling of hope. Where does that come from?”