by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan
“It comes from the soul.” Tate said from the radio, filling Ella’s apartment until she lifted her head. “Every song I or the guys write comes from a place deep inside.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Tate’s band mates muttered in agreement.
“This particular song’s just something that’s been floating around inside me for a long time,” Tate went on. “Is she the one who got away? Yeah. She is. But it’s because she got away that I—that we,” he clarified, “are all here now.”
“How do you mean?” the interviewer asked.
Tate was silent for several heartbeats, then said, “When I met her, I was playing ball. Thought I was going to be the next Mariano Rivera.” He chuckled. “She knew I wasn’t that good. But she also saw a talent in me I didn’t even know I had. She’s the one who encouraged my music. I lost her after that summer, but it’s because I lost her that Kendrick was even formed. So yeah, she is ‘Everything.’ She’s everything I have and everything I’m missing.”
Ella swallowed hard and blinked back tears. And against her ribs, her heart beat a staccato rhythm that grew faster with every passing second.
“Would it be safe to assume you work as hard as you do because you’re trying to prove to her what she’s missing?” the interviewer asked.
“No,” Tate answered. “Not really.”
“That’s a load of crap,” someone muttered in the background.
“Okay,” Tate said louder. “Maybe it’s a little true. Did I hope she’d one day hear one of these songs about her and call me up? Sure. I think that’s the whole point of tracks like this. That there’s hope. I mean, that’s what life’s really about, right? Without hope, what the hell does a person have?”
“A lot of”—BEEP—“ing fun,” Jace interjected.
Donna Michaels laughed.
“I almost wish he would just go find her,” Tommy said. “It’d sure make our lives a helluva lot easier. Hey, Mystery Tate Kendrick Ex,” he said louder, as if he were speaking right into the mike. “We’re gonna send Tate after ya. Maybe at Christmas. That’d be a great gift, huh? Just, whatever you do, take it easy on the boy. He’s been heartsick over you for years.”
“Your ass is mine when this interview’s over, Howell,” Tate said.
Laughter echoed from the radio once more, and the DJ came back on and introduced the very song they’d been talking about in the interview. The smooth, gentle opening notes of ‘Everything’ filled Ella’s apartment, and she pushed up on shaky legs and pressed her hand against her lips.
All the things Tate had said in that interview rippled through her mind. He hadn’t known she was listening. Probably didn’t think she’d ever hear those words. But he’d said them, and, she knew deep in her heart, he meant them. He’d told her the truth in the pub when they’d had dinner. He hadn’t lied about how he felt. If he’d lied about anything, it was about the reason he’d come to Holly in the first place. Not just to “see what she was up to,” but to win her back.
Her throat closed. Panic condensed in her chest as she looked toward the door. He couldn’t be gone. Not yet. She’d been a stupid fool. She had to tell him. Had to make him understand that she was wrong and what she was really afraid of.
She yanked the door open, ready to chase after him.
A loud thwack echoed all around her as something hard and solid hit her square in the forehead, knocking her back onto the floor of her apartment.
Pain radiated across her scalp and around the back of her head. Dazed, Ella lifted a hand to her forehead and groaned as she twisted on the floor. But before she could figure out what was going on, a hand clamped around her wrist and dragged her out into the hallway. And a voice, a menacing voice from above, said, “Don’t pass out on me yet, Mystery Tate Kendrick Ex. I still have plans for you.”
* * *
Tate flipped off the radio as he reached the outskirts of Asheville. The station he’d been listening to was nothing more than static in his ears. He hadn’t heard a single thing the DJs said, and he certainly hadn’t paid attention to the music. No, his thoughts were locked solidly on the woman he’d left behind in Holly. How she’d kicked him out. How he’d left. How he was going right back for her after his gig was finished tomorrow.
She was afraid of getting hurt. Coming up with any excuse to make him leave. Lashing out at him so he’d walk away. And he had. But not for the reasons she thought. He was giving her space to cool down. Giving her a chance to think. Because he knew she needed that right now. Tomorrow, though, he was going to make sure she knew she was worth fighting for. Tomorrow—after his stupid gig was done—he was going to give her that Christmas wish she was too afraid to hope for.
The trip from Holly had been slow because the roads were icy. What should have been a one-hour trip had turned into almost two. Thankfully, though, here in Asheville the pavement was mostly just wet, which hopefully meant the plane he’d chartered would be able to get off the ground and land back here tomorrow without any kind of delay.
His cell phone buzzed. One glance told him it was his attorney, Kevin O’Brien. He frowned, because legal shit was the last thing he wanted to think about now.
He hit Ignore, but minutes later, the phone buzzed again, same caller. Cursing under his breath, he hit Answer and, since he hadn’t bothered to hook his cell phone up to the rental’s Bluetooth, lifted it to his ear.
“Hey, Kev. It’s after seven p.m. on Christmas Eve. Don’t you have a life?”
“Kendrick, where are you?”
So much for pleasantries. He glanced out the windshield at the empty, dark road, his wipers brushing snow off the glass. He seemed to be the only loser in the area without a life. “Middle of freakin’ nowhere.”
“You’re not at home?”
He thought about his primary residence on Whidbey Island in Washington State. He hadn’t been there in weeks. “No, I’m on my way to Miami for our Christmas Day gig. Why?”
Kevin sighed. “Because Belinda Hayes was released from prison three days ago. I just found out.”
Tate slowed the rental. “She what?”
Belinda Hayes was an off-her-rocker fan who’d made Tate’s life hell for a few months last year. After repeatedly breaking into his house in Washington—thankfully all when he wasn’t home—she’d followed him to Dallas, somehow had gotten into his hotel suite after a concert, and had been waiting for him with a gun when he went upstairs at three a.m. It was because of her he’d had to overhaul his whole life with security measures that even now felt silly.
“It’s the holidays,” Kevin said. “Things get lost during the holidays. I just got notice from the courts that she was released on early parole.”
Shit. Tate pulled his car to the curb as his pulse picked up speed.
“I’m glad you’re on your way to Miami,” Kevin went on. “I’ll notify the band and Aegis Security and have them send someone over as a precaution for the show. In the meantime, try not to let anyone know where you are. By the time she figures out you’re in Miami, you’ll already be gone. And there’s always the chance she was reformed in prison, right?”
Tate wasn’t so sure. All the problems at Ella’s bar ran though his mind. Ella thought the person causing trouble was a buyer trying to force her into selling, but suddenly he wasn’t convinced. “She might already know.”
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked, concern tightening his voice.
“When I was in Virginia last week, I posed for photos with some fans. And three days ago, I gave an impromptu miniconcert in a bar in Holly, North Carolina.”
“Did anyone take pictures?
Tate couldn’t remember. He’d been so focused on seeing Ella, he hadn’t cared what the locals were doing. But if Hayes had tracked him down, if she’d discovered he was in Holly… “Odds are fairly good. It’s a small town. I’m sure someone posted them on social media.”
“Well, you’re out of there now, right?”
Ella…
Tate whippe
d the car around on the highway and pressed down hard on the gas. He needed to get to her. Needed to make sure she was safe. She could be as mad at him as she liked so long as nothing happened to her. “Listen, Kevin. I need you to call the sheriff in Holly and warn him about Hayes. I think she might be planning something bad.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
He just hoped whatever it was, it didn’t involve Ella.
Chapter 8
Panic rushed through Tate as he spotted the smoke rising from third floor of Ella’s building. He slammed on the brakes in front of Yuletide Spirits and skidded to a stop on the snowy street. Jumping out, he didn’t bother to close the door, just sprinted across the sidewalk and yanked the front door open.
Bells jingled above him. The pub was filled with people laughing and chatting and eating. From the bar where he was talking to Kelly, Sheriff Fulton turned and waved at him.
Tate quickly wove his way through tables toward the bar.
Sheriff Fulton grinned. “Everything’s smooth sailing here, Kendrick. Got the call from your lawyer. Not sure what the fuss is about, though.”
Tate looked toward Kelly. “Where’s Ella?”
“I don’t know,” Kelly answered, wiping out a glass. “Upstairs, I think. Kendrick, what’s wrong?”
“The third floor’s on fire. Get everyone out of here.”
“The third floor,” Fulton said, pushing away from the bar, his brows drawn together. “Are you su—”
“Just do it,” Tate said, already rushing for the stairs.
“Oh my God,” someone exclaimed in a loud voice. “That’s smoke!”
Chairs skidded across the floor. Voices rose. Tate clawed his way through rushing bodies exiting the bar and finally reached the stairs that led to the upper floors.
“Kendrick!” Kelly called. “Don’t go up there!”
Tate didn’t listen. He hustled up the steps. Shoving the second-floor apartment door open, he called, “Ella?”
Her apartment was empty, the only sound a radio playing music in the corner. After checking each room, he moved back for the stairs and skipped steps to the third floor. The smoke grew thicker the higher he went. Tugging his shirt up and over his nose and mouth, he coughed and blinked rapidly as he called, “Ella!”
He reached the open loft. Flames were traveling up the wall in the kitchen, filling the loft with smoke. He looked around for a fire extinguisher, but couldn’t find one. No one stayed up here. Odds of there being one were slim.
“Ella!” He scanned the smoke for any sign of her. A groan echoed somewhere to his right.
He turned in that direction. Sirens sounded outside. “Ella!”
Someone coughed on the far side of the room. He rushed past the cot he’d slept on earlier in the week, flipped it over, and spotted Ella lying on the ground, blood oozing from a cut on her forehead.
“Sweet Jesus. Ella, baby, are you okay?”
“T-Tate?” She struggled to sit up.
“Where else are you hurt?” he asked, checking her arms and legs for wounds.
“I-I don’t know.”
She was dazed, and the smoke was growing thicker by the second. Red, swirling lights flickered through the windows, disappearing in the black smoke. “We have to get out of here.”
“Y-yeah.” She grasped his arm, struggled to her feet. Coughed again.
“Pull your shirt up over your face, Ella. And don’t let go of my hand.”
She did as he said, and he tugged her in the direction of the window where he remembered the fire escape being. When he reached it, he placed her hands on the sill so she wouldn’t get lost, let go of her, and forced it open. After climbing through, he pulled her with him. She coughed again and again, grasping his arms and shoulders as if her legs weren’t working.
“Hold on to me,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
Somehow they made it down the fire escape and into the alley behind the pub. The sirens were louder out here, along with voices from the front of the building where firefighters were rushing inside. He moved thirty yards away from the building and set Ella down on the curb. She leaned forward and coughed.
“Just breathe,” he told her, rubbing her back.
Her coughing finally subsided, and she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Soot covered her face and hair and clothes, and out here in the orange streetlights, the gash in her head looked even worse. “H-how did you find me? Why did you come back?”
He winced at the sight of the cut on her forehead, pulled his hand inside his sleeve, and pressed the cotton against her head. “Because I love you, that’s why. And when I realized the person messing with your bar was linked to me, I had to make sure you were okay.”
Ella’s eyes widened. “The woman.”
“You saw her?”
She nodded. “Just before she hit me with someone hard.” Her gaze lifted to the smoking building. “Who is she?”
“A fan.” His chest squeezed tight. “A crazy, stalker fan who’s supposed to be in jail. I’m sorry, Ella. I’m so sorry she did this. I didn’t know she was the one vandalizing your business. I didn’t mean for you to get hur—”
Her fingers closed over his wrist, pulling his hand away from her head. “I’m okay, Tate.”
“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding, and your pub—”
“The pub is fine. Look.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Firefighters already had the third floor doused in water, containing the damage.
“You came back for me,” she whispered.
He looked back down at her, confused about why her eyes were going misty when she should be pissed at him. “Of course I did. I love you, Ella. I was planning on coming back here tomorrow after my gig to win you back, but then I heard Hayes had been released from jail. You got it wrong. I wasn’t here for revenge. I didn’t write that song, Tommy did after his wife dumped him. And I wasn’t talking to another woman on the phone when you came up to the loft earlier. I was talking to my buddy Ryan’s twelve-year-old daughter, Julia. She’s the one who convinced me it was time to find you and win you back. When I was in the kitchen at that stupid dinner party, hiding from my blind date. Julia’s a perceptive kid. Too perceptive sometimes. And she’s the one who came up with this silly plan for me to act as if I were only passing through town. She thought it might spook you if you knew I was still in love with you. She called earlier today, wondering how it was going, and I was just calling her back to tell her—”
Ella pushed to her knees, wrapped her arms around Tate’s shoulders, and pressed her lips to his for a quick, confession-stopping kiss. “I love you too. I never stopped loving you, Tate. Never. I’m so sorry I jumped to conclusions. I knew as soon as you left that I’d made a giant mistake. I was just…”
“Scared,” he finished for her, sliding his hands down to her waist.
“Yes,” she whispered. “My dad left me when I was little. Then you left me, then Kyle. I was just afraid it would happen again. That this was too good to be true. And I knew I’d been able to survive those other losses, but if you left me again, I didn’t think I could.”
He framed her face with his hands. “You don’t have to, Ella. You won’t ever have to. Because I’m never leaving you again. You’re the one. You’ve always been the one. You will always be the only one for me.”
“Oh, Tate.” Her eyes went soft and dreamy, and when he kissed her, the fear and longing he’d lived with all these miserable, empty years finally drifted away.
“Well,” a woman said somewhere behind him, “isn’t that sweet. Too bad he’s lying.”
Tate pulled away from Ella’s luscious mouth and looked over his shoulder, then froze when he saw Belinda Hayes standing in the lightly falling snow, holding a gun pointed right at them.
“I’m the only woman for him,” Belinda said, her eyes crazed. She shifted the gun toward Ella. “And once you’re out of the way, he’ll finally figure th
at out.”
* * *
Tate lurched to his feet, putting himself between Ella and the gun. He held up his hands. “Put it down, Belinda. No one has to get hurt here.”
“Oh, she does,” Belinda exclaimed, her dark hair a wild mess around her midthirties face. “I’m the lost love you wrote about in those songs, not her. Not her!”
Ella’s heart felt as if it leaped into her throat. She leaned to the side to see around Tate. The gun shook in Belinda’s hand.
“Okay,” Tate said in a calm voice. “They can be about you. Just put the gun down.” He took a hesitant step her way. “Put the gun down, and I’ll leave here with you right now. No one has to know about this.”
Ella knew he was lying. He was just trying to get the psycho fan away from her. Her pulse whirred, and she glanced around for something—anything—in the alley to distract the woman.
“I tried to get you to see what a loser she is,” Belinda said. “A loser who can’t even take care of her own pathetic bar. I know how driven you are, Tate. I know you’d never be happy with someone who lives in a Podunk little town like this and is as careless as she is. But you didn’t see it. You wouldn’t leave. So now I have to get rid of her. Don’t you see? It’s the only way.”
“Belinda.” Tate’s voice rose, and he took taking another step toward her. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. Put the gun down, and everything will be the way you want it to be.”
Belinda’s wild eyes narrowed, and she shifted the gun toward Tate, stopping him in his tracks. “Why now? Why are you agreeing to go away with me now? You never agreed to that before. You let them put me in jail before.”
“That wasn’t me.” Tate moved closer again. “That was the police.”
“It was you! You could have stopped them. You let them lock me up!”
The gun shook harder in her hands, and Ella knew the woman was about to lose it. Spotting a rock to her right, she slowly reached for it and closed her hand around the hard, palm-sized object.
“Belinda,” Tate said, shuffling even closer, only feet from her now. “You know I wouldn’t—”