Hold On To Me

CHAPTER FIVE

Tate Kendrick leaned back in his chair and looked across the mom-and-pop bar. “That, my friend, is exactly what you need to take your mind off things.”

Mitch turned to watch the leggy blonde in the short skirt and apron Tate had been eyeing most of the night head across the room. She turned and sent Tate a wicked smile, licking her lips to draw attention to her plump mouth.

“Not interested.” Mitch looked back at their table and poured another inch of Jamison into the tumbler in his hand. He swirled the golden liquid in the glass, then downed it in one swallow that burned a path of heat straight to his gut. “I’m done with women.”

Music from a jukebox across the room echoed classic eighties music. Pool balls clacked in the adjacent room. Dragging his attention from the blonde at the bar, Tate grinned Mitch’s way. “Done with women? Fine. But don’t get any ideas. You’re not sleeping in my bed tonight.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “I know this might come as a shock, Kendrick, but not everyone on the planet thinks you’re a rock god.”

Tate chuckled and went back to watching the blonde. “Only the ones who matter, old man.”

Sighing, Mitch leaned back in his seat and looked down at the empty glass. A little voice in the back of his head told him he should really stop drinking, but at the moment, he couldn’t find a legitimate reason to listen. He was supposed to be heading to British Columbia and the work site, but he’d gotten off the plane in Seattle instead and hopped a ferry out to Whidbey Island. He and Tate had been friends since college, when the freshman upstart had joined the baseball team and he and Ryan had decided to take Tate under their wing during their senior year. He was a few years younger, a whole lot cockier, and ever since his band, Kendrick, had taken off the last few years, a hell of a lot more obnoxious. But if there was one person Mitch knew he could get drunk with and not have to spill his guts to about everything that had happened with Simone, it was Tate.

Not that Tate wouldn’t understand. But thankfully—at least for Mitch—the guy didn’t do emotions. In fact, in all the years Mitch had known him, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d heard Tate talk about anything deeper than how much he loved his stupid band.

“You look like shit, you know,” Tate said, lifting the Corona bottle to his lips while he continued to flirt with the blonde. “You go up to BC looking like that and every one of your big-oil coworkers is gonna know you got your ass handed to you by a girl.”

Mitch frowned and reached for the bottle again. It wobbled in his vision, but he wrapped his hand around the cool glass and slowly lifted it so he could pour again. “Thanks for the advice. You’re not so hot either, music man. That soul patch looks like something died on your face.”

Tate chuckled and rubbed his thumb over the patch of hair on his chin. “The chicks dig it.

“The chicks dig your money and celebrity status. Trust me, they hate the pubes on your chin. They’re just too starstruck to tell you.”

Simone had said that to him one night. When they’d been cuddled up on his couch watching Kendrick’s debut on SNL. A vicious sharp pain lanced his chest at the memory and sent waves of misery outward. Before it could consume him, he poured another inch of Jamison in his glass and tossed it back.

“You better go easy on that stuff or you’re gonna get sick,” Tate muttered.

Mitch swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the glass on the table. “News flash, brainiac. I’m already sick.”

Sick of women, sick of love, sick of making a fool out of himself.

“God, you’re a breath of fresh air.” Tate pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping the ground as he stood. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before you ruin my reputation.”

Mitch pushed up to his feet. The room swayed, and he caught himself from going down by bracing his hands on the table. “Your reputation was shot the minute you hung out with me.”

Did he slur those words? And, wow, the room was really spinning now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tate grabbed him by the arm and turned him for the entrance of the small bar. “Your hero status is shot. I just want you to know that. Playing Mr. Mom with Ryan these past few years obviously killed your tolerance for booze. Who will I look up to now?”

Mitch stumbled into the back of an empty chair. “I can still drink.”

“Uh-huh.” Tate dragged him toward the door. “Like a lightweight little virgin.”

“Tate.” The blonde he’d been flirting with the whole night materialized out of nowhere, dragging Mitch’s feet to a stop. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Mitch’s eyes widened. He blinked several times to see her clearly. Couldn’t seem to focus on anything more than a fuzzy yellow halo around her head. Luckily, Tate didn’t let go of his arm. Maybe this was exactly what he did need, a woman to take his mind off Simone. Except, whoa… Now there were three of her.

“Yeah, unfortunately, I gotta get this old guy home,” Tate said somewhere close. “Way past his bedtime.”

Three sets of eyes looked Mitch’s way, but all three were obviously more interested in the music man. She stuck out her full bottom lip—all three of them. “I was just about to take my break.”

“Next time, baby-doll. I promise.”

She rose up on her toes and kissed Tate’s scruffy cheek. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Tate grinned once more as he pushed the door open to the parking lot and pulled Mitch through. Stopping on the other side, he turned and looked back. “Hey, Aubrey. You like the soul patch, right?”

Slapping the bar rag in her hand, Aubrey shrugged. “Sure. It’s kinda cute. I’ll see you next time.”

She waved and disappeared back into the bar.

The door snapped shut, and cool air washed over Mitch. He chuckled. “See? Told ya.”

Tate frowned and pulled Mitch toward his truck. “Cute is for bunny rabbits and panda bears. I am not cute.”

The world didn’t seem to want to stop spinning even out here in the cool night air. Mitch climbed into Tate’s souped-up Dodge, closed the door, and leaned his head back against the plush seat. When Tate climbed in next to him, he muttered, “If I hurl, I just want you to know it’s not personal.”

“Fuck that,” Tate muttered. The window at Mitch’s right went all the way down, and crisp air rushed over him as they pulled out of the small parking lot. “I swear to God, if you get sick in my truck, Mathews, you’ll regret it.”

“I already regret it.” Mitch’s eyes drifted closed, and he fought back the waves of nausea as the rig bounced over ruts in the road. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“Hell if I know,” Tate mumbled. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to get your teeth kicked in by the woman of your dreams.”

Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked across the cab toward his friend, pretty sure he’d imagined that response. Dim green light from the dashboard illuminated Tate’s set features and the mop of dark brown hair that was already brushing his shoulders. The guy dated a lot of women, but Mitch couldn’t remember a single one who had lasted more than a month.

Not that he cared right now. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes again, focusing on deep breaths, in and out, so he didn’t get sick. Some sappy country music floated out of the speakers, and Tate hummed along as he drove.

Mitch floated, hating the music, hating the way his stomach tossed, hating life in general. “Country music is so freakin’ depressing.”

Tate grinned. “That’s because it’s deep.”

“Thank God you don’t play it.”

“Are you saying my music lacks substance?”

“Any substance in your music’s hidden behind heavy bass and that tricky guitar shit you do.”

“I totally take offense at that.”

Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s because you listen to crap like this that makes a person want to blow their brains out.”

“You are a total peach tonight, you know that, Michelle?”

It was a familiar joke, one they’d started in college and that had lingered over the years, calling each other by their girlie counter-names. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Mitch’s lips. “As peachy as you, Tara.”

They made several turns on the island, and the music shifted to a song about football. Still country, but at least it wasn’t a depressing monologue about a man’s regrets. As the song echoed in the cab, Mitch mentally tried to figure out where they were without opening his eyes but finally gave up as his mind drifted away from his rolling stomach and floating head and resettled on the scene at his house last night with Simone.

Holy hell. He was such a fucking moron. He totally should have seen that coming. Couldn’t believe how far he’d bought into that whole stupid fairy tale.

“Damn, Mathews.” The rig drew to a stop, and Tate’s voice cut through Mitch’s self-defeating thoughts. “When you said this Simone chick was younger than you, I thought she was at least legal. Even I don’t push those boundaries.”

Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked over at his friend. Tate’s gaze was locked on something out the front windshield.

Blinking several times, Mitch turned his head, then froze.

Every muscle in his body contracted, and he sat forward. “Holy shit.”

He was out of the truck in seconds, his hiking boots hitting the asphalt drive while the cool air and adrenaline rush cleared his foggy head, enough so he didn’t fall over. “Shannon? What the hell are you doing here?”

Illuminated by the headlights of the truck, Shannon swiped at her runny nose with the sleeve of her hoodie as she sat on the front steps of Tate’s new house. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she rubbed at them with her sleeve. “I… I…”

Confusion snapped to worry, which morphed to a burst of excitement rushing through Mitch’s veins. His gaze swept from Shannon to the fancy new house, then around the parking area surrounded by trees. Simone had to be here.

“D-don’t be mad. Please?” Shannon sniffled, drawing his attention. “I just… You didn’t say good-bye. And I…” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. I-I…” Wide, wet, red-rimmed eyes looked up at him. Pleading eyes. “Just…just please come back. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t get in the way.”

A car door slammed behind Mitch. Footsteps echoed. But he knew it wasn’t Simone. It was Tate, wondering what was going on.

All that excitement fizzled. Simone wasn’t here. She hadn’t changed her mind. She hadn’t come after him. But instead of the heartbroken anger he’d felt earlier, guilt consumed him. Guilt for not thinking about anyone but himself.

“Shit.” He sat next to her on the steps and wrapped an arm around her. When she threw herself against his chest and started sobbing, he just held her close, not knowing what the hell to do or say.

Tate’s footsteps drew to a stop. “How come every girl you’re with ends up crying, Mathews?”

Mitch glanced up at his friend, frowned, and flipped him the bird.

Tate chuckled.

Shannon’s sobs died down. She sniffled, then drew back and looked at Tate. Glancing at Mitch, she said, “Is that…the music guy?”

“You know Kendrick?” Mitch asked, one arm still around her.

“Yes. I mean, kinda.” She sniffled again. “Julia told me about him.”

“Julia,” Mitch mumbled. “That explains how you found me. But I’d still like to know how the hell you got all the way up here on your own.”

Shannon sat up and swiped at her cheeks. A sheepish expression crossed her features. “Julia helped me.”

“I figured. Keep going.”

She cringed. “She, ah, used her dad’s credit card to get me a plane ticket.”

“You’re ten.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes. “I know. She, ah, also told me how to act like I was older so I could travel without an adult.”

Tate chuckled. “Damn, but I love that kid.”

Mitch frowned. “That kid’s going to be grounded for life when her parents find out what she did.” He looked down at Shannon. “And so are you, sweetheart, when your mom realizes you’re gone.”

Tears filled Shannon’s eyes all over again. “Please? Please, can we not tell her right away? If you come back, she won’t be so mad at me.”

She collapsed into sobs against Mitch’s chest again, and he rubbed her back, knowing he should be pissed but having a hard time finding the energy.

“Bring her into the house,” Tate said. “If she gets sick out here in the cold, her mom’s really gonna hate you.”

“Her mom already does.” Mitch hefted Shannon into his arms and followed Tate inside.

A great room with a huge rock fireplace and dark wood accents opened to a kitchen beyond and stairs that led up to the second floor. Mitch sat on the leather couch in the middle of the room and held Shannon while she cried. Tate disappeared somewhere in the kitchen.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, rubbing her back, not knowing what else to do to console her. Julia was never emotional like this. Instead, she just got mad and yelled. Part of him preferred the yelling, but a tiny piece liked that Shannon needed him. God knew, her mother didn’t. “I’ll call your mom and work everything out. She might be a little mad, but she’ll get over it.”

“No, she won’t.” Shannon sniffled. “I’ve messed everything up. First I made you leave, and now this.”

He drew her away from him and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t leave because of you. I left because…” How the hell did he explain this to a ten-year-old? He was still struggling with it himself. “Listen, Shannon. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s not anybody’s fault, especially yours. You’re a great kid, and I…” …wanted to be your dad. I still do. He swallowed the emotions closing his throat. “It was wrong of me to leave without telling you. I’m sorry.”

She laid her head on his chest and cried again. And, feeling like shit, Mitch just sat there and held her, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to make her—or himself—feel better.

Eventually, Shannon’s sniffling died off, and she grew limp in his arms. It had to be close to three a.m. Realizing she was asleep, he laid her on the couch and pulled a throw over her, then looked down at all her curly red hair fanned out around her and remembered why he’d never wanted to have a family of his own. Because this kind of stuff killed him. The highs he could totally manage, but the lows… He wasn’t strong enough to deal with reality when the bottom fell out beneath him.

The scent of coffee beckoned from the direction of the kitchen, and he headed that way.

Tate—always a night owl—was sitting at the counter, tinkering on his laptop, when Mitch walked into the room. Darkness pressed in from outside, just a twinkle of lights across the water reflecting in the glass. Tate leaned back in his chair. “She finally go to sleep?”

Mitch opened a cupboard and pulled out a mug. “You mean pass out from crying? Yeah. Finally.”

Tate chuckled. “Gotta admit. All those years you spent helping Ryan with Julia, I never saw you as the father figure. Not until tonight.”

Mitch scowled as he poured coffee into his mug. “Don’t get used to it. She’s not my kid, and her mother has made it more than clear she doesn’t want her to be my kid. I am not, and never will be, dad material.”

Tate was silent for a moment. The strong, bitter coffee went down hot, but at least it cleared the last of the cobwebs from Mitch’s brain. He took another sip, wishing it would clear away that lingering ache in his chest too.

“What are you gonna do?” Tate asked quietly.

What he wanted to do was drink himself into oblivion and pass out just like Shannon. What he had to do was call the woman who’d just shit kicked him in the groin and tell her her daughter was over eight hundred miles away. With him.

“Consider moving to a deserted island.” He pulled out his cell and cringed when he saw seven missed calls from Simone.

So much for passing out.

He punched in Simone’s number. Then drew a deep breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen next.

Simone answered on the first ring. “Mitch? Is Shannon with you?”

Just the sound of her voice caused his stomach to tighten with a mixture of pain and stupidity. He clenched his jaw. “She’s here. And she’s fine.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been going out of my mind. Put her on the phone.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Well, wake her up. She’s in some serious trouble for this stunt.”

He leaned back against the counter. Across the kitchen, Tate watched with interest. “No.”

“This isn’t funny, Mitch. Put her on the damn phone.”

Simone was good and fired up. The woman rarely swore. But that only fueled Mitch’s own rage. “It’s three o’clock in the freakin’ morning, Simone. She’s tired and upset and already feels like crap, thanks to you. So forgive me for not waking her so you can lay into her and make her feel worse.”

“Wha—?” Shock reverberated through the line. Then, steadier, Simone said, “Where are you? I’ll come get her.”

Bullshit. She wasn’t coming up here and fucking up any more of his life. She’d done enough of that already. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What? No. Just put her on a plane in the morning, and I’ll meet her in San Francisco.”

She didn’t want to see him. Yeah, that made this all the more fun. “And leave her feeling abandoned all over again? I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we’ve both fucked things up for her enough for one week. I’ll call you tomorrow when I know our flight time.”

“Wait, Mitch. Have her call me.”

Now she didn’t even want to talk to him? Oh yeah, this was just so fucking excellent.

“Not if she doesn’t want to. And right now, you’re like the last person on the planet she wants to talk to.”

“Mitch—”

“You know what, Simone?” He rolled right over her, his own emotions melding with Shannon’s, leaving him vibrating with anger. “You’re just gonna have to learn to deal with disappointment. I sure have.”

He clicked End before she could protest and slid the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. A tension headache—or maybe it was a hangover headache—was taking up space right behind his eyeballs. He rubbed two fingers over his brow.

“That sounded like it went well,” Tate said from the table.

“About as well as a car crash on the 101.” Mitch tossed his coffee in the sink and headed for the living room. “I’m tired. If Shannon wakes, make sure she doesn’t escape, would ya? The last thing I need is her mother all over my ass because she got away.”

“At one time, you would have liked that.”

Yeah, he would have. And part of him still did. But as he’d told Simone, disappointment was something he was learning to live with.

“That’s because I’m a sick son of a bitch.” Mitch turned for the stairs. “But like you, Kendrick, thank the stars above, I’ve finally come to my senses.”

“Yeah,” Kendrick muttered from the kitchen in a less than enthusiastic tone, “we’re regular old rocket scientists, aren’t we?”

Simone stared at the phone in her hand in utter disbelief.

He’d hung up on her.

“She’s with Mitch?” Kate asked where she sat next to Simone on the sofa. “Oh, thank God. What did he say?”

“He—” Simone was still too shocked to think. She knew Mitch was pissed at her after the scene at his house, but this was different. He’d all but accused her of being a terrible mother. Which, she couldn’t help but agree, she was. She swallowed hard. “H-he said he’s bringing her back to San Francisco tomorrow.”

Kate and Ryan exchanged glances. She saw it from the corner of her eye. But she was too upset to care what they were thinking.

“Don’t worry, Simone,” Ryan said. “Mitch has been taking care of Julia for years. He’s very responsible. I’m sure everything’s just fine.”

From the leather chair across the room where she lay splayed over the armrest, Julia huffed. “Sure. Responsible. That’s Uncle Mitch. He’s only forgotten to pick me up from practice and school and stuff five, maybe six times. The best was the time I had to wait at the softball fields, in the rain, for two hours because Dad was on a trip and Uncle Mitch totally spaced me off.”

“Julia Anne Harrison,” Ryan snapped. All eyes shot his way, and his jaw clenched as he visibly tried to hold back his temper. “That’s not helping.”

Kate pushed from the couch. “I think it’s time Julia went back to bed.” Her mother shot the girl a look. “Before she’s grounded for a second lifetime.”

Julia heaved out a sigh but stood and shuffled toward the stairs, her chestnut hair a wild mop of curls around her face, her fuzzy pajama bottoms too long and dragging on the floor. She paused with one foot on the bottom step, one hand on the newel post, and turned to look back into the living room. “For what it’s worth, we didn’t mean for anyone to get mad. We were just trying to help.”

Her mother sighed. “Julia—”

“No. Wait.” Emotions shot through Simone’s chest, pushing her to her feet and forcing her to step into the entryway. “How on earth could you or Shannon possibly think running away would help anything?”

“Shannon wasn’t running away. She was just trying to fix things. Like what happened with my mom and dad.”

Ryan moved into the entry behind Kate. “What do you mean?”

Julia’s gaze settled on Simone. “It’s like when my mom left after all the reporters were bugging us. My dad was really upset, see, but he didn’t go after her. And we didn’t know if she was coming back, even though Dad said she would eventually. But Mom got to the airport and saw this other family, and when she came back, she said looking at them made her realize what was important. That we were important. But Uncle Mitch doesn’t notice people in the airport, so he wouldn’t realize the same thing. And Shannon and I decided he needed someone to, you know, make him see what was important. That’s why she went up there. Not to run away, but to make him come back.”

The room was quiet except for the tick of a clock in the adjacent living room, and Simone’s stomach churned with a mixture of regret and sadness that nearly did her in.

Kate looked up at Ryan, standing behind her, and whispered, “How does she do that?”

He blew out a breath and moved around his wife toward his daughter on the stairs. “I don’t know. She’s too smart for her own good.” He laid a hand on Julia’s shoulder and nudged her up the stairs. “Come on, Miss Smarty pants, it’s time you went back to bed and stopped acting like a forty-year-old.”

“Dad, you’re not even forty.”

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

A tiny smile curled one side of Julia’s mouth as she slipped her hand into her father’s. “Am I still grounded for the rest of my life?”

“The jury’s out on that at the moment.”

The pair moved up the stairs and disappeared, and, dazed, Simone sank onto the couch in the living room once more. Resting her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head into her hands and just focused on breathing, because it was the only thing she could do at the moment. “I’ve made such a mess of everything. Mitch hates me. Shannon hates me. There’s no way this is ever going to get better.”

Kate sat next to her and rubbed a hand down her back. “It will. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it’ll get better. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after everything Ryan and I went through, it’s that nothing is impossible. If you love someone enough, you’ll find a way to work it out.”

Loving enough wasn’t Simone’s problem. It was everything else getting in the way of that love. She dropped her arms. “You don’t understand what’s happened. Mitch is never going to forgive me.”

Kate’s features softened. “Mitch is one of the most understanding people I know. You just have to talk to him, Simone—really talk to him—and tell him the truth about whatever’s going on with you. He’ll understand. Give him a chance.”

Simone wasn’t so sure. Maybe once, but not after she’d lied about how she felt. Why would he ever trust her again? She barely trusted herself.

She rubbed a hand over her aching head, her heart and mind at war against each other, her body caught in the middle. “The only thing I’m sure of right now is that I need to fix things with Shannon. Only then can I think about Mitch and making things right with him. Or at the very least, civil.”

A sad smile turned Kate’s lips. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Simone pushed to her feet. At this point, she feared there was nothing anyone could do. Least of all her. “No. But thanks. He’s so mad at me, I’m not sure he’ll even call me in the morning, so if he calls here—”

Kate rose. “I’ll be sure to let you know.” She squeezed Simone’s hand. “Try to have faith. Mitch is hurting right now, but he’s not vindictive. And he still loves you. He’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

Simone wasn’t so sure. Pulling her hand from Kate’s, she turned for the door and the darkness beyond that had become her life. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”