Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) (23 page)

When a knock sounded on the door around dinnertime, she let herself hope—but it was only Reggie.

“You look disappointed, honeybun. I’ll try not to take that personally. I brought you some spaghetti from the Jungle Room Lounge. I figured you’d be hungry by now, yeah?”

He stepped inside carrying a beige plastic tray with a covered plate on it, along with two beers.

“Thanks.” She wasn’t hungry, though. Her stomach had more knots in it than a baby hat knit with drumsticks, but she pointed to the table anyway, indicating he could set the tray there. She hoped both the beers were for her. Not because she didn’t want Reggie to stick around, but because she needed
at least
two of those right now.

“Any word from your cowboy?” Reggie asked, twisting off the top of one and handing her a bottle.

“No. I left him three messages but he hasn’t called back. I don’t think he’s going to.”

Saying it out loud made her heart feel like the iceberg that took down the
Titanic
, sharp, frozen, and accidentally destructive. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but her actions caused disaster.

She and Reggie sat down on the white vinyl sofa, and she pulled her legs up under her. “I even texted him saying I needed to book a flight home and wanted to talk to him before I left Memphis, but . . . nothing.”

“Did you book a flight?” Reggie took a sip of the other beer.

Delaney nodded. “Yes. I leave tomorrow at noon. I talked to my sister about an hour ago and told her I’d be home. She said the producers are anxious as hell to tape a special edition of
Pop Rocks
just to address all this crap as soon as I get home. Like a press conference. Getting the police involved in my search has taken this to a whole different level.” Her eyes puddled up, again.

She thought she’d cried out every bit of moisture in her body when she talked to Melody, but apparently she still had a little juice left. Out came the tears, twin streams of frustration rolling right down her cheeks, but she swiped them away. Delaney Masterson might be a runner and a hider, but darn it all, she was not a crier. She swiped those stupid, helpless tears away.

“Everything I’ve done has completely backfired, Reg, and now I’m getting more media attention than ever. I’m beginning to think the purpose of my life is to serve as a cautionary tale to others.”

Reggie chuckled and patted her leg in the most brotherly way. “Aw, sugar, don’t cry. Maybe you just need to figure out how to put a positive spin on things.” He grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and handed it to her.

She snuffled into it. “A positive spin? Haven’t you been paying attention? I’m involved in a sex scandal, the police believe I faked my own disappearance, and the man I love thinks I’m a liar and a fake.”

His dark eyes widened as he looked over at her. “
Man you love?
You’ve come a long way since yesterday, yeah? I thought he was just the landlord.”

Delaney threw the damp tissue on the table. “We had a
really
good night last night.”

Reggie chuckled harder. “I should say so. Look, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and your man is the type to fall hard. He’ll come around. Like I told you, he’s got that same sappy love-look in his eyes just like you.”

She sighed. “You didn’t see him when he stormed in here and threw this magazine at my feet.” She pointed to where it now sat on the coffee table.

Reggie leaned over and picked it up. It made her sick to look at, but she’d read it anyway, just so she’d know what kind of lies Grant had been exposed to. A new knot twisted in her gut. “The article was pretty awful. All those
sources close to
quotes basically mean the reporters make up whatever they want. They accused me of everything shy of being pregnant with an alien baby.” She took a big gulp of beer. “And apparently there is some suggestion of a love triangle. Does anyone know you’re here? You could end up in the papers.”

He tossed the magazine back on the table. “I would love to be your fictional other man. You know what they say. No press is bad press.”

She set her bottle down next to her glossy picture. “I would argue that the person who said that wasn’t trying to outrun a sex scandal.”

Reggie cocked his head. “Maybe not, but it seems to me that running from this is like trying to outrun a bear.”

“How so?”

His shoulders rose and fell. “It can’t be done, so your safest bet is to just stand still.”

“Stand still? How does that help me?”

“If you stand still, a bear will only eat you if he’s hungry.”

Something must be lost in translation here. His hillbilly advice was not going to help this California girl. “Great, except reporters aren’t bears. They’re more like . . . piranhas or sharks, or . . . oh, I don’t know. Whatever kind of animal shreds you to pieces just for the fun of it.”

“OK, sharks then. You know how to outswim a shark?”

“No.”

“That’s because you can’t, but you can punch them in the nose. You can go on the offensive and startle them. Maybe that’s what you need to do in this situation.”

“Go on the offensive?” Apparently the animal kingdom analogies had morphed into sports talk.

“Yeah. Now, Lord knows, darlin’, I’ve never been accused of overthinking a situation, but I do know that facing stuff head-on is better than running. Stand your ground.” He put his feet up on the coffee table and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I know this is none of my business, but if you were my girl and some guy released a video like that jackass did, I’d go after him every which way. Sue him, have him arrested, sic some Rottweilers on his ass, or something. Seems like this was all his doing.”

Delaney’s cheeks heated up. “I did some doing.”

“Did you have the expectation of privacy?” His expression was serious.

“What?” Her expression was surely one of surprise.

Reggie chuckled and took a sip of beer. “OK, so we watch a lot of
Law & Order
on the tour bus, but I’m not fooling. Check with your lawyer ’cause that guy did a terrible thing and he certainly broke the law. I mean, you know I love me the honeys, and I’ve had some wild times on that bus, but I would never, ever record a woman without her consent. A real man would never do that. I see you running from this situation, but he’s the one who should be ashamed, don’t you think?”

She’d never really thought about it that way before. She was so busy feeling victimized, but Boyd
was
the one who should be ashamed. Boyd had violated her trust. He’d exploited their relationship for fame and financial gain without caring how she’d be humiliated. It really was reprehensible.

Reggie took another sip of beer. “You know what else? I think maybe you should tell people about the baby hats.”

“The baby hats? Why?”

“Yeah, the baby hats. You’re worried over what folks think of you, and you’ve got everybody’s attention right now, so take this chance to tell them about all the nice stuff you do, like making hats for all those poor little bald kids. If you offer up some happy shit, maybe those reporters will stop looking for the nasty stuff. I’m telling you, honeybun, this is all about how you spin it from here on out. You’re a celebrity and you can’t do much about that, but people love a comeback story. So tell them how you ran away to find yourself, or some new-wave thing like that. You’re from California. They’ll buy that. Tell everybody how you’ve grown from this hardship or whatever. Shucks, tell them anything you want to, but take charge of it. Be the sheepdog and not the sheep.”

“So we’re back to animal examples again? What if no one believes me?”

He scowled at the ceiling then looked back at her. “If they don’t believe you, then fuck ’em. Look, sugar, you can’t control what people think or what they do. You can only control how you react to it. Bottom line is you need to decide who it is you’re living this life for. You or them?”

Delaney reached over and picked up her beer, taking another gulp.

“That’s kind of smart, Reg. You might be on to something.”

His chest puffed up as he moved his feet and sat forward on the sofa. “My vast wisdom is a well-kept secret. But listen, I hate to leave you all by your lonesome, but me and the boys agreed to play here for two more nights. You want to come down to the lounge?”

Was it that late already? Evening now and still no word from Grant. “No, I think I’ll keep a low profile tonight. I’ll just hang around here and eat my spaghetti. Alone.”

“Maybe your fella will still show up,” he said.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sugar. I’d hit on you if I thought it would make you feel better.”

It took all her strength to smile at that. “Thanks, Reg. I appreciate it. I’ll pass, but do you think you could go with me to the airport tomorrow? I need to leave around nine thirty in the morning, and honestly, I’m not quite ready to take on any scene at the airport. I’ll be OK by the time I get to Los Angeles, though. Home-field advantage and all.”

He stood up. “Absolutely. It would be my pleasure. Speaking of pleasure, you sure you don’t want me to come back later tonight and tuck you in? You might need some comforting.” He cocked an eyebrow suggestively but she could tell he was teasing. He still looked mostly sympathetic, and the knowledge that even Reggie was realizing Grant was history made her feel worse than before.

She did need comforting, but she needed it from Grant. She needed him to call, and to come back to the hotel. She needed him to kiss away these tears and tell her he understood. She needed him to say he forgave her and he loved her.

She needed all that, but she wasn’t going to get any of it.

All she was going to get tonight was a plate of cold spaghetti.

Chapter 24

GRANT, PLEASE CALL ME. I
HAVE TO FLY TO LA TOMORROW MORNING BUT I REALLY, REALLY NEED TO TALK TO YOU. I’LL BE AT THE HOTEL UNTIL 9AM. I’M SO SORRY.

The woman formerly known as Elaine Masters had sent him that text last night, but he’d turned off his phone and didn’t see it until this morning. He’d deleted her three phone messages without listening to them too. In fact, he’d turned off his phone specifically to avoid her, knowing that the temptation to call back would be too great. And if he’d called her back, they would have talked in circles for a while, with her apologizing and trying to explain why she’d lied, and him feeling no better than he did right now. All things considered, her sorrow was irrelevant. It didn’t change the fact that he’d offered up his heart to a mirage. A woman made of smoke and mirrors. And that made him feel like a fool.

It must have been the novelty of her that had made him act so recklessly. The novelty of all of it, having a woman in his house, the sweet-smelling soap and the lacy panties in his laundry. He’d have to be a zombie to not fall prey to her allure, and he’d gotten to play the heroic knight to her damsel in distress. It was fun. Exhilarating, even, but he’d let himself get caught up in the hype. The frenzy. He of all people should have realized that the things that
seem
real, often are not.

He’d thought he was wiser than that, but he was an idiot. A love-sick idiot. And his brother was an idiot too, with all his
when-you-know-you-just-know
crap. Nobody knew when love was real. If it was ever real. Hadn’t his own mother shown him that with her collection of husbands?

His mother. There was another whole set of issues. If this was what Tyler had put up with during all those years Grant was off traveling, well, he owed his brother a case of scotch. Now Grant was sitting in Tina’s kitchen drinking coffee as dark and bitter as his mood. No amount of sugar could sweeten it. Donna sat across the table from him, and Tina was there too. They’d eaten breakfast and now his mother was toying with her red-and-white coffee cup and staring off into space.

“You need to come back home with me, Mom,” he said finally, setting down his own coffee cup.

Donna looked over at him and nodded. “I know. I’m ready. I spoke with Carl last night after you went to bed and he’s happy to hear I’ll be home soon.” She paused and looked into her cup. “I didn’t mean I was going to
leave him
, leave him. I only wanted to leave him for a little while.”

“Maybe you should be more careful how you word your notes then.”

Her shrug was noncommittal, as shrugs are apt to be. “Maybe.”

His head already ached from a sleepless night and far too many thoughts of . . . Lane. His brain had taken to calling her that. Lane. Because Delaney was just too foreign, and Elaine . . . well, Elaine wasn’t her name.

The pressure in his head expanded until at last he said to his mother, “And we have to talk about this stealing business.”

Donna’s eyes welled up with tears. “I know. I was doing so well but the wedding just threw me, and then you coming home, and all the relatives and chaos. And then Tina and I were coming here, and I saw that brown leather bag full of money and just, well, like I told you, it went so nicely with my coat.”

He wanted to be angry. He was on the verge of that, but it wouldn’t help matters any to scold her. As calmly as he could manage, he said, “You do
get
that it’s not OK to take stuff, right? You do understand that there is never a valid reason for stealing?”

Her chin tilted defiantly. “Haven’t you ever seen
Les Mis
? They stole bread because they were starving. Would you have them starve?”

He looked at Tina for help.

“Donna,” she said in a far more patient tone than the one he used. “Stealing food because you are starving is quite a bit different than taking someone’s money just because you come across it. You know that.”

His mother pulled a wadded tissue from the sleeve of her green sweatshirt and dabbed at her nose. She really was quite a sad little thing at the moment, and Grant felt the first tremors of pity ripple over him. He’d been gone for so long, dismissing her problem as just a fondness for gambling and a splash of kleptomania, but deep down, he’d known it was more than that. It’s partly why he’d stayed away, and because of that, he’d been no help to her at all. No help to the family either. He’d been too busy off having his adventures, living his life. Leaving things to Tyler to handle. Maybe if Grant had kept in better contact, visited more often, she’d be in better shape now. Yes, her problem was
her
problem, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t step up now and help in whatever ways he could.

“I’m sorry about this, Mom,” he heard himself say.

“You’re sorry?” she asked.

“I’m sorry if my disconnecting from the family made things harder for you. I should have checked in more after Dad died. I blamed a lot of things on Hank, but I don’t really have an excuse for not coming back once he was gone.”

Her lips trembled. “I know it was hard for you, that whole situation. I made a mistake marrying Hank. I did the wrong thing, but I thought it was the right thing. I thought he’d take care of us but he didn’t.”

Tina reached over and patted his mother’s arm. “You were doing your best, Donna.”

Donna nodded but looked at Grant. “I know it must seem like I got remarried because I’d forgotten about your father, but the truth is, I just didn’t know how to be without him. I loved him so much and missed him so much, I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so brokenhearted. I still am. Carl’s a good man, but he doesn’t compare to your dad.”

She blinked back a tear and a wave of compassion flooded his senses. He’d been angry at her for so long for betraying his father’s memory, but the heartbreak part of it he finally understood. If she’d felt about his father the way Grant felt about Lane, then it all made more sense—because the idea of facing the future without her was a devastating notion.

He nodded his head. “Mom, I know I’ve missed a lot of opportunities to be a part of this family, but when we get back home, I’ll try to make up for that. I mean, I’ll still have to travel. I have to work, but I promise I’ll get home more often. And Tyler said you were working with a counselor about some of this stuff, right? Maybe we should dial that up a notch, huh? How about I give her a call and fill her in on what’s been going on?”

His mother nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Good. In the meantime, how about if I book us some plane tickets to get us back home tomorrow or the next day? I’m not sure I can handle that drive again and neither one of us actually has a car.”

Donna looked at Tina. “I was hoping our visit could be a little longer, but all things considered, maybe it’s time I went home.”

Tina nodded and her relief was evident. “All things considered, I think you should.”

The Jungle Room Lounge was quiet that afternoon when Grant walked in, but Finch and Humphrey were sitting at the bar. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure if he was still angry or sad or just heartbroken over this whole mess. He wasn’t even sure why he was there since he knew Lane was gone.

He sat down on the stool next to Finch.

“What’s up, Cameraman?” Finch was disappointed in him. It was obvious in his tone.

“Not much.” Grant signaled to the waitress and asked for a beer. “How many more nights are you guys playing here?” he asked as she filled up a mug from the tap.

“Tonight’s the last night. We head back to Nashville tomorrow. You know Delaney is gone, right?”

His heart flinched a little. He nodded and was glad the waitress was fast with that beer. As soon as she set it down, he picked it up. “Yeah. She sent me a text. Said she was on her way to LA. Good for her.”

“You don’t really think she leaked that video herself, do you?” Humphrey asked him, eyebrows pinched together and his usual grin noticeably absent. These guys were pissed at him. She was the one who’d lied. How did he get to be the bad guy?

“I don’t know what I think. She sure wouldn’t be the first woman I’d known who worked an angle. My last girlfriend dumped me for Blake Rockstone because he promised to make her a TV star.”

Even as he said it, the words felt hollow. Calling Miranda his girlfriend sounded ridiculous after what he’d shared with Lane. There was no similarity to the intensity of those feelings. It was like comparing a flashlight to the sun.

Finch shook his head slowly and stared down into his beer. “She didn’t call those reporters, Grant. That woman didn’t want anything to do with that.”

“For sure,” Humphrey said, his tone clipped. “Thank goodness Finch and I were there to pull her out of the crowd before things got worse.”

Grant choked a little on his drink. “Pulled her out of—what are you talking about?”

Finch and Humphrey exchanged glances, then Finch turned to Grant.

“I guess you wouldn’t know, would you, since you sent her back to the hotel alone. Sweetness got back here yesterday and the lobby was swarming with reporters. They pretty much mobbed her, but Humph and I happened to be in the right place at the right time and whisked her away,” Finch said.

“Actually,” Humphrey added, “we were sitting right here drinking a beverage just like we are now.”

Finch nodded. “Yes, sir, and we heard the ruckus and went out to see what the fuss was all about and there she was, in the center of it all, white as chalk.”

“Those reporters were aggressive too. Shouting rude questions. It’s no wonder she passed out,” Humphrey said.

Grant’s glass hit the bar harder than he’d intended. “She what?”

“Passed out,” Finch said. “Fainted dead away. Scared the crap out of me. Little bitty thing but, damn, she’s heavy when she’s out cold. Can I get a whiskey?” he asked the waitress, as if the memory required a little self-medicating.

Grant drank down his entire beer and signaled for another. She’d fainted? Because of reporters? That didn’t seem like a woman seeking attention and publicity. He felt a plunging sense of remorse just then, and a fervent desire to retrieve those phone messages he’d deleted without listening to.

“Then what happened?” he asked.

“We all went up to the suite and Humphrey got her a soda pop,” Finch said.

Humphrey nodded sagely, listening. Concurring.

Grant’s head spun from this news, and probably from chugging that beer.

Lane had fainted, and he wasn’t there. What if Finch and Humphrey hadn’t been there either? What if something worse had happened? His mind spiraled through a list of possibilities, but he tried to shake it off, that sense of obligation. She wasn’t his problem, but he felt it anyway, that need to watch out for her.

It might take a while for that sensation to wear off, but it needed to, because he wouldn’t be there for the rest of it either. It’s not as if her trials with the media were over. She was going back to Los Angeles where things would only get worse.

“When did her plane leave?” he asked, his throat feeling parched in spite of the drink he’d swilled down.

The waitress set down a shot glass in front of Finch and he twirled it slowly in front of him. “Not sure what time. They snuck out the back way this morning because a few pesky reporters had camped out in front.”

“They?”

“Yeah, Reggie took her to the airport this morning. We expect him back anytime now,” Humphrey answered.

Finch’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at Grant. “Now, don’t be getting that jealous face going, sweetness. In spite of how he acts, Reggie is not after your girl.”

Apparently it would take a while for that sensation to wear off too. He had no claim to her or anything she did. She was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

“She’s not my girl,” he said quietly. “I don’t know who she is. I’m not even sure what we had going.”

Humphrey hung his head low. “Looked damn fine to me, whatever it was.”

Grant shook his head, as if he was trying to deny it as much to himself as to them—because he was. “I didn’t even know her name. I thought she was a soap maker from Miami.”