Melt For Me (Against All Odds Book 3) (12 page)

The only problem was, he didn’t want them. He wanted Ella. Only now he was never going to have her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
lla 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?”

“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.”

T
ate 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 whipped 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 EIGHT

P
anic 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?”