His phone was in the dishwasher.
He’d left it there on purpose that morning before he took off for work. If he had it with him, he’d cave. He’d call. He’d text. He’d try to contact her, to make her laugh, make her smile, and turn her on. But those weren’t the things that needed to be said or done right then. He still didn’t know what to say. He barely knew how to operate his mouth.
“Battery ran out,” he mumbled.
“I think we need to get you home. Let me call you a cab, and you should take the rest of the day off. Whatever business you have scheduled I can attend to.”
“Yeah. I should cut out early,” he said, blinking, trying to focus again on the world around him. Then, something James said sparked a wire in his brain. Lit a fuse. Ringing and ringing. Tanner had been ringing and ringing him.
What if Shannon had been ringing too? Just like when he’d moved to Los Angeles. Just like when she’d been in London. Just like when she’d tried to call him on her way to the hospital. Shit. He had to do something and soon. He had to figure out what to say.
He stood up, a blast of necessary energy zipping through him. “But I can’t leave. There’s someplace I need to be.”
He went to the Allegro to find Mindy.
* * *
Colin high-fived her as soon as the glass doors to the network headquarters swung shut. The network had agreed to the terms, and her brother had just booked her a marquee contract for a quick, high-paying, high-profile gig. The best part? She wasn’t madly in love with the head of the network. She hadn’t been involved with him ten years ago. Working together would be a cinch. She should do all her deals with men she wasn’t once engaged to. Made them so much easier.
“You are a rock star,” she told her brother as they headed down the steps to the waiting car that would whisk them back to the airport, then home to Vegas before the clock struck three. Trips to Los Angeles were the best, since the city was so damn close.
“No, you are,” he said.
As soon as they slid into the air-conditioned vehicle, she checked her phone, hoping for something. Surely, he’d have reached out by now.
The screen was empty. No messages from him. Nothing but a low-battery notice as her phone neared the end of its life for the day. A lump rose in her throat, but she shoved it back down. She would not cry over a lack of messages. She would not lament the radio silence.
But she also would not sit and wait for him.
She’d never waited for him before, and she wasn’t going to be that kind of woman now. She was Shay fucking Sloan, and she wasn’t going to let her heart sit on the sidelines. Nor was she going to hide her feelings.
She dropped a hand on Colin’s arm. “Hey, you know when you asked about my man trouble this morning?”
He nodded.
“It’s Brent.”
He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I’m with him again,” she said, keeping her voice strong because even if she and Brent were fighting, she was choosing to believe they’d work it out. “And we’re in love, and we’re trying to work things out. You’ve always stood by me, and helped me, and that’s why I want you to know.”
He nodded slowly, as if taking in the news. “Is he making you happy?” he asked carefully.
“Most of the time,” she said. “It’s not perfect, and we have stuff to figure out, but I think we’ll get there.”
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
She rested her head briefly on his shoulder, then opened a new text message, and sent Brent a note.
I am thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you. When you’re ready, I’m here.
That was it. That was all. It was time to stop fighting, and to start behaving like adults who had history and baggage, and who had hurt and pain.
But who were willing to fight their way to the other side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” rang out from a nearby slot machine as coins splashed into the metal bucket. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt working the one-armed bandit shouted a triumphant yes!
Brent and Mindy walked through the slot machines while she made her afternoon rounds through the casino
“I get that you’re pissed—” Mindy began.
Brent held up a finger. “Correction. Was pissed. I was pissed last night.”
Mindy nodded, and pressed the Bluetooth in her ear, listening for a few seconds, then returned to the conversation. They strolled past a machine crooning “Pure Imagination” as a cartoonish Willy Wonka presided over the slots. “Fine. You were pissed last night. And now you’re resentful and kind of catatonic. Am I right?”
He huffed, but nodded.
“Then get ready for some tough love, my friend.” She stopped at an empty Cleopatra machine, parking her hand on the queen’s golden headband. “This is what you need to realize—and none of this is to belittle what you’re feeling. But sweetie, you don’t get to be angry. You don’t get to own this feeling of resentment.”
He narrowed his eyes and shot her a look. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not denying your role in this loss. I’m not saying it isn’t painful, or shocking, or sad. I get that you lost something you didn’t even know you had lost,” she said, speaking in a thoughtful, teacherly tone. “But I’m giving you a couple hours, maybe a day, to feel all those things on your own. And then your job is to be there for her. You don’t get to own this hurt. It is hers. She went through it.”
Mindy’s words were iced water splashed onto him. They were the stark reminder that he couldn’t co-opt Shannon’s grief or pain. His was a fraction of hers.
“So what do I do?”
“Be the man she needed you to be ten years ago. The man who doesn’t walk away when you hear that shit didn’t go in your direction.”
“I didn’t walk away,” he said, trying to defend his actions. “I told her I needed time to deal with it.”
Mindy nodded a few times, acknowledging him. “Fine, you needed time. You needed space. I understand. It was a shock. Well, you had your time and you had your space. Now man up, and be who she needs. That’s all you’ve wanted,” she said, slugging his arm. “You have wanted her to need you. You’ve wanted her to want you back in her life. Now she does, and you walk away at the first bit of bad news?”
“I didn’t—”
She held up her palm. “Talk to the hand. You can say you didn’t walk away, and maybe you didn’t, but I bet it feels like that to her. Think back to Boston. Rewind to ten years ago. You hated it when she wouldn’t give up her career for you,” she said, her voice rising as she sent him back in time. “And what did you do in response then? You walked away from her. Now, you hear another thing you don’t like, that she lost a baby, and you do the same. You walked away again. You can finesse it all you want, and say you needed space, but the net effect is the same.”
Her words shamed him. They knocked him out of his stupor of self-loathing. He had wanted so badly to be everything she needed, but when push came to shove, he’d let pride, and fear, and a million other things stand in the way last night.
“Shit,” he said, heavily. “I’ve fucked up.”
“No. You haven’t fucked up,” she said, pressing her fingers to his cheeks and turning his frown upside-down. “You just took a step back. Now, take some steps forward. This time, instead of walking away, walk back to her. Be there for her, and for yourself. I know it’s hard and I know you’re feeling this loss too in a new fresh way. But feel it with her, not against her. Talk to her about it. Don’t run away. Don’t hide. Face your fears with her, and tell her how you feel,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “And move through it together.”