Snatching up the phone, he snarled a hello. The caller turned out to be a head hunter from the New York Times, confirming their appointment in New York Monday afternoon. Hanging up moments later, Ty stood at the window and assured himself this made up for everything.
Hell, yeah. He was on his way. The upcoming interview would be the first vital step he had been waiting to take forever. Straight into the big-time. Ty Holloway, son of a dirt-poor miner, was mere days away from reaching the fast track and the realization of all his dreams. Rubbing his chest over the hollow spot in his heart, he stared moodily out at the green.
Life did not get any fucking better than this.
I listen to my co-workers talk about the newest bit of media hype surrounding Hayley Prescott. See, I think as I methodically work my way through the paperwork on my desk. If you had listened to me, you would not be in this situation. But, no. You had to put your faith in your fucking precious Kurstin. Look where that got you.
Well, never send a girl to do a woman's work, I always say. I will take care of this mess, tidy up all the sordid loose ends, just the way Hayley should have trusted me to do in the first place. I bet she is damn sorry now she did not.
The moment the office finally empties for the day, I reach for my cell phone and make a call. Tapping a quick little rhythm on the desk top with the eraser end of my pencil, I listen to the phone ring on the other end of the line. When it’s picked up on the other end, I toss the pencil aside and straighten my posture.
"Hello," I say with brisk efficiency. "This is Patsy Beal. You and I need to talk."
Jon-Michael stood in the doorway staring down at his sister. "I'm sorry, Kurst," he said and smoothed his thumb and index finger down the creases on either side of his mouth, feeling helpless. "She refuses to talk to you and I just can't get her to budge."
There were shadows beneath Kurstin's eyes as she looked back up at him. Her face was haggard and her expression haunted but she didn’t utter a single word of protest.
She simply turned and walked away.
Ty picked his way carefully through the woods. As dumbass places for a meet went, this one ranked right up there with the dumbest. But when he’d objected and suggested the cafe was a more reasonable alternative, Patsy Beal had simply laughed incredulously.
"If you think I am going to be seen anywhere in Gravers Bend with you, my friend, you are out of your mind," she had replied coolly. "You, sir, are persona non grata around here, and I am not about to have my name linked to yours."
"So why the hell you wanna meet me at all?" he had demanded churlishly. "I thought you were Prescott's good and great friend."
"I am more of a friend than you can possibly imagine," she'd retorted coolly. "And as it happens, I know the complete story, not just the portion you weaseled out of Kurstin." She had fallen into silence for a moment, before adding flatly, "It will play well above the fold, Holloway, but the choice is yours. Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me."
So, he had taken it. Why the hell not? It wasn’t as if he had anything left to lose at this point.
And maybe it would prove to be that one perfect column to add the final luster to his resume.
Jon-Michael climbed the stairs to the loft. This really wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. What he ought to do was remove himself for a while, because he was upset and not feeling a hundred percent sympathetic.
He found Hayley in the bentwood rocker, using her toes to rock herself, her arms wrapped around her middle. She hadn’t bothered to dress in two days and was still wearing one of his T-shirts, wrinkled now and sporting a stain by the hem where she had sloshed her tea. He was losing patience with her apathy. It was unlike her to simply give up. When things went wrong for the Hayley he knew, she came out fighting.
Every damn time.
She looked at him with haunted eyes. "Is she gone?"
"Yeah. She's gone." Jon-Michael went to the dresser and picked up his wallet. He stuffed it in his back pocket and rummaged around for his keys. Locating them, he turned and watched her rock back and forth, back and forth, staring off into space. "Listen," he said gently, "I know you’re feeling betrayed in the worst way. And Kurstie messed up big-time, no doubt about it. But it wasn’t deliberate, darlin', and she’s been hurt by it too. When are you going to let her off the hook?"
Hayley tensed all over and the rocking came to an abrupt halt. "Excuse me?" She slowly turned her head to regard him with dull eyes. She hugged herself harder. "She threw me to the dogs and you’re defending her?"
"I'm her brother, dammit! And you of all people should know this wasn’t a result she anticipated when she talked to Holloway. Not in a million years would Kurstin hurt you this way. And while you haven’t bothered looking at her since you learned what happened, I’ve seen what knowing what she triggered is doing to her."
He scraped his hair off his forehead with both hands and stared down at her in bafflement. "I don't get it, Hayley. Time and again, you have managed to forgive the unforgivable. Why are you being so implacable now?"
"Maybe I am sick to death of you Olivets turning my life into a goldfish bowl. I don’t want to live center-stage any more."
"How many times do I have to apologize for what I did more than a dozen years ago? And let me remind you, petunia, all those journalists came to town without Kurstin's help."
"Right. She only made it worth their while."
Jon-Michael saw the spark of temper flickering in her eyes and tried to be encouraged. Anger beat hell out of her god-awful lethargy. He wanted to haul her into his arms and hold her safe. Another part of him wanted to shake her for her refusal to cut his sister any slack. He did neither. Instead, he swore under his breath and took a large step back.
He tried to distance himself not only physically but emotionally. "Listen, I've gotta get out of here before I say something I regret."
"Fine," she said flatly. "Run away. You are good at—"
He was suddenly there, with hard hands on her shoulders, pushing her back and holding her chair in the far rocked-back position while thrusting his face close to hers. "Don't. Say it," he warned through gritted teeth. “I’m not the one in this relationship who keeps dancing away from the truth. You can't even get off anymore unless I tell you I love you, but I have yet to hear those words in return."
Seeing the rage, the fear, that flashed in her eyes, he inhaled a deep breath and slowly expelled it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Dammit, I didn’t want to let this degenerate into the two of us saying things we don't really mean." He let her go and straightened, watching the set of her pointed little chin as she stubbornly refused to curb the furious rocking, which his release of the chair set in motion. He walked away, but paused at the top of the stairs.
"Please," he urged quietly, looking across the room at her and hoping like hell that if she would not return his gaze she would at least hear him with more than just her flayed emotions. "Try to look past your pain at this. Don’t throw away a lifelong friendship because of one mistake. Be a better friend than that."