Tripp looked duly taken aback, but managed to snap out of his shocked state in order to ring them up. Tague paid and then guided L.L. to the condiment station with his hand on the small of her back. He retrieved napkins for her, stuffing them into her pocket.
He asked, “How are you on sweetener?”
“Fully stocked at the moment, thanks,” she said in a voice that sounded a bit befuddled.
Tague reached for a straw and unsheathed it, handing it over.
“That’s nice of you.” Her gaze remained on him the entire time, scrutinizing.
He collected a wrap for his cup and then gave her a challenging look. “Evidently, neither of us wants to openly address the elephant in the room. You got burned. I got burned.”
She sighed with obvious resignation. “Third-degree over here.”
“Same for me. The double whammy was that my parents were involved in the split. Orchestrated it, to be specific.”
Loralai’s head snapped back. “Whoa…what? That’s downright vicious.”
“Yes,” he said, not really wanting to delve any deeper. Tague had learned long ago that keeping the past in the past was the key to not getting mired in the muck. It was how one continued to move forward, stronger and smarter than before.
“Tague.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry for you, too.” His eyes searched hers, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Maybe because they were in public? Maybe because she wasn’t ready? Maybe because she shared the same philosophy on cutting the cord so it didn’t strangle her?
He didn’t know for sure, and wasn’t interested in hashing it all out any more than she was.
So, yes. He really did understand where she was coming from.
Their coffees arrived and he followed her out, then led her along the sidewalk, his hand at her back again. He’d leverage any opportunity he could to touch her. And because he truly was alpha.
She sipped before asking, “You and your parents aren’t close, then?”
“Not since I was nineteen. They’ll be at the dinner on Friday.” He could at least set the stage for her. Forewarn her. “My father, Harper Mason, has a brilliant legal mind. But he doesn’t practice, he manages. Or, rather, dictates.” Tague gave a sharp shake of his head at how forcefully his father wielded his authority.
“Why doesn’t he practice?”
This was part of the complication in Tague’s life.
In a grim tone, he said, “My father had a stroke when I was seventeen. A serious stroke. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk, had minimal functionality of his hands. It was incredibly painful to witness this once dominating man reduced to a shadow of his former self and confined to a bed and then a wheelchair for several years.”
“My God. That’s awful.”
“He could still process thoughts. Was able to scribble them out in a fairly cogent way. Enough that we could comprehend for the most part. It might have been easier to dissect his notions if he wasn’t so enraged, twenty-four-seven. But I suppose I’d be pretty damn pissed off, too, to suffer the same fate at forty.”
Gazing up at him, she said, “His stroke clearly affected you.”
“He was an angry son of a bitch to begin with,” Tague contended. “It only got worse. But…I do appreciate your empathy.”
“I’ve never even met my father. Disappeared as soon as he found out my mother was pregnant.”
“His loss,” Tague vehemently contended. “He’s definitely missing out on something incredible.”
L.L. gave him a sweet smile. “Thank you. I try to keep that in mind whenever I wonder how he could just walk away from his own kid.” The smile faded and she added,
“Walking away seems to be a pattern in my life.”
“The ex?” he ventured. “Pre-Meg?”
“He’s not worth discussing,” L.L. said in a prickly tone. She was quiet a few moments, as though composing herself, calming herself. “My friendship with Meg has been hugely helpful in moving me far beyond the heartache. And on the father-front…I have been blessed with connections to some astounding men, including Jace’s dad and Chip’s. So it’s all good.”