Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain 2)

We walked through the airport and I started running when I saw my sister’s partner Mack’s tall, dark blond head peering over the crowd at the end of the terminal.

I hit him straight on so hard he went back on a foot.

“Laurie, honey,” he whispered as his arms went around me.

I just started crying again.

He let me cry and had a man-style nominally syllabic conversation with Tate while he held me tight.

“You Jackson?”

“Yeah. Tate.”

“Mack.”

“News?”

Silence.

“Right.”

Mack pushed me to his side, slid his arm around my shoulders and he guided me to the escalator that would take us down to baggage claim.

“Got another situation,” Mack said when we’d exited the escalator and when he said it his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Yeah?” Tate asked and my head tilted back to look at Mack.

“What?” I whispered.

“Your Dad’s out of surgery, he’s in ICU. Only your Mom’s been able to see him. They’re keepin’ a close eye and they want him to rest,” Mack told me.

“Okay,” I replied.

Mack was silent and we stopped by our baggage claim.

Then he pulled in a breath. “Brad’s at the hospital.”

I tore out of his arm and took a step back, shouting, “What?”

“Laurie…” Mack said.

“Ace…” Tate said.

I looked at Tate and informed him, “That’s my ex.”

He got close to me and took my hand. “Okay, baby.”

“My ex as in my ex-husband who spent five years of our marriage f**king my best friend,” I shouted, oblivious of the other travelers turning to stare.

“Yeah, babe, I know,” Tate had pulled my hand up and placed it palm down on his chest with his hand over it.

“He’s at the hospital,” I screeched, “where my father is in I…C…U!”

Tate’s head bent so his face was close to mine. “Calm down, Laurie.”

“No!” I shouted in his face. “What a jerk!”

“Do you want me to beat the shit outta him when we get there?” Tate asked, sounding serious and I blinked at him.

“What?”

“I will,” Tate stated.

“You… you’ll… beat the shit out of him?”

“Say the word, babe.”

“Would… wouldn’t you get arrested for something like that?” I asked.

“Probably,” he answered.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” I decided.

“Your call,” he muttered and turned to the baggage claim, moving my hand so it became my arm wrapped around his waist and sliding his arm along my shoulders.

“You’ll yell you see the case,” Mack instructed but he sounded like he found something funny.

“Yep,” Tate said, his eyes on the now moving carousel.

“You’re good, by the way,” Mack went on.

“What?” Tate asked.

“Took me five years with Carrie to figure out how to talk her down from a drama. Laurie’s been in your town for what? A month? Shit, man, you’re the master.”

Tate chuckled.

This conversation didn’t penetrate me. I was post-shouting at the Indianapolis Airport, pre-visit to the hospital where my father who I adored but had left worrying about me for six months (or longer) was in ICU and my ex-husband was hanging out for reasons that could only mean he’d gone insane.

Therefore, I collapsed into Tate’s side, resting my head on his shoulder.

His arm around my shoulders got tighter.

It wouldn’t be until much, much later that I would remember that I hadn’t called Wood.

* * * * *

Apparently the tear reservoir had run dry by the time we made it to St. Vincent’s Hospital because when I hit the waiting room and Mom and Caroline fell on me, all I could do was hold onto both of them in our mini-huddle.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom whispered in my ear, “missed you so much, hon.”

I just held her tighter.

After a long time, we disengaged and they stepped back. Carrie looked toward Tate first. Then her mouth dropped right open.

Then she muttered, “Holy cow.”

Mom heard Carrie and she stopped smiling sadly at me, looked up at Tate and then she blinked and her head reared back.

“Um… Mom, Carrie, this is Tate Jackson his my bo –”

“Boyfriend,” Tate stated firmly, his deep, rough voice filling the waiting room and I could swear Carrie looked like she was going to faint and I could swear this because her upper body started teetering in a random pattern all the while Mom blinked again, repeatedly.

I looked up at Tate in shock but he was looking over my sister’s head.

“Can I help you?” he asked and I turned to see who he was looking at.

Brad was standing there, looking pale, somewhat haggard even though he also looked like Brad but after all these months, all that had gone on before, more than a month in Carnal with the likes of Tate and Wood, he didn’t seem like my glorious, beautiful Brad anymore.

He had light brown hair he used product on to sweep back from his face and, like always, even in a hospital waiting room, his hair looked perfect. He didn’t wash it and let it fall as it lay. He styled it and sometimes he took longer fiddling with his hair than I did blow drying mine and this was saying something because I had a lot of hair. He was only three inches taller than me so he’d never liked me to wear very high heels. He had blue eyes that I’d used to think were piercing. Now they just seemed blue. And he had an absolutely great body but he honed this by going to the gym five times a week, never missing a scheduled visit. He even went in when he was sick, such was his aversion to the thought of losing his carefully crafted physique.

His eyes were on me.

“Ree?” he asked, staring at me like he’d never seen me before.

“What are you doing here, Brad?” I asked back.

When he heard my voice he breathed, “Ree.”

“We couldn’t get him to go away,” Carrie informed me.

Brad jerked as if pulling himself together and then his eyes moved to Tate briefly before they came back to me.

“This is my family,” he explained.

“Sorry?” I whispered, feeling my body get tight.

“He’s been sayin’ that a lot,” Mack muttered to Tate.

“I’m guessin’ you’re Brad,” Tate said to Brad.