Chapter Six #3
As Carson launched into what Blane knew was supposed to be the last song before the encore, he checked his watch.
He should say goodbye and make his way backstage, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this woman.
Didn’t want to. And screw it. He didn’t need to be down there right this second.
He’d still have time to catch up with the team before they left.
They didn’t need him for anything operational.
If it weren’t for Cash, they wouldn’t even know he was here.
So he watched Bea dance in her seat, her shoulder brushing his arm every now and then.
Even if Cash himself had appeared in front of him right now, Blane wasn’t sure the man could have dragged him away.
The song ended, and the crowd roared for more. Bea looked at him hopefully when the band came back out, and Blane settled deeper onto the stool. Of course they were staying for the encore. And then another.
By the time the house lights finally came up, bright enough to wipe out every shadow in the place, there was no putting it off any longer.
Bea looked up at him. “Do you have to go back to work now?”
He nodded reluctantly.
She let out a small sigh. “I was afraid of that. But before you go—thank you. This has been wonderful, Blane.”
He shook his head. He couldn’t say goodbye to her here. Besides, he’d already thought about this. Screw Cash. “I know you said you’d be okay getting back to the hotel, but I don’t want you riding the tube alone. Let me at least get you into a cab.”
She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.
“That’s so sweet of you, Blane. But don’t worry— I have a cab all set up. I’m not very good with Uber, so the girls at reception arranged one for me. It should be waiting at the pickup point.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine. You should go.”
“I’ll walk you to it.”
“Blane, you need to get back to work.”
“Work can wait.”
She saw his expression and laughed softly. “Blane, I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Good, but I wouldn’t be fine. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t see you safe in a cab and on your way.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “All right.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders as they joined the crowd filing out of the arena. The whole way, he was conscious of the clock ticking. The team would be waiting for him. Cash had asked him to check in. He should be thinking about that.
He wasn’t.
All he could think about was the woman tucked against his side and the fact that every step they took brought them closer to the place where he’d have to let her go. When they reached the pickup point, Bea checked the message on her phone and read out the registration number.
Blane spotted the car first. “That one.”
“Of course you found it before I did.”
He ignored that and walked her over, checking the registration himself before opening the rear door.
Bea didn’t get in. Instead, she turned to face him.
“Well.” She smiled up at him. “I guess this is it, Mr. Blane Wilder.”
He had to clear his throat. “Yeah. I guess it is, Bea.” There had to be something he could say. Something better than that. “It’s been great. Thank you.” He swallowed. “I wish I was better with words, but … I’m not.”
Her hands came up to rest on his biceps. “You don’t need to be better with words.” Her fingers tightened slightly before she rolled up onto her toes.
For one suspended moment, he stopped breathing. Then her lips brushed his cheek.
“You’re perfect just the way you are, Blane. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
His throat tightened.
She lowered herself back onto her heels but didn’t step away.
“This might sound silly to you, but it’s true; I’ll always remember you.”
He stared down into those hazel eyes, desperately searching for something—anything—to say that would tell her she wasn’t going to be easy for him to forget either.
Nothing came. And apparently Bea didn’t expect it to. She gave his arms one last squeeze before stepping back.
“Goodbye, Blane.”
“Goodbye, Bea.”
She slid into the back seat, but before the driver could pull away, Blane went around to the window and held out two fifty-pound notes.
The man stared at them. “Mate, that’s—”
“Get her back to the hotel safe.”
“I was planning to.”
Blane held his gaze.
The driver took the money. “Yeah. All right.”
Blane nodded and stepped back.
Through the window, Bea was giving him a look that told him she’d seen the whole thing. He lifted one shoulder. She shook her head, but she was smiling.
Then the cab pulled away.
Bea twisted around in the back seat and raised her hand through the rear window.
Blane raised his, then stood there watching until the cab disappeared from sight. Only then did he become aware of the crowd milling around him again.
“Shit.” He should have said something, done something, found a way to see her again. He hadn’t. And now she was gone.
He turned on his heel and marched back toward the arena—back to work.