Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
The expression on Cat’s face when the doctor had replied that he didn’t know whether Tyler would live or die would haunt Tate for the rest of his life.
The girl who had always been happy and optimistic had turned pale, looking like she’d been slapped in the face. Those blue eyes had stood out starkly against her white skin, and her hands had visibly trembled. Her return to Winslow Heights had quickly become a nightmare.
Strong instinct had taken over, and he’d bundled her up in his car and driven back to the tavern, his only thought to comfort her.
It wasn’t his place anymore, but it was hard to break a long habit, even if it had been years ago.
At the moment, it didn’t feel like any time had passed.
They were two kids, clinging to one another in a chaotic and cold world.
She’d barely spoken to him during the drive, not questioning his actions. They hadn’t seen each other for a long time, but she didn’t seem to mind that he’d taken control of the situation. He’d asked her a few questions, and she’d answered in one-word replies, barely acknowledging his presence.
“Stay here,” he said when he placed her into a booth at the tavern. “I’ll be right back.”
He had a quick word with the chef and then went back behind the bar and poured a generous brandy. It wasn’t for him.
Sliding the glass in front of Cat, he sat on the opposite booth bench. It didn’t matter that they’d argued the night before. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t truly spent any time together in a decade.
Tate didn’t look too closely into those inconvenient emotions. He didn’t want to get drawn in with Cat again, but he couldn’t turn his back on her either.
It wasn’t love, though. It was…something else. Care? Friendship? He’d stopped loving Cat a long time ago.
He was almost sure of it.
“If you drink it, it will make you feel better.”
His mother had always said that brandy was good for shock.
Cat didn’t reply, but she reached out and lifted the glass to her lips, taking a sip. She made a face and coughed a few times, shaking her head while making a gagging noise.
“What in the hell is that?”
“Brandy. I think you’re in shock.”
“So, you gave me brandy? It’s barely noon.”
“Shock doesn’t have a timetable,” Tate replied. “And it helped. You’re back with me. You were gone for a while.”
“That was nasty. Do people drink this stuff?”
“Not many, but some. You’ve never had brandy before?”
He couldn’t help but wonder about some of her high-dollar friends she had met during her career. Had not one of them ever offered her brandy?
To be fair, he’d only had it a few times—once because he’d been curious about the bottle in his father’s study and the second time when his mother had given him a small amount after his grandmother had died unexpectedly. He and his grandmother had been extremely close.
“No, and I don’t think I’ll have it again.”
Cat pushed the glass away, still making a face.
“According to my father, it’s an acquired taste.”
“Do you like it?”
“No,” he admitted. “I think Cooper likes it, maybe. Sam might, too. I’m more of the whiskey type.”
“I’ll pass on that, too. I’m not much of a drinker. Wine, mostly.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the chef signaling him from the doorway to the kitchen. He had a much better idea of how to comfort Cat than alcohol. He hoped it still worked.
“Give me a minute,” Tate said, hopping up from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not even sure why you brought me here.”
It had been an impulse. She’d needed someone, and he’d stepped in. Whether she’d wanted him to was certainly up in the air.
He and his chef carried the dishes from the kitchen and placed them on the table. It was simple fare, and he didn’t have a clue as to how Cat was going to respond.
Grilled cheese. Tomato soup. Chocolate brownie. An ice-cold soda pop.
How many times had they eaten the exact same meal in the kitchen of his childhood home? About a million.
Emily had always sat the two of them at the island, chatting to them about anything and everything. She’d had the patience of a saint, and always seemed to listen, even when they weren’t talking about something that would be interesting to a grown-up.
In the summer, they would have had popsicles instead of a brownie—grape for him, and an orange or a banana for Cat. In the winter, it was mostly brownies, although Emily had occasionally thrown in some variety. Cake on a birthday, for example.
The chef bustled back into the kitchen, and Tate sat down. Cat’s brows had pulled together as she surveyed the meal in front of her. She looked at him and then down at the plates again before darting back up.
“I haven’t thought about this in years.”
Her voice was so soft and low, he could barely hear the words. To his horror, her eyes filled with tears, and a few even slipped down her cheeks.
Shit, he’d wanted to make her feel better, but he’d only made it worse. Now she was crying, for fuck’s sake. He’d messed this up.
“Damn, I’m sorry?—”
“Stop,” she commanded, holding her hand up.
“It’s okay. I’m not upset. Well, I am upset, but not because of this.
I’m just upset in general. And now you’ve made the one meal that used to make everything better.
I haven’t had grilled cheese and tomato soup since… I don’t even remember the last time.”
“I thought it might help.”
It sounded so lame. He still wasn’t sure that he’d done the right thing.
“You even remembered the brownie.”
“Emily didn’t make it. Piper did. She’s an amazing baker. She has a YouTube channel, and she’s working on a cookbook.”
“She used to want to be a detective,” Cat replied, picking up her spoon and dipping it into the creamy tomato soup.
“I wanted to be a cowboy. Some things don’t work out.”
They didn’t speak while they ate, simply enjoying the delicious food. The tavern staff came by once with fresh sodas, but otherwise left them alone. Luckily, the place wasn’t crazy busy, and the bartender on duty was one of his more experienced employees who didn’t need Tate’s help constantly.
“That was exactly what I needed,” Cat said with a sigh when the food was mostly gone. “What is it about grilled cheese and tomato soup that makes everything better? Plus the chocolate, of course.”
“Chocolate makes everything better,” Tate said. “Cheese doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Yes, cheese has magic powers,” Cat agreed. “Tate, do you think we can be friends again? I’d like that.”
Friends. The word was short and simple, but his feelings about it were anything but. He wanted to be her friend - he truly did - but it wasn’t that easy or straightforward.
There was no way they’d ever be a couple again. That ship had sailed. They were older and hopefully wiser. While they may have loved one another, the universe had made other plans.
But friendship didn’t seem like a no-brainer. They both carried baggage from the past, and other than their history, did they even have anything in common? Perhaps all they’d ever had was this small town.
“Yes, we can be friends.”
He wasn’t sure it would ever work out, but it was simply one more request from this woman he couldn’t refuse.
Friends.
Did Cat even want to be friends with Tate? She’d asked. He’d said yes. But now that he’d agreed, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was wise or foolish.
She wanted him to be a part of her life. She just wasn’t sure what that looked like. They weren’t lovers. Friends was the only other option, right?
At one point, Tate had been her most important person. He’d been far more than her friend, boyfriend, or lover. He’d been…everything.
Her source of love, comfort, laughter, challenge, and so much more. Her days had been filled with him, and when they’d both gone off to college, it had been almost like losing a physical limb. A huge part of her had been missing, and she hadn’t known how to fill it.
Even now, as she gazed at him across the table, her mind was filled with images from their past. Happiness, laughter, love, and yes, some anger, too.
They’d had a few disagreements in their relationship.
Fights that had seemed like the end of the world.
They’d been kids, after all, and hadn’t always made the best choices.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Do you need anything else?”
That’s a question I haven’t answered for myself yet.
“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. I think I was in a little bit of shock. There was so much blood. I still can’t quite wrap my mind around it. And then the doctor said that Tyler might not make it.”
“He’s a fighter,” Tate replied. “He’d got as good a chance as anyone.”
She wanted to believe. At no time during her mother’s cancer treatment had any doctor sounded like the one in the emergency room today.
“The doctor didn’t sound hopeful.”
“He probably didn’t want to get our hopes up.”
“Trust me, he didn’t.”
“I just hope Finn can find who did this quickly,” Tate said. “This is going to shake up the whole town. People are going to be afraid to be outside.”
“Who would want to shoot Tyler? Or Josh, for that matter? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know. A disgruntled customer, maybe? For Josh. I don’t know why anyone would shoot at Tyler. He doesn’t even live here.”
“Could it be random?” she asked, fiddling with the paper napkin. “I guess that would be even worse, though. Someone just shooting at people for no particular reason. That’s ghastly.”
“I’d hate to think we have a sniper in Winslow Heights,” Tate replied. “I think we need to operate on the assumption that someone was aiming for either Josh or Tyler. Finn is questioning people, and he’ll also try to get any security camera footage from the area.”
“Josh and Rachel have cameras around the property. She mentioned them when she showed me around the house last night.”
“Finn will definitely look at that. Maybe some of their neighbors might have cameras, too. Plus, any traffic cams going in and out of the neighborhood. The state forensic team was out there looking for any evidence the shooter might have left behind.”
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to deal with this,” Cat admitted. “I’m freaked out, and I’m not sure if I’m reacting correctly. Should I faint? Should I be screaming? Should I make a casserole? That’s what my mom would tell me to do. She thinks a homemade lasagna can fix anything.”
“Your mom’s lasagna always made me feel better,” Tate declared. “I hope she’s feeling good these days.”
“She is, and I know that both she and I appreciate all you did before I brought her to New York with me.”
“It was no trouble. I always liked your mom very much.”
Grace Townsend would have loved to have Tate for a son-in-law. She’d never made any secret of that, although she had far more mixed emotions about Joel Winslow being part of the family.
The door to the tavern swung open, and the sheriff walked through, heading straight for their table. Cat had noticed that he hadn’t looked well this morning and didn’t look any better now. If anything, he was worse - his face pale and his eyes glassy.
If she’d known him better, she would have told him to go home and get straight into bed. Drink plenty of fluids and watch mindless reality television. But they didn’t have that sort of relationship, so she kept her opinion to herself.
“Christ, you look like death warmed over.”
Apparently, Tate did have a relationship like that with the sheriff.
“I feel like it,” Finn replied, his voice hoarse. “But I can’t give in to whatever demon flu this is. I’ve got several deputies out, and poor Campbell would be in charge if I go down. I can’t do that to him.”
Cat didn’t know who Campbell was, but she had a bad feeling that he was going to be in charge of the town whether he liked it or not. The current sheriff was literally swaying on his feet.
“I just came by for some chicken soup to go. I’m heading back to the station, and I’ll go over these statements. Plus, I still haven’t found Leo and Shelly.”
“I don’t think?—”
Tate didn’t get to finish his reply. The sheriff’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and in the next second, he was lying on the scarred wooden floor.
Passed out cold.