Recovering from jet lag took a lot longer than Hayden anticipated.
The flight back from London was unremarkable and a lot less comfortable than the flight there. Despite Tate’s insistence they change airlines to book first class or charter a private jet to go home, Hayden refused. She’d assured him that any seat was fine. He’d finally let her convince him and they’d ended up crammed in a middle aisle in a tight seat for the incredibly long flight home.
She’d needed the reminder that life wasn’t all champagne and caviar. Halfway through the flight, however, as she was trying to stretch in the pitiful space between her seat and the one in front of her she realized she was being ridiculous. Why was it so hard for her to indulge?
As part of her new year’s resolutions next year, she was just going to enjoy her damn self. Tate had been a good sport, sending her a weary “I told you so” glance, but never bothering with the sentiment. She’d ended up apologizing once they were back in SWC, but he’d only kissed her forehead and sent her up to her apartment before returning home himself.
Now that she’d been home for a few days and was well rested, she was having what might be the most productive day of her life. She’d finished her laundry, planned her meals for the week, and finalized her class schedule for January as well as posting it on her website.
A knock at her door came earlier than she expected. Tate had made dinner plans for them to eat at the Brass Pony. She was wearing one of two new dresses she’d purchased since she’d returned home. One in black for the New Year’s Eve party, which was much fancier than the red one she wore now.
“You weren’t supposed to be here until six,” she said as she pulled open the door. He was dressed handsomely in a suit sans tie, the collar open on a crisp white shirt. But his face was drawn, his mouth downturned.
“Wow. Rough day?”
“You could say that.” He handed her a tall white cup from EterniTea. “They haven’t opened yet, but I know a guy. Thought you might like to try the green tea latte.”
“Thanks.”
He leaned in and kissed her, lingering over her lips as he pulled in a breath. “Ready to go?”
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“Of course.” He made a half-assed attempt at a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” The second she asked her phone beeped—her mother’s ringtone, which was as dooming as Darth Vader’s theme song.
She staunchly ignored it, sipping her tea instead. “This is delicious.”
“Don’t you want to get that?” He frowned.
“No.” Hayden had tried to call her mother to let her know she’d returned from London. She hadn’t heard back and had counted herself lucky. “It’s my mom.”
“We have time.”
“Trust me. Answering that call isn’t about time. My family’s...not like yours.”
“British?” he teased.
“Normal.”
“No family is normal. Answer it. If you do and find it’s more drama with no real point, then mention we are headed to dinner and hang up. It’s just that easy.”
“And if it’s an actual emergency?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
We.
She realized upon hearing that word that she’d never had support when it came to her family. It’d always been more of an “us versus them” situation.
“I’m sure your day was rough enough without dealing with—” the phone beeped again “—whatever this is.”
Tate remained resolutely silent, even when the chime of her voice mail sounded.
“Fine,” she told him, lifting her cell phone and turning on the speaker. “Here we go.”
The recording started with a frantic “Oh, Hayden” that chilled her blood. Hayden’s mother spoke between nervous breaths.
“Your grandmother is in the ER.” Her mother’s recorded voice shook. “This is worse than usual, Hayden. Much worse.” Patti went on dispensing one horrific detail after the last, which made Hayden worry all the more. Patti ended the call with the name of the hospital.
Hayden crossed the living room to grab her keys and purse but was confronted by Tate, who plucked the keys from her hand.
“I’ll drive.”
Her head was already shaking. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I told you we’d deal with it. Let’s deal with it.”
After years of independence and relying on herself, Tate, even after hearing that voice mail, was willing to go with her. It was hard to accept.
“Yes, but...”
“You met my family.”
As if that was the same? But then she thought about how he’d been brave enough to ask for her help. Was she brave enough to accept his?
“Hayden.” He held her hand. That was all it took to convince her. She let him lead her to the door and the uncertainty that waited for them at Seattle Memorial Hospital.
A hard, bitter line was the best description of Hayden’s mouth as she navigated the hospital’s hallways. She was a woman on a mission, and reminded Tate more of a woman who was walking into a courtroom to hear a verdict than someone visiting her sick grandmother.
He’d dealt with his own bullshit today in the form of Casey Huxley. Tate had spent an hour arguing with the jackass head contractor who was spearheading the new neighborhood in SWC—that “secret” project model Hayden had stumbled upon in Tate’s upstairs bedroom.
Casey had been amenable to the design until recently. Now they were arguing over bulldozing more trees to expand. It wasn’t happening. Tate wouldn’t compromise nature simply because Casey was too lazy to find a workaround.
At the nurse’s desk, they learned that Hayden’s grandmother had been downgraded from ICU to a room of her own, which only firmed the bitter line of Hayden’s lips, causing them to vanish altogether.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with true dysfunction and had zero experience with alcoholism, but he knew stressful situations which was clearly what she was involved in here.
“When’s the last time you took a deep breath?” he asked, catching her wrist before she could march in the direction of her grandmother’s room.
Hayden glared up at him, unwilling to let go and let God.
“Wouldn’t it be better to walk into that room calm and collected?” he tried again. Advice he could’ve taken from himself earlier when he’d been in a screaming match with Casey in the trailer at the worksite. Tate would have some backpedaling to do if he hoped to quell the gossip train. Destroying land was a hot button for him. He refused to compromise his integrity, or his island’s.
She didn’t look happy about it, but Hayden took one breath, then another. “You don’t have to go in with me. My family is... They’re...” She shook her head, giving up.
“Family,” he answered. “Not serial killers. Family. Messy, complicated, unpredictable.”
“The student becomes the teacher.” Her smile was faint.
“I’m a fast learner.”
In the hospital room, there was an empty bed by the door and a frail, pale woman in a bed by the window. He guessed the woman at her side holding her hand to be Hayden’s mother. She had the same dark brown hair, but shot through with gray. She carried more weight than Hayden and her face was lined.
A man in jeans and a long-sleeved sweater approached from the corridor, limping like he had a bum knee. He didn’t seem very old, but his beer belly and the dark circles beneath his eyes aged him.
“Hayd. You made it.” His voice was bright, almost cheery. Odd considering the situation.
“Hi, Dad.” Hayden’s smile was cautious as she held herself in check. No warm family greetings here.
“Went to grab a coffee. Guess we’ll be here awhile.” He sipped from his cup before turning to Tate. “Hello.”
“Dad, this is Tate Duncan. He drove me here. Tate, my father, Glenn.”
“Nice to see you, Tate. Can I grab either of you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Hayden told him.
Tate tried not to take her “he drove me here” comment personally, as if he was a chauffer and not the man who’d taken her to London over the holidays.
“Okey-doke. Well, I’ll let you go in and visit, then. I’ll wander around.” In place of goodbye, he said, “Tate,” and then turned and walked away from them.
“He’s mellow.” It might’ve been the strangest interaction Tate had ever had with a parent, and that was saying something.
“It’s a coping mechanism,” she said.
“Hayden? Oh, Hayden!” Her mother, having just noticed them at the threshold, frantically waved her deeper into the room. Hayden’s grandmother lifted her head, her eyelids narrowing. Tate could’ve sworn the temperature of the room went down a few degrees.
“Hi, Mom.” Hayden gave her mother a side hug and then dipped her chin to acknowledge her grandmother. “Grandma Winnie. How are you feeling?”
“Welllll, if it isn’t the princess from the high tower,” came Winnie’s barbed reply, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So nice of you to deign to come visit us common folk.” She turned stony eyes on Tate and barked, “Who the hell are you?”