Page 56 of On His Knees
“The man I raised isn’t one to give up so easily. Where the hell is he right now?” He laughs and says, “Maybe he froze his balls off in the Alps.”
Weary, I say, “I’m still that same man, Granddad, and my balls are just fine.” I take a breath, and try not to think about the day I froze them in the polar bear plunge and how Summer warmed them up afterward.
He waves gnarled fingers at me. “Then go get her, already.”
“She hates me. Thinks I’m an ass.”
“An ass, huh? Then that’s where you start.”
I glance at Granddad, and he has the sparkle in his eye again. What the hell is he up to now?
“You know what you have to do, son.”
I think about that. Honest to God, I’ve been miserable without Summer. She’s the best thing that has ever happened to me, and what I was to her was—an ass.
A total fucking ass.
My brain comes to a resounding halt and I pull myself up to my full six feet. That’s it. Grandad is right.
That’s where I start.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Summer
IT’S BEEN TWO LONG, grueling weeks since I returned home from the Swiss Alps. Life is back to normal, but I swear I’ll never be normal again. I fell in love with a millionaire, one who was pretending to be something else. Okay, I get that I kept my identity a secret, but that’s different, right?
Don’t go soft now, Summer. He hurt you.
I push away from my desk and think about something else. I glance at the stack of files that need sorting. Friday afternoons at the clinic always seem to be the busiest time of the week for some reason. No wonder I’m drained by now, as we’re about to close up. I guess the elderly want their checkups, so they can go into the weekend worry-free. Unable to help myself, my thoughts roam to James and my heart pinches. He’s called a few times but I’m not ready to speak to him after what he did. I’d never leave him high and dry though. My colleague is still caring for him until I’m ready to face him again. I just pray his grandson is nowhere around when I make my house calls.
I spin in my chair, ready to call it a night. I have a good book and a bottle of wine waiting for me when I get home. A sudden pang of loneliness hits. Dammit. How will I ever find my normal again after Tate Carson? I miss him. Goddammit, I love him. Heartache sets my chest on fire and I try to breathe past it, try not to think about all the fun things we did in St. Moritz. Despite myself, a smile tugs at my mouth when I remember the polar bear plunge. I glance at the brown envelope holding Tate’s badge for Most Entertaining. They gave it to me upon checkout and for some reason I can’t seem to throw the damn thing out.
My mind goes to the rope game we played, th
e way our bodies touched and teased, to the first night he took me in his chalet. Or rather James’s chalet. My lips tingle, remembering his sweet kisses, the mellow mood we were in when we made love in my suite after the hot tub. Warmth moves through me. Was I too hasty in walking away?
Forget him already.
I close my eyes, and memories of the kind, sexy, hot bartender play out like a slide show. He said not everything was a lie, but how can I believe that? Oh, maybe because of the way he touched me, cared for me and worshipped my body. Desire and need like that can’t be faked, right? When he took me that final night, he needed to brand me as much as I needed him to do it. How could any of that be a lie?
Have I made a horrible, horrible mistake? Letting past hurts haunt me, lumping Tate in with the likes of those cruel boys. Do I think he was as vicious? No, I don’t. More important, do I think he meant to hurt me? Maybe at first, when he thought I was something I wasn’t...but later on, after we’d gotten to know each other, no, I don’t think he would purposely hurt me.
Should I have given him another chance? When it comes right down to it, he was trying to protect his family, and that’s admirable. Can I really hold that against him?
The truth is, Tate fucked up. But so did I. I mislead him about my identity. Is an omission the same as lying? Maybe it is. It certainly might be to the lawyer in him.
I pinch my eyes shut, unsure of my next move. But there is one thing I do know, Tate and I need to have a conversation.
“Oh. My God!” my receptionist shrieks from the other room.
Fearing there’s someone in need of medical attention, I bolt from my seat and hurry into the waiting area.
“What?” I ask, when I find her backing away from the window, her jaw slack.
My stomach flips as I follow her gaze. I slap my hand over my mouth, when I see Tate’s face pressed against the glass. No wonder he frightened Tamara.
Making of fool of himself, he waves at us, and I take note of what he’s wearing—the same costume I forced him to wear in St. Moritz.