Then I whispered, “Darn.”
“So, you’re on days,” he finished and he looked like he was done and ready to leave.
“Tips during day shifts suck,” I muttered as my phone rang. I said this not to stop him, just to whine.
“You’ll survive,” he muttered back as I reached for my phone, his phone really as he’d paid for it, saw my sister’s name on the display and hit the button to take the call. This surprised me, she should be at work and she never called when she was at work.
“Carrie, honey, what’s up?” I asked.
“Laurie.” Her voice broke saying my name and my body darted up, my legs separating so both my feet were on the cool deck.
She didn’t say more.
“Carrie, talk to me, what?” I prompted urgently, too focused to note that Tate had stopped walking away and was moving back toward me. “Carrie!”
“It’s Daddy,” she whispered and then burst into tears.
I curled into a ball, it was automatic. My knees came up, my heels went in the lounge and my torso pressed to my thighs.
I did this because I loved my Dad and the tone of my sister’s voice made me lose my tenuous hold on my new biker babe and regress straight to an eight year old Daddy’s Little Girl.
This was a bad trait I had. It must be said I was not good in a crisis. It was all Dad’s fault, he had three women in his house and he was the kind of male who was all about being the man of the house so he was. He was the one who took care of everything most of my life and made me into a Daddy’s Little Girl.
“What’s Dad?” I whispered but she didn’t respond. “Carrie, baby, what happened to Dad?”
Tate crouched down by my side but I was still focused on the phone.
“Heart…” she hiccoughed, “heart attack.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead into my knee. “Talk to me,” I croaked because my throat had closed. When she didn’t, I begged, “Please, honey, talk to me.”
“He’s… he’s alive, Laurie, but they… they’re worried.”
My body bucked with the sob and I barely felt my cell slide out of my hand. Though my hand knew it was freed because both my arms curled around my legs as I listened vaguely to Tate speaking while I wept.
“This is Tate Jackson, who’s this?” He paused. “I’m a friend of Laurie’s, you’re her sister?” Another pause. “All right, is there someone there with you?” Another pause. “Give him the phone.” Pause. “This Mack? Tate Jackson, friend of Laurie’s. What’s happened?”
I felt strong fingers wrap around my hand and then it firmly, but gently, guided me up and forced me out of the lounge and to my feet.
“Hang on a second,” Tate said into the phone. “Baby, put your wrap on and grab your stuff,” he ordered softly.
Automatically, I did as I was told. Once I had my stuff and slid my feet into my flip flops, he took my hand and guided me out of the pool area toward my room.
“Back,” he said into the phone. “I’ll get her sorted out and on a plane.” Another pause. “Yeah.” Another one. “Right, call back in an hour.”
We were at the door, he touched the phone and then slid my key out of my hand which I had held against my chest because most of my stuff was cradled in my arm.
“What’d Mack say?” I asked.
“Inside, baby,” he replied gently and opened the door.
I walked in and tossed everything but the can of pop on the bed. I put the pop on the nightstand and turned to Tate.
“What’d he say?”
“He’s in surgery,” Tate answered and I closed my eyes. “Babe, you need to get on a plane.” I opened my eyes.
“Right,” I whispered.
“Get in the shower,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I whispered, dutifully starting toward the bathroom.
Tate headed to the door but I stopped him when I called his name.
“Tate?”
He turned and looked at me.
“Did Mack say…” I swallowed. “How’s Mom?”
“Hangin’ in there,” he lied.
“Tate,” I whispered, wrapped my arms around my middle and Tate’s long legs had him in front of me in what seemed less than a second.
His hands settled on my neck right where it hit my shoulders. “She’s not good.”
I fell forward so the top of my head was against his chest.
“He’s the strong one,” I whispered to the floor.
His hands gave me a squeeze. “Laurie, get in the shower.”
My head tipped back and I looked at him, holding myself up with hands planted in his abs.
“Of all of us,” I was still whispering.
“What?”
“He’s the strong one of all of us,” I explained and the tears started to fall in such great waves I didn’t know where one stopped and the next began. “We… we… girls. His girls. We fall apart,” I finished, a loud sob tore up my throat and it sounded only slightly less painful than it felt.
Then I was in Tate’s arms.
*
“Laurie, baby, wake up,” I heard Tate call and my eyes opened.
We were on a plane and I was snuggled into him, head on his chest, my arm wrapped around his stomach.