Chapter Four
Cade
After stopping too many times—I didn’t take into account the fact my leg and hip wouldn’t enjoy sitting in a car for hours at a time—the sun was beginning its descent in the sky by the time I made it to Lake Tahoe, and as much as I was killing to get this show on the road, to talk Tatum into the movie and get her pretty backside on a plane with me to Vancouver, I realized that I was probably better off buttering the woman up in the morning.
Now though, I couldn’t sleep.
The hotel I checked into was a low-key place that was mostly used during ski season. While the room was far more…antique…than I was accustomed to, it was only for the one night.
It wasn’t the aesthetics—see, lack of class—that was keeping me awake though.
No.
It was Tatum O’Malley.
Apparently tonight was the premier of the last movie she’d been in, and sometime between leaving this afternoon and arriving an hour before, the news outlets started blowing up.
Where’s Tatum O’Malley? Your guess is as good as ours.
The ever-elusive Tatum O’Malley was nowhere to be found at the premier of 682.
“I haven’t spoken to her in months.”—Grant Maxwell, when asked if he knew where O’Malley was.
I read through the articles.
There was more speculation on the rumors that had circulated in the winter, back when Tatum was spotted and tarnished for being with Grant.
Back when the world called her a homewrecker, as pictures of Grant’s wife crying circulated.
Shaking my head, I go to the Internet app, and type in her name. I want to see more than the current headlines, and soon, I’m watching clips of her. Most are from her television days, from the primetime drama that apparently launched her career.
Even as a minor role, it was clear why the viewers enjoyed her character.
The woman was great.
Her audition reel was hardly even a sliver of what the girl could do.
I wanted her in this movie even more now, than I had last week.
She could act.
And she was gorgeous on top of all that.
I found myself fascinated with her voice.
Her smile.
Hell, even the pissed off look she tossed to her TV-dad on more than one occasion.
An hour after being sucked down the YouTube rabbit hole, I switched apps, moving into Instagram, only to find myself going back to the black-and-white image of Tatum laughing.
And I stare at the image frozen in time.
At the sad eyes that betray her joy.
Trying to figure out her story.
How did she go from a TV star, to a woman in hiding?
What was it that had her hiding at the White’s private resort?
Knowing I wasn’t getting answers tonight, I close my phone and flip the bedside lamp off.
Tomorrow morning will come soon enough.
I dreamt of her.
I’m not a guy who remembered his dreams, not since adolescence when wet dreams were the start of a guy’s sexual growth.
And no, I can’t recall exactly what I dreamt of, but I did wake with the absolute clarity that Tatum O’Malley was in my dreams.
Probably because my mind was fixated on her all day yesterday, and I went to sleep after scrolling through endless articles, pictures, and videos of her.
I almost felt like a knew the girl—if only I felt like I knew why she was hiding.
Soon. Soon, you will know. And you will pull her from it.
That was the plan, anyhow.
After a quick shower and throwing on my lazy-day attire of basketball shorts and a long-sleeved Monster Energy shirt, I grab my over-packed bag and head out to my truck, ready to get this show on the road.
It was still a little early, but I did the gentlemanly thing by not storming the White fortress last night. While that maybe earned me some points, what didn’t earn me points was ignoring the three messages Charleigh sent me between last night and this morning. Even now, after stopping for coffee and food—because who didn’t like coffee and croissants with chocolate drizzled over them?—with my phone ringing incessantly on the passenger seat beside me, I ignore Charleigh.
I’m driving.
No hands free, in this nine-year-old truck of mine.
She’d be more upset with me for answering my phone while driving.
Yep.
That’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
But Charleigh seems to have wonderful timing, and she calls again just as I pull my F250 into the White’s drive. After parking, and on the fourth ring, I open the call.
“You don’t give up, do you, Char?”
“Apparently I could say the same for you. I just talked to her. She said she hadn’t seen you yet. Please tell me you turned around. Tell me you’ll go to coffee with me.”
“I have a coffee date already,” I answer, my lips quirking as I look over to the white cups in my holders. The coffee shop was one of Charleigh’s favorites; a small mom-and-pop type place, where the wife handmade the pastries every day.
“Cade…” Charleigh’s voice was exasperated.
“Geez, Charleigh, it’s not that big of a deal!” I answer with a laugh. I reach for the pastry bag and secure it between my palm and two fingers, freeing my thumb and remaining fingers for a coffee cup. With my phone wedged between my shoulder and ear, I grab the second coffee and carefully climb down from the truck.
This bad boy was my pride and joy; the six-inch lift kit and stickers decorating the back window a montage of my pro-biking days. God, when Tim first saw it…
The biggest piece of advice I chose to not follow, was getting a respectable car.
This truck was me.
With my elbow, I close the door, careful to not jostle either coffee.
“She’s just…” Charleigh sighs heavily in the phone. “She won’t agree to it, Cade. You’re wasting your time.”
Rather than making my way down the stone pathway, I remain standing by the front-end of my truck. “Well then, I’m an hour closer to Vancouver, then. Silver lining, Charleigh.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I can picture my friend shaking her head. She knows I’m not backing down. “When are you heading up, then?”
I know she means Vancouver. “I’ll probably schedule a flight for tomorrow night.”
“From up there? Or will you drive back down?”
“I have everything I need. I’ll drive up to Reno and fly out of there.”
“There’s no way I can talk you out of talking to her?”
“I’m here, Charleigh.” I wave my hand with just a coffee in it, toward her house…as if she can see, which I’m well aware she cannot.
“Fine. Good luck. She’s going to say no.”
“You have such little faith in me,” I joke.
“No. I just know things you don’t.” She doesn’t even take the jesting bait. She sounds resigned. “Call me before you fly out.”
“Will do, Char.” I set the coffee down on the front of my truck and take my phone from my ear and shoulder. After being sure the phone is locked, I slip it between my side and waistband of my shorts and, grabbing the coffee cup again, head toward the front door.
I grinned at the memory of Charleigh’s words.
She who has so little faith…
Watch this.