Chapter Eight
Tess Morrow needed to cry.
Grief had been trapped in her chest all day, and the pressure to let it go grew more painful by the second. She’d been strong during her grandfather’s memorial service here at The Pub. All Patrick Morrow’s friends had shared their stories of him, the funny, generous, kind man who’d raised her, and she hadn’t shed a tear. People offered condolences and she gracefully thanked them. But if one more person said “I’m sorry for your loss,” the composure that was making her face hurt would shatter. If the stragglers didn’t leave pretty soon, she couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t see her ugly, wet, snotty cry.
She both yearned and dreaded to be alone when it happened. Still, the sooner she sped up them up, the sooner she could mourn privately.
She walked over to the booth by the front window and smiled at the three men and one woman there. They were here to pay their respects. “Can I get you anything? Another beer? Glass of wine?”
All four shook their heads. They were older, longtime friends of her grandfather. Silver-haired John Alexander gave her a sympathetic look. “How are you holding up, honey?”
“Okay,” she lied. “I learned how to be strong from him.”
“That was Pat,” he agreed. “Strongest person I ever knew.”
The older woman sitting beside him touched his arm and gave the other two men a look. “We need to go. It’s been a long day for Tess.”
The others murmured their agreement and slid out of the booth. Every one of them asked if she needed anything and then hugged her. Made sure she knew to call if they could help her at all. Finally, blessedly, she closed and locked the door behind them. She lowered the shades on the big glass windows looking out on the nearly empty parking lot. Finally she was alone.
“Tess?”
She whirled around, heart pounding. “Dear God, Leo. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here?” She blew out a long breath.
“I came to pay my respects to Pat,” he said. “He was my friend.”
“I meant still. What are you still doing here?”
“Just wanted to stick around. Make sure you’re okay.” He shrugged one broad shoulder.
Leo “The Wall” Wallace used to play professional ice hockey up until two years ago when an ankle injury ended his career. That sucked for him, but prevented female heartbreak in every major city with an NHL team.
He was a really big man, not just tall, but muscular, too. He had dirty-blond hair that insisted on curling and blue eyes that normally sparkled with mischief and flirtation. Right now they were somber and a little sad. Her grandfather had had a soft spot in his heart for this man. Tess’s heart? Not so soft for him.
“Where did you come from?” Her pulse was finally slowing to normal.
“My favorite booth.”
She glanced at it in a far, shadowy corner that Pat had called the penalty box. In honor of Leo and his time spent in one during his hockey career.
“Well, I didn’t see you.” That was only half a lie. She’d ignored him, or tried to. He was a reminder of problems—personal and otherwise.
In the last year or so, bar revenue had declined. They were losing business to trendier establishments, and six months ago her grandfather had approached Leo about investing in The Pub. He’d introduced her and suggested lending Leo’s celebrity name and a bit of capital to modernize and shake things up. She’d assured Pat that the two of them together could come up with a plan to make the place profitable again. But he was sick. Losing the man who’d taken her in when she was six years old hadn’t been part of that plan.
Tears stung her eyes but she managed, just barely, to hold them back. “I’m fine.”
He moved closer, stopping right in front of her. The man was like a mountain. Hence his nickname, “The Wall.”
“Are you really?”
“I have to be.” She looked up and met his gaze, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t pounding too hard, and if it was, that it had nothing whatsoever to do with him standing so near. “Okay, thanks for coming. You can go now.”
She turned her back on him and resolutely walked to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, Leo.”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded and joined her at the exit. “Good night. I know how much you’ll miss him. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
His voice was so gentle, soft and sincere, yet somehow it popped the bubble of strength around her. She just couldn’t keep it up any longer. Moisture blurred her eyes, and big, fat tears rolled down her face. Then the sobbing started, deep, wrenching cries that broke loose from inside her. She covered her face with her hands. If there was anyone she didn’t want to see her like this, it was Leo Wallace.
“Tess?”
She couldn’t answer, not even to tell him to go away and leave her alone. A moment later she heard the door close and the dead bolt click. Then she felt strong arms come around her and she was folded against his body. He made shushing noises, patted her back and mumbled nonsense about everything being okay.
Tess would never be sure when the closeness stopped being about comfort and turned into awareness.
