Page 45 of The Holiday Makeover

Though I wouldn’t mind seeing him swing one. It was something to behold.

Sweat dripped down his taut cheeks, and he deftly held the pry bar with one hand while with the other he lifted his T-shirt and used it to wipe his face.

I might have tilted my head to catch a better peek at his abs. It wasn’t my finest moment. This was no time for ogling. But, gosh, did his abs look good. Just as ripply as ever.

Unfortunately, Tate caught me. “See something you like?”

I straightened up and refused to make eye contact. “Uh, no.”

“Liar.” Tate grinned.

It was good to see him smile after the day he’d had.

And I was a liar.

He was beautiful. But unfortunately, good abs weren’t a reason for working things out. Well, at least not for me. Call me crazy, but I needed substance. I needed to know it was real.

Tate went to give the pry bar another go, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. He needed to talk. I needed to talk. We needed to talk.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Spill your guts.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “What do you want me to say, Rory? That I’m a screwup? That my show is failing? That maybe my dad is right? I’ve never been good enough.”

“Yes,” I said. “I want you to say all of it.”

His eyes flew open. The hurt he’d been swimming in swirled inside the greens and grays. “I guess I don’t blame you for agreeing with him.”

“I never said that,” I replied quickly. “I just want you to let it all out. Tell me the truth. Tell me how you feel.”

He lowered the pry bar and let it drop to the canvas-covered floor. The canvas muffled the thud, but the impact was still heavy enough to vibrate through my shoes.

“I feel ten seconds away from losing it all. My show, my dignity . . . I’ve tried so hard all my life. And it’s never enough. Never. You heard my dad. Hell, not even my own show thinks I’m enough.”

I let the cabinet I’d been holding go. It dangled by a thread, the hinge creaking in protest. We’d probably have to patch the drywall later. But Tate needed patching up more. I leaned against the counter, the cool edge biting into my palms, and didn’t say anything.

He needed to be vulnerable, and I wasn’t going to interrupt.

And honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say. My feelings for him were complicated, and I wasn’t sure if he needed the friend in me or the woman who still loved him.

Tate began to pace the half-destroyed kitchen, boots crunching over stray splinters of wood. Now Van Halen serenaded us, the bass rattling the loose cabinet door and sending a faint tremor through the floorboards.

“And instead of I’m sorry, son, all my parents can think about is how this is going to reflect on them.” Tate’s voice cracked as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not giving a damn how hard I’ve tried. Not caring that I walked away from the only person who has ever really cared about me for what I thought was the biggest opportunity of my life.” He let out a humorless laugh. “And finally, the thing that I thought would truly make them proud.”

My chest tightened. I knew exactly who he meant. Exactly what he’d given up.

“And it did,” he said, throwing his hands out, “until it didn’t.”

He stopped in front of the half-demolished wall, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The cabinet door I’d left dangling swayed behind him, creaking softly.

“They’re probably over there right now,” he continued, “thinking about how to spin this to their friends.”

I swallowed hard. Hoping he was wrong. Hoping his parents were over there trying to figure out a way to mend things with their son. But I was afraid Tate was right.

“And don’t be surprised when my dad begs you to come on my show,” he added, bitterness sharpening every word. “Because that would be a surefire way to fix the ratings.”

I flinched. Not because he was wrong—but because he was hurting, and part of me wanted to fix this for him. But I knew even if I relented and went on his show, it would only be a temporary fix. The real problem wasn’t the ratings. It was how Tate saw himself. That meant no amount of success would ever satisfy him.

And after what I’d seen that night at his parents’ place, I understood now more than ever why that was.