Read Against the Wind, Season 2, Episode 1 (Rising Storm) for Free Online Page A

He understands?”
    She bit her lip. “Yeah. He gets me.” The words hurt to say, because they’d definitely wound Tate, but she was finished lying about her feelings to everybody.
    His chin lowered. “It’s not going to work out, you know. Not a chance.”
    She swallowed. “What?”
    “You and Tucker. He’s always wanted what I had, but not for the right reasons. He wanted to play football because I was the starter, and when he earned a spot on varsity, he got bored and moved on. Same with guitar, same with college, and same with Lindsey McIntire.”
    “Who?” Hannah asked, the hair pricking down her neck.
    “Lindsey was the prom queen and my girlfriend in high school. We broke up, and Tucker dated her, all in love. The second, and I mean the very second , I told him I was fine with it, he moved on. Dropped her like a bad habit.” Tate shook his head and turned for the door. “This is all about me and my brother, Hannah. You’re just collateral damage.” With a swish of the door, Tate Johnson strode out of her life.
     
    * * * *
     
    Tate drove through town, keeping to the speed limit, his temples aching like miniature Spartans threw spears inside his head. Part of him, a small percentage of his personality that he didn’t much like, wanted to turn around and convince Hannah to give him another chance.
    Was it the woman or just the chance to win? To beat his brother?
    Either way, he didn’t do anything to deserve what Tuck and Hannah had done.
    The pain in her eyes when he’d called her out made his chest hurt, and wasn’t that all sorts of screwed up? She obviously hadn’t given one thought to him before sleeping with his brother.
    Did Tate even want her back? His brother had been there. Would Tate ever be able to look at her the same way again? Probably not.
    His phone rang, and he pressed a button on his steering wheel. “Johnson.”
    “Tate Johnson?” The voice was low and gravelly…and unfamiliar.
    “Who’s this?” If it was one more person wanting to talk to him about his screwed up love life, he was going to lose his damn mind.
    “My name is Oliver Stayton, and I’d like to have a word with you.”
    “If you need a lawyer, I’m busy.” Tate had a campaign to start winning.
    Oliver chuckled. “If I needed a lawyer, I wouldn’t be doing my job, which is in the political arena. I’m a crisis manager, and my friend, you’re in a crisis.” Paper rustled over the line. “Take a minute and Google me…and then meet me at Murphy’s Pub in fifteen minutes.” The line went dead.
    What a complete dick. Tate slowed down to let a couple of cats cross the road. See? He liked animals, damn it. He’d heard of Stayton, hadn’t he? He pressed another button just as rain began to fall. “Siri? Google Oliver Stayton.”
    The robotic female voice listed newspaper articles, blogs, and even a website talking about Stayton. Interesting.
    Tate took the next turn, drove for five minutes, and parked at Murphy’s. The dinner hour was over and the party crowd hadn’t showered and shaved for the night yet, so the area was fairly quiet. He cut the engine, jumped out, and dodged through the rain.
    The smell of beer and pine cleanser assailed him as he strode inside the warmth.
    A man waved from the back booth. The guy was fit, with designer glasses, short dark hair, and angled features. So that’s what a political operative looked like.
    Tate nodded to Logan behind the bar and kept going, arriving at the table. He scooted in just as his cousin ambled over with a pint. “Thanks,” he said, noting that Stayton was drinking a martini.
    Logan nodded, glanced at Stayton, and then turned back for the bar.
    Tate took a drink. “How’d you get my private cell number?”
    Stayton didn’t blink. “I make more than a grand an hour and you want to talk about cell phone numbers?”
    Tate eyed the guy over his beer mug. “I’m not paying you a grand an hour.”
    “No.” Stayton tapped the stem of his glass.