33. Tatum
33
TATUM
I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I give myself a quick pep talk and open the door to Grinds. After Rory texted, Pax stopped by my apartment so I could change before dropping me off at the coffee shop, yet again proving he’s way sweeter than his rockstar persona leads people to think he is. Paxton’s been different this morning, but I don’t hate it. And I don’t feel like I’m being pitied, either. That’s the weird part. Whenever people find out I’m damaged goods, they think treating me with kid gloves is the safest route. It only pisses me off more. But, Pax? He’s been himself, only the…softer, less guarded version. Then again, so have I. Maybe it’s because we’re more similar than I realized. I mean, talk about some heavy baggage. His mom committed suicide after he refused to give her money? That’s…rough. Really rough. It only impresses me more. I had fun with him this morning. More fun than I want to admit, if I’m being honest with myself, but I refuse to taint the experience by overthinking shit. Not after my night from hell.
Speaking of which, where is my best friend?
The nutty scent of coffee wraps around me like a hug as I search the small shop for Rory. After begging her to meet with me, she said she’d be at Grinds for the next hour or so, and if I felt like stopping by, she’d allow it. It’s pretty much the only invitation I would’ve expected after the things I said to her yesterday.
When I spot Rory sitting at a small booth near the back, I stride closer and slide into the seat across from her, practically choking on my apology in hopes of getting it over with as quickly as possible. “I’m a bitch,” I announce. “I’m sorry?—”
“I forgive you.”
Jerking back, my brows hitch. “That’s it? That’s all it took?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear while avoiding my gaze. “I think I know you better than to expect any other kind of response than the one you gave me after finding out about the wedding. And if I can cut you some slack, then you can cut me some, too.”
And there it is. Her reason for being so forgiving. Because she needs me to do the same.
Sneaky, Rory. Very sneaky.
“Why would I need to cut you slack?” I question.
Her lips press into a thin line before she looks down at her hands, clicking her short nails together.
“Squeaks,” I push.
“I called my mom.”
My stomach lurches as all the potential repercussions of a single phone call rush to the surface. Shit. That isn’t what I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like she never talks to her mom. Her relationship with her parents is as strong as mine. But calling her after a big, fat wedding announcement? That’s a different story. Add in the guilt wafting off Rory in waves, and I know I’m about to have my world rocked.
“Squeaks,” I repeat, though it’s more of a plea than a warning like before.
“Apparently, Lia didn’t want you to find out about the wedding through the grapevine, but after one too many ignored calls, she finally just texted you the announcement then called everyone else.”
“Yeah, I assumed as much.”
“I talked to Mav, too,” she adds carefully. “Anyway, my mom asked if we’re planning to come to the engagement party as well as the wedding, and I said…” Her gaze finally meets mine, already welling with tears as if her panic might swallow her whole.
“What did you say, Rore?”
“Don’t kill me.”
“Rore…”
“I said yes.”
Hunching into my seat, my head lolls forward in defeat. It’s not like I actually thought I could get away with missing the wedding or the engagement party, but surrendering this quickly feels like a low blow. I don’t want to go back. Not only because of Lia, but because I spent my teenage years torching every bridge and olive branch in existence. Facing everyone again? It feels about as comfortable as a punch to the boob.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mumble, “Guess it makes sense, since he’s your brother and all.”
“And Lia’s your sister,” Rory adds, as if she has to remind me.
“And that,” I mutter. I feel like I’ve been tossed into the deep end of a pool with my hands tied behind my back, and I hate it. I shouldn’t be surprised. I know I shouldn’t. Not by the engagement or the looming travel dates ahead of me thanks to said engagement. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.
Mav and Ophelia have been together for years. Honestly, it’s a shock they weren’t hitched before Archer’s body was in the ground, they were so obsessed with each other. Of course, they’d decide to tie the knot at some point. So why does it have to piss me off so much? It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Not when it comes to my grief. It’s like Pax said. I’m composing my own song. I’m living my own journey. And just because their song is a little different, it shouldn’t detract from my own.
Right?
Man, why is this so hard?
“Rory?” the barista calls from the front. My best friend stands and heads to the pick up counter before returning with two iced lattes.
As she hands me one of them, I ask, “What do I owe you?”
“You know I’ve got it.” She slips back into the booth across from me. “Anyway, if it helps, I’m not too happy about going back to Lockwood Heights, either.”
Duh.
“We’ll get through it,” I promise, though I’m not exactly convinced. Picking up my latte, I take a sip, hoping the creamy cup of deliciousness will find a way to calm me down.
Great, Tate. Let’s turn to substance abuse to fix our problems, shall we?
Blah. I can still hear my old therapist’s voice warning me about substance abuse after I came home sloshed at seventeen and my parents had to hold my hair back as I puked my guts out.
Like Pax did last night.
I repeat, blah.
With a sigh, I decide to focus on someone else’s trauma for once. “You sure you’re ready to face Jax again?” I ask.
Rory scowls back at me. “Not in the slightest?—”
“Squeaks?” a low voice interrupts.
Squeaks?
No one calls Rory Squeaks unless they’re from Lockwood Heights.
My body tenses, and I stare at my coffee, willing the universe to stop hating me for one day. One. Freaking. Day. If only I was so lucky.
Eyes bulging, Rory pastes on a smile and stares up at someone behind me. “Dodge!” When she stands, the infamous Dodger Anders pulls her into a hug. He towers over the girl, making her look like a little kid as he squeezes her tight before releasing her and turning his attention to me. “Tatum, right?”
“That’s me,” I confirm. “It’s been awhile.”
“Yeah, a few years, right?”
I nod. “Crazy how time flies.”
“Like the wind,” he agrees.
“You should sit with us,” Rory offers. “Like Tatum said, it’s been forever, and I’d love to catch up. How are you? How’s the band and everything?”
“On hiatus at the moment.” He leans closer. “Apparently, family drama can be found outside of Lockwood Heights, too. Shocker, am I right?” He plops down into the booth and spreads his legs wide beneath the table.
“Well, at least we’re not alone,” Rory muses, tossing me a knowing look.
Reading Rory’s expression, Dodge asks, “Wait, is there family drama I don’t know about? New or old?”
“A mix,” Rory confirms, grimacing. “I’m not sure if the cat is officially out of the bag, but, uh, Mav proposed, so…yay.”
“No shit?” He laughs. “That’s amazing. Congrats to them.”
“Yeah.” Rory smiles. “It’ll be…great.”
“Great,” he repeats. “You don’t sound very optimistic.”
“It’s just…Lockwood Heights, am I right?”
He chuckles. “Right.”
Right? What’s his problem with Lockwood Heights? I study the side of his face while searching my memory for any kind of hint or clue Rory might’ve dropped in the last handful of years as to why Dodger might be running from Lockwood Heights, but I come up empty. If I’m being honest, I usually avoid all things Dodger—and everything family related—so it’s not like it’s Rory’s fault I’m left in the dark. But still. Something doesn’t add up.
Feeling my stare, Dodger’s attention slides to me. “What? You’re surprised?”
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “I thought Rory’s and my Lockwood Heights baggage was for a party of two.”
“I wish. You’re not the only one who prefers to keep their hometown where it belongs.” He dips closer. “Fucking behind them.”
My eyes thin. “And what are you running from?”
“The past,” he answers cryptically. “Just like you two.”
“Who says we’re running?” Rory interrupts.
Dodger smirks. “You know our families, Squeaks. You really think they don’t talk?”
Her body slumps forward. “Of course, they do.” She groans and scrubs her hand over her face. “What am I going to do? I don’t want to go. I don’t want to face him.”
“Him,” Dodger repeats. It isn’t a question. It’s a dare. He wants to hear her say it. Jaxon’s name. The man who’s been haunting her for years. The man who she refuses to let go of, despite the bastard being married and with a kid. Yeah, it was a dark day in high school when she got the call about his engagement. She should’ve gone to the wedding. If she wanted to save face, she would’ve. Instead, we both hunkered down in our dorm and binged Gilmore Girls the entire weekend. I don’t regret a second of it, and neither does Rory. But maybe it would’ve been good for her. To see him sign his life away. To hear him say the words, “I do,” to someone else. Someone who isn’t her.
Steeling her shoulders, Rory announces, “Jaxon Thorne,” with more bravado than I’ve ever seen.
“Right,” Dodger murmurs. “The asshole.”
Her bottom lip wobbles, and she squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a slow breath. “Ignore me for a second. I just need to cry.”
Aaaand there’s the baby deer I know and love.
“Don’t cry,” Dodge replies. “What do you have to be afraid of?”
“I don’t know? Embarrassing myself? Again? Looking like an idiot? Again? Showing up with no date and no prospects while drooling over a guy who’s married with a kid?” She wipes at her cheeks angrily. “Yeah, that sounds like an amazing way to spend my time celebrating my brother’s wedding, don’t you think?”
Scratching the scruff along his jaw, Dodger offers, “I’ll go.”
Like a record scratching, Rory’s mouth snaps shut, and her head swings toward him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, I’ll go.” He shrugs. “As your plus-one.”
“You’ll go as my date?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s not like I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”
“I thought you hate Lockwood Heights,” I remind him.
“They’re family,” he answers without even casting me a glance. “And so are you, Rore. So what do you say? Want to be my date?”
“I mean, you’re…” She scans him up and down, taking in his weathered face, charismatic lift of his lips, and tattoos peeking out beneath the collar and sleeves of his T-shirt. “Sure,” she squeaks. “Sure, I’d love to.”
I groan. “Then, who will I go with?”
“I mean, you and Pax looked pretty…”—my best friend doesn’t even bother hiding her amusement—“something last night.”
“Pretty something?” I repeat with a laugh.
“You know what I mean,” she argues.
“Yeah, but I don’t,” Dodger rests his elbows on the table. “What’s going on with you and Pax?”
“Nothing,” I tell him.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes,” I say, doubling down while silencing the tiny voice inside my head from shouting otherwise.
He frowns. “Shame.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“This job can be…isolating, especially with assholes for bandmates.” He stands and raps his knuckles against the table. “It was good catching up. Rore, you have my number. Use it, yeah?”
“Yeah, of course,” she replies.
Then he turns to me. “Good seeing you again, Tatum.”
I nod slowly. “You, too.”