Chapter 19 #2
“Yup - and guess who was there when Tate came over to get advice from his parents?” Shannon volunteered cheerfully, then pressed a finger dramatically to her lips. “You didn’t hear that from me.”
Nettie stumbled to a stop on the walkway, her breath catching. “He asked his parents for help—about me?”
“Well, about mending a relationship with a friend that was damaged,” Shannon corrected with a sly grin, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “But we both know you are the friend.”
“I’m not…” Nettie’s voice cracked, the denial weak and unconvincing.
“Puh-lease.”
“I’m not,” she whispered again, softer this time, as if saying it quietly enough might make it true. Her mind spun at the thought that maybe Tate was hurting too, maybe he wasn’t as immune as he acted. “He was fine with breaking my heart once. How do you get past that?”
“Who says that he did?” Shannon asked, getting out of the car and looking at her over the roof of the sleek black sedan.
Her head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
“He was leaving for college, you were off-limits. How do you know he actually ever got over things? Maybe that’s the reason he bites off everyone’s head.”
“He’s always been like that.”
“How long have you been around?” Shannon asked pointedly.
She plucked the keys from Nettie’s limp fingers, sliding them into the lock like she’d done it a hundred times.
The door creaked open with an ease Nettie herself didn’t feel.
“If your answer is ‘always,’ then maybe you need to take a second look at how people cope with things.”
Nettie frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No,” Shannon shot back immediately. “You are using those coping skills too—except you don’t bite, growl, and hiss at people like your boyfriend does.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sure, honey… sure.” Shannon shook her head, amused, while Nettie slipped past her into the house and flicked on a lamp. Light spilled across the living room, chasing shadows into corners.
“Just do me a favor—okay?” Shannon added.
“You aren’t coming in?”
“No. I’ve got a date…”
“Felix?”
“Nope. A blind date with a guy named Dominic.”
“What happened to Felix?”
“He tripped.”
Nettie blinked. “Is he okay?”
“Oh yes,” Shannon said with a shrug, tossing her hair like the whole thing was nothing. “He tripped and fell into another woman’s bed. He says it’s my fault because I wouldn’t put out. I told him it was his fault because he’s a skanky psychotic nightmare wrapped in a man’s body.”
Nettie managed the ghost of a smile—until she noticed Shannon’s fade.
“What’s wrong?” Nettie asked, unease coiling in her stomach. A second later, she heard it too. A low, familiar sound in the distance.
“It’s my signal to leave,” Shannon said, hugging her quickly and tight. “Listen to what he’s not saying. Sometimes that speaks more clearly than words. Okay?”
Panic sparked in Nettie’s chest. “Don’t leave me.”
“I think Tate would request otherwise,” Shannon teased lightly.
Her words proved true as a motorcycle rolled up the driveway, the low rumble vibrating through the ground. Tate. His helmet visor glinted in the porch light as he flipped it up, his expression unreadable. He looked away, unstrapping something from the back seat.
Shannon wiggled her fingers in farewell and headed for her car, leaving Nettie standing in the doorway as if rooted there.
“Hello,” Nettie said warily. Her voice was small, defensive. “I don’t want to talk yet…”
“Perfect,” Tate replied, his tone steady. He turned, holding up a hot pink motorcycle helmet that sparkled under the porch light. “You’ve had a week of ‘not talking’ so let’s ‘not talk’ for a while longer.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Is that for me?”
He raised the helmet beside his head, his mouth twitching at the corner. “Which looks better?”
She couldn’t stop the smile that broke through, tentative but real. “Give me a moment.”
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”
Inside, Nettie set her purse down with shaky hands. She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and a jacket—last time the cold had seeped into her bones—and stuffed her phone, license, and keys into the pockets. She hesitated for only a second before locking the door and stepping back outside.
Tate was still astride the bike, waiting.
“Come on,” he invited simply.
“I’m still mad,” she warned, her chin tilting stubbornly.
“I know,” he answered without flinching. “You ignored me for a week.”
“I’m not ready to face you, and we’re not talking yet.”
“Sure thing. You make the rules,” He replied, handing her the helmet with calm patience.
She slid it on, tightened the strap, and climbed onto the bike.
It was easier this time, her body less uncertain, more familiar with the way the seat molded to her and the solid strength of him in front of her.
Her sneakers found the footrests, her hands gripped his shoulders before slipping around his middle.
The bike roared down her street, the vibration rattling through her bones, and Nettie’s grip tightened instinctively around his middle. Tate’s low chuckle was lost to the wind, but she felt it beneath her palms, a subtle rumble that matched the rhythm of the engine.
They hit the highway within minutes. The lanes stretched out like dark ribbons, lights flashing past them in a blur.
Nettie’s pulse raced, not from fear, but from the sheer rush of it—speed, air, freedom.
Her sweatshirt whipped in the wind, her sneakers pressed harder against the footrests as she leaned into the ride.
The city began to fall away behind them, the glow of storefronts replaced with stretches of black highway and the occasional green road sign arching above. The stars were faint, hidden by the blur of motion, but the night air smelled sharp and clean, tinged faintly with gasoline and fresh asphalt.
She closed her eyes for a moment and felt it.
Felt him. His solid back against her chest, the heat of his body cutting through the cold.
He was her shield from the wind, her anchor in the dizzying rush.
Every bump in the road jolted them closer, every curve forced her arms to tighten, until it no longer felt like she was holding on—it felt like she was a part of him.
“Where are we going?” she hollered again, her words stolen and shredded by the wind.
“We’re not talking, remember?” he called back. His voice was steady, calm, and maddeningly sure of itself. “We’re just existing right now.”
Just existing…
The words clung to her like the air clung to her skin.
Nettie swallowed hard and turned her face into his back, resting her helmet against him.
The hum of the engine, the push of the wind, the steady thrum of his breathing—it was hypnotic.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, her chest didn’t ache with that unsettling hollow pain from the unknown ‘what ifs’ that silently haunted her.
They peeled off onto a side road, the sudden curve making her gasp and clutch him tighter. His hand shifted briefly, squeezing hers gently as if to reassure her, before gripping the throttle again. She let herself sink into that gesture, tiny and wordless but loud in its meaning.
They passed trees that blurred into streaks of shadow, open fields where the moonlight stretched pale silver across the grass, and small clusters of houses glowing warm in the dark.
It was a patchwork of places, familiar and strange, all flashing past too quickly to hold on to. And maybe that was the point.
Because here—on the back of his bike—time wasn’t something she had to measure.
It wasn’t days since they had parted badly.
It wasn’t hours since she’d last cried. It wasn’t minutes since her doubts had tried to strangle her.
It was just this. Just motion. Just him. Just them— losing themselves together.
Nettie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and tightened her arms around his middle, not out of fear this time, but something else. Something closer to longing, a craving, a silent wish straight from her soul. She thought about Shannon’s words, echoing like a ghost in her ears.
Listen to what he’s not saying.
Tate hadn’t said much at all. But he was here. He was showing up. He was refusing to keep the distance between them and reaching out in the one way she seemed to enjoy being around him. He was giving her this helmet, this ride, this escape— with him.
Her heart twisted.
Was this him needing to be closer, or was this him ignoring her wishes again?
The highway stretched on, endless and open.
Nettie let her eyes drift closed again, the night rushing past her in a blur of sound and speed, and wished—for just a little longer—that the world could stay suspended like this.
She knew it had to come to an end eventually, but until then, she would savor this for what it was.
Him.
Them.
Alone.
Then, as if Karma was listening, she heard the sound of the bike change slightly as they veered off onto an exit.
He was turning around, and she cringed, fighting the feeling of loss within her, and clutching him close—only to feel the bike slow even more, a slight dip, and then nothing. They’d stopped.
The magic was over.
He plucked her hands from his middle and hesitated, turning to look over his shoulder at her, and Nettie looked up finally, and did a doubletake.
“Are you hungry?”
“You’re kidding,” she said flatly, staring at him as he flipped up his visor and smirked.
“Live a little,” he chided gently. “Come on.”
“You picked me up, drove me for who knows how long, only to bring me to a Cracker Barrel in the middle of nowhere?”
“That about sums it up.”
“That is the worst first date ever.”
“Who said we’re on a date?” Tate asked, smiling. “We’re not talking, remember? We’re nothing but acquaintances who are barely friends.”
“Friends who eat at Cracker Barrel?”