16. Have Plastic Fork, Will Travel
”I FEEL RIDICULOUS.” I resist the urge to touch my hair, not wanting to ruin an hour’s worth of work or be forced to attempt the style a second time. I’m already a little worried I won’t be able to recreate it tomorrow without Myra’s help, so I for sure don’t want to have to try to do it today.
”Join the club.” Tate hefts my second-hand suitcase into the back of his SUV, sliding it next to his.
He looks grumpy as hell, and it makes me want to smile. At least I know I”ll be in good company. ”You don”t look ridiculous.” I tip my head as I take in his khaki pants and short-sleeved button-up. ”You just look weird.”
His clothes aren’t the only strange thing about the ensemble he”s wearing. The normal scruff on his face has been shaved off, leaving his sharp jaw smooth as a baby”s ass. The unruliness of his wavy dark hair has been tamed. Slicked into a side part that would make any choir boy proud.
But the strangest thing is the wedding band on his left hand. It”s going to take some time to get used to that. Almost as much time as it”s going to take to get used to the one on mine.
”You guys almost ready?” Christian comes to stand beside us, looking like his normal self. Comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt.
Lucky bastard.
”We’re as ready as we”re going to be.” Tate presses the button to close the hatch, stepping back as it lowers.
Christian nods, his expression tight, revealing the stress and worry we all share. ”Let me know as soon as you get there.”
”Will do.” Tate rests one hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the passenger”s side. ”We”re not going to rush since the gathering doesn”t officially start until tomorrow.”
Christian frowns. ”That might be the official start, but you know there”ll be plenty of people there tonight.”
Tate gives Christian a smile that doesn”t reach his eyes. ”Maybe that”s why I”m not in a fucking hurry.” He opens the door, urging me inside. I reach for my buckle, but he beats me to it, pulling it loose and stretching across my lap, eyes roaming my face. ”You good?”
He might not look exactly like I”m used to, but he still smells the same—minus the hint of motor oil that usually comes with working at the shop. I pull in a deep breath, both to steady my nerves and remind me he”s going to be right here with me all the way. ”I”m good.”
Tate’s expression stays serious. ”If that changes, I want you to let me know.”
I huff out a little laugh. ”And how am I going to do that? From what Myra told me, a wife would never complain to her husband.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice as I repeat the words she gave me. “A complaining wife is like water that never stops dripping on a rainy day.” I scowl. I’ll drip so much those fuckers drown if they cross me.
Tate’s nostrils flare and the line of his mouth hardens. ”You can complain to me all you want, Sugar.” He reaches up to slide his hand through my hair, being careful not to disturb the top portion I painstakingly puffed and pinned into place. ”If you need a break, or just to get away from all the bullshit for a minute, just ask me if I want some coffee.”
That makes me smile a little. ”What if you actually want coffee?”
He continues toying with my hair. ”Then I”ll get my own fucking coffee.”
That makes me laugh. ”Even I know you can’t get your own coffee.” I reach up to smooth out the collar of his shirt. ”That”s one of my many, vitally important, God-given duties as the owner of a vulva.”
Tate”s jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles twitching. ”I fucking hate that you have to do this.”
The venom in his tone surprises me and warms me deep inside. ”It”s not like we”re just doing this for fun.” I toy with the front placket, tracing the edge of one pearl button, unable to stop myself from touching him back. ”We’re doing this for a reason.” I lean in, aligning my eyes with his. ”A really good fucking reason.”
Tate lets out a slow breath, his head dropping forward, forehead resting against mine as his eyes close. ”I know. I still fucking hate it.”
Last night he did such a good job of reassuring me, and now I get to offer that back. ”I’ll be fine. Promise.”
I grin a little at the plan I formed after sneaking back from his house at two in the morning. I still hadn”t been able to fall asleep, so I laid there staring at the ceiling, trying to prepare myself for what was coming.
”I”m kind of thinking of it as a game. All I have to do is play it right and I win.” And me winning means five other women and two little girls win too. That’s more motivation than I need to pretend to be a docile, dominated and dutiful wife.
Tate”s head lifts from mine and his shoulders square. The click of my belt echoes through the interior of the Jeep as he shoves it into place. ”Let”s go play then.”
He straightens, closing me in the Jeep. He says a few more words to Christian and then we’re off, headed for Arkansas and a weekend that will change lives.
Maybe even mine.
We’re barely a half hour into the trip when Tate turns to me. ”You want some coffee?”
I groan, because I always want coffee. ”If I drink coffee then I”m gonna have to stop to pee.”
Tate shrugs. ”Then we’ll stop.” He angles onto the exit. ”We”ve got plenty of time.” After pulling into the drive-thru of a coffee chain that has a location practically on every corner, he turns to me. ”Iced caramel macchiato with an extra pump of caramel?”
An unexpected laugh bubbles out of my throat. ”How did you know that?”
He gives me a wink before turning toward his window as we pull up to the speaker. ”Shouldn”t a husband know what his wife likes to drink?”
I snort. ”Not the kind of husband you”re pretending to be.”
Tate’s head snaps back my direction. ”Fuck that kind of husband.”
A voice carries through the speaker, welcoming us and asking for our order. Tate stares at me a second longer before turning to the lit-up board and ordering my overly sugary drink along with a plain black coffee for himself. We pull up to the window and he pays, dropping the change into the tip bucket before passing me my drink, taking his, and pulling away.
I”m not sure what to make of the interaction we just had, so I suck down some of my coffee, letting the cool creaminess soothe me. My eyes close as I let out a little sigh of bliss. I know it”s stupid, but expensive coffee makes me happy. It”s like getting a little treat because I”m about to have to go deal with some bullshit.
”Good?”
I let out a little sigh, opening my eyes and leaning his direction. ”Fantastic.”
He seems to relax a little, giving me a sharp nod. ”I”m glad.”
I continue drinking my coffee as we glide down the interstate, each mile marker bringing us closer to the gathering I have very conflicted feelings about. I want to help these women. I want to get them out of the life they’re living. I just don”t want to have to live my worst nightmare to accomplish it.
But if I have to pretend to be dedicated to someone, I”m glad it”s Tate. I know he won’t take advantage of it. Won”t expect it or even enjoy it. If anything, Tate seems to loathe the idea. He seems happiest when I”m giving him shit and being a pain in the ass.
Hopefully we can get back to that soon.
I”m just reaching the bottom of my cup when Tate takes another exit, moving away from the highway once again.
I glance around, looking for the reason he might be stopping. ”Is everything okay?”
”You said you’d have to pee if you drink coffee, so we’re stopping to pee.” He pulls into one of the new, gigantic travel gas stations that are popping up everywhere. I”ve seen them advertised, but I”ve never been to one myself, so I’m not sure what to expect.
Tate parks in the closest spot to the huge store surrounded by rows of gas pumps. ”Have you ever been here?”
”No.” I peek through the windshield at the hordes of people coming and going. ”It looks a little crazy.”
He gives me half a smile. ”No crazier than what we”re about to do.”
”Fair enough.” I push open my door. ”Let”s go see what this place is all about.”
Ten minutes later I”m regretting my choice to get out of the Jeep. ”What in the heck did you get us into?” I scoot closer to Tate as we try to work our way through the crush of people zipping around in a search of everything from shredded beef sandwiches to caramel coated puffcorn. ”Maybe I can just squat in the woods somewhere.”
”It is a little wild in here, isn”t it?” Tate hooks one arm around me, pulling me close as a giant bear of a man barrels past juggling an arm full of snacks. ”Hopefully their bathroom is calmer than this.”
He uses his height and width to clear a path, pulling me along with him. I”m relieved to see there”s no line at the ladies, and I duck inside to do my business. Maneuvering the extra fabric of my bulky skirt to my waist without letting any of it touch a public toilet is a little more difficult than I expected, but eventually my bladder is empty, my clothes are back in place, my hands are washed, and I’m headed back out into the chaos. Tate is standing exactly where I left him, but now he”s clutching a bright yellow bag in one hand. He holds his other hand out to me. ”Let”s get the fuck outta here.”
”Don”t have to tell me twice.” I grab his outstretched palm, holding tight and sticking close as we push our way toward the exit. As soon as we’re outside, I take a deep breath. ”I don”t think I want to go there again.”
Tate opens the passenger’s door of the Jeep and waits while I get in. As soon as I’m buckled, he drops the bag he”s carrying into my lap. ”I guess it”s good I got this then.”
He closes the door before I can respond, and as he walks to the other side, I peek into the bag. What I see inside makes my throat tight.
It also makes me laugh.
I tip the bag over, dumping the item out onto my lap as Tate climbs in. I hook one finger through the ring of the keychain and hold it up between us, grinning like a flipping idiot at the brightly colored beaver. ”This is fantastic.”
Tate’s chest puffs out the tiniest bit as he starts the engine. ”It didn”t seem like you had enough keychains, so I figured I’d get you one.”
Another laugh jumps free, and I swing a slap at his shoulder. ”Dick.”
He flashes me a grin. ”Careful, or I”ll drag you back in that store.”
I cringe, groaning at the memory. ”No thanks. I”d rather pee somewhere with a hubcap hooked to the bathroom key than face another one of those places.”
Tate’s grin holds as we pull back onto the highway. ”I’ll remember you said that.”
I drop my new keychain back into the bag since my keys—along with the rest of my purse—are actually back at Christian’s house. There was no reason to bring them, but now I”m regretting it. Because I would love to see the way my new addition looks surrounded by all the rest.
”When I first moved out on my own, I didn”t have a lot of extra money. Keychains are cheap. Something I could get myself that wouldn”t take up a lot of space in my studio apartment or eat up a bunch of my funds. I know it”s kind of a dumb thing to collect, but they made me happy, so I just kept buying them.” I chew my lower lip, thinking I should hold the rest back, but not really wanting to. ”The ones hooked on my keys are actually only part of my collection. I have a ton more and I rotate through them depending on my mood.”
Tate glances my way, smile holding. ”Well now you have one to put on your keychain when your mood is chaotic and overwhelming.”
This time I laugh so hard my head tips back against the rest. ”So it”s going to be my new everyday keychain.”
He gives me a nod. ”Pretty much.”
I spend the next hour of the trip telling him about a few of my keychains, and which ones are my favorite. It”s a completely superficial conversation to have.
On the surface.
If I dig deeper, I’m actually sharing something pretty private. I tell him how I bought myself a fake chicken nugget the first time I could afford to eat fast food, and a bottle opener the day I turned twenty-one since it meant I could finally tend bar and make a decent amount of money. The way I bought a lightning bolt when I finally had a hundred bucks in my savings account. All the little milestones I marked as I navigated life on my own.
When we cross the border into Arkansas, Tate once again takes an exit. “Where are we going now?”
“Now we’re stopping to pick up some food for our room.” He pulls into the parking lot of a high-end grocery store.
“What I’m hearing you say is the hotel we’re staying at doesn’t have room service.” I wait till he parks and then slide out of my seat, adjusting my skirt for the five-hundredth time today.
Tate reaches me and puts out his hand the same way he did at the travel center. I take it even though there’s not a million people to wade through. “Didn’t check, but it’s always nice to have stuff on hand when you want it.”
He pulls a cart from the corral and releases my hand to push it into the produce area. “I booked us a suite, so we have a little kitchenette with a decent sized fridge and a microwave. Plus, I brought my griddle, so grab anything that looks good to you.”
That sounds great, but I’m not sure what looks good to me. My stomach is starting to twist up even though I’m trying my best not to think about how much is riding on me. “Just grab whatever you think.”
I don’t defer to other people. Especially not when it comes to making sure I have what I need. But I should probably get used to the idea of handing shit over to Tate. I’ve got to do it for the next couple days and I could probably stand to practice.
“Hmm.” Tate snags a veggie tray with snap peas, celery, and carrots surrounding a covered container of ranch and sets it into our cart before angling toward the bakery. “I feel like this might be a test.”
I press my lips together, because if it is, he’s off to a good freaking start. “It’s not a test. Really.” I rest one hand on my middle. “My stomach is just a little not excited about food.”
Tate slows, his eyes settling on mine as he turns to face me. “Everything’s going to be okay, Piper.” His hands come to my face, warm and calloused and careful. “I’ll make sure of it.”
A little of the upset gripping my insides eases, because I believe him. More than that, I trust him to take care of me. And that’s something I’ve never afforded anyone before.
Especially a man.
I force on a smile, reminding myself that even though I fully believe Tate can handle what’s coming our way, I’m no fucking slouch either. “That’s good. Because if shit’s left up to me, someone’s going to get shanked with a filed down plastic fork.”