Chapter 16
TATE
Tate groaned and flung an arm across his face, blocking the merciless light that streamed through the narrow gap in his blinds.
His room was still heavy with the weight of sleep, the sheets tangled around his legs, the faint smell of fabric softener on the sheets, and yesterday’s gym bag lingering in the corner.
He muttered something incoherent under his breath—something halfway between a curse and a prayer for five more hours of darkness—and aimed a halfhearted glare toward the window as though it had betrayed him personally.
A sharp hiss came from the foot of the bed. Mulligan, his tiny gray kitten with an oversized attitude, lifted his head from the nest of blankets and flicked his tail in agreement.
“Exactly… why is it morning already?”
The universe, unbothered by his suffering, offered its only answer in the form of a noise. That noise. The one that had yanked him out of the best dream he’d had in weeks.
A text message.
Tate gritted his teeth. He should have put his phone on Do-Not-Disturb.
He should have turned it off altogether.
He should have done a thousand things differently in his life—starting with not letting himself get so tangled up in the brown-eyed, stubborn, impossibly delicate-looking woman who had a knack for making him lose every ounce of common sense.
He should have done so many things differently – but he was stupid.
A moron. A man who grew infinitely stupider the more turned on he got, and if you mixed that with rescuing a woman, a fragile-looking goddess that looked up at him with those big brown eyes.
His IQ plummeted like an elevator cable that snapped on a cartoon, causing him to do even dumber things at one in the morning.
The phone beeped again.
Tate cursed aloud, flinging out a long arm and snatching it from the nightstand. The screen lit his face with a merciless glow, and he groaned as though the light itself carried pain.
Too early.
Too much.
He squinted, focusing on the names at the top of the messages. His sister. And Nettie. At the same time.
“Well, that can’t be good,” he muttered, thumb swiping to unlock. He glared at the screen like he could make the inanimate object cower and then scrolled his thumb up, reading through them. The screen lit up with overlapping texts, a jumble of concern, accusation, and all-caps outrage.
G: What did you do?
N: Tate – where’s my car?
N: Tate – tell me you had something to do with the reason my car is missing…
N: Hello?
G: OMG seriously…
G: ANSWER YOUR TEXTS.
N: Did you do something last night?
N: Or is my car stolen?
G: I SEE THE READ MESSAGE, YOU LOUT. DON’T IGNORE ME!
Tate’s thumb hovered, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t awake enough for this kind of chaos. The messages screamed at him from the screen, his sister’s virtual shrieking practically rattling the phone in his hand. He scowled at the device like he could bend it to his will.
How can I when you are shouting in all caps? I just woke up – can you dial it back a notch?
The replies were instantaneous.
N: I’m not shouting – yet.
N: Should I be calling the police – or should I relax?
G: WAIT A MINUTE - WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?
Tate exhaled through his nose, a small flicker of relief sparking. So Nettie hadn’t blabbed to Gina about last night. About the ride. About the argument that followed.
“I guess that answered my next question,” he muttered, feeling absurdly pleased in spite of the circumstances.
His thumbs flew over the screen.
Um, caps?
And NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS
But even as he typed it, frustration surged. He wasn’t about to do this circus act over text. Not with Nettie. Not when the words he wanted to say were heavier than thumbs could handle.
“I’m not doing this over text messages,” he growled, stabbing at her contact and lifting the phone to his ear.
The line barely rang once before she answered.
“Hello?” Nettie’s voice was breathless, hurried. He could hear Gina screeching in the background like a banshee.
“Hey,” Tate began, suddenly awkward. The words caught in his throat, his pride pushing back, but guilt won the round. “I’m sorry I lost my temper last night, but I just wanted to help…”
“What did you do, Tate?” Her voice tightened, braced for the worst.
“I had your car towed to the dealership last night, and it should be ready about five this afternoon,” he admitted, forcing the words out. He braced himself, shoulders tensed, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
But silence met him instead.
“You’re mad—aren’t you?”
Her answer came, soft and trembling, a whisper wrapped in humiliation. “I’m not mad—I’m humiliated. I didn’t want you involved because I can only afford one tire right now.”
His chest squeezed, the quiet confession gutting him.
“You needed four,” he said flatly. The sharp intake of her breath traveled across the line, hitting him square in the sternum. His tone softened. “Nettie. I’m asking you to give me peace of mind—and that is priceless to me.”
“Tate…”
“Let me do this—please,” he said simply, his voice low but insistent, careful not to sound like he was begging.
Even though that’s what it felt like—begging her to let him in, for a chance.
He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, watching the kitten bounce and spring.
“This is what friends do… and even if I’m annoying, I’d like for us to attempt to become friends or something more. ”
The silence on the other end was thick. Tate pressed the phone harder to his ear, straining to catch the faintest sound.
He didn’t hear her words at first—just the wet hitch of her breath.
A sniffle. His chest tightened. He could picture her perfectly: eyes red-rimmed, cheeks flushed, brushing away tears with the back of her hand.
“What did he say—oh my gosh—are you crying? TATE JACKSON CASSIDY WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The shrill voice in the background nearly made him wince, though it tugged a laugh out of him anyway. Leave it to Gina to explode like a firecracker when things got sensitive.
“Nettie, tell her to calm down,” he said gently, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. He rubbed at the back of his neck, heat crawling up his skin at the idea of having this conversation broadcast. “I don’t want to talk about this with an audience around either of us.”
“I don’t either.”
“Then please tell my sister that I said ‘shut up and enjoy your free car, you ungrateful sibling’…”
There it was—that fragile, tearful chuckle on Nettie’s end, like sunlight finally breaking through rainclouds. His heart lifted just hearing it.
“But… wait… I thought Gina traded in her car?” Nettie whispered, confusion slipping into her tone. He could hear the way she angled the phone away from herself, lowering her voice as if Gina might be eavesdropping on their conversation. “You bought her that car?”
Tate leaned back against the headboard, exhaling.
“I told her to say that because I don’t need it all over the news that I bought my parents and my sister a new car with my signing bonus.”
“I didn’t know…”
“I didn’t tell you—nor did I expect you to know,” he explained, his tone careful, honest. He stared at Mulligan now sprawled on his back, legs in the air, daring Tate to scratch his belly.
“But it gave me peace of mind, so I did it. So, do me a favor and please don’t argue with me.
Let me do this because it makes me feel good inside, and I can relax. ”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s already handled,” Tate replied, and he hesitated for a moment, his throat tightening with the truth he’d never admitted out loud. “Just don’t get mad at me. I can handle a lot, but I really don’t like that. It takes me from frustrated to superbly pissed-off when you’re upset.”
The pause that followed made his stomach clench, but Nettie’s voice came softly, filled with something he couldn’t quite name. “I felt like you weren’t listening to me last night, ignoring what I wanted.”
“I was listening—and I’m trying.”
“I see that,” she said quietly, almost like a truce. Then she cleared her throat, her tone shifting, lighter now. “Would you like to come over for coffee sometime? Just to chat and talk?”
His heart gave a kick against his ribs, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “I’d love that.”
“Weekends are better for me.”
“My schedule is screwy, so maybe we can figure it out?” he offered, the hope in his chest battling with the careful calm he tried to maintain. Then he smirked faintly. “Oh my gosh, is Gina still making a scene back there?”
The sound of Nettie’s soft chuckle washed over him like warmth.
He grinned and finally reached out to scratch Mulligan’s tummy, only for the little monster to immediately turn the affection into a feral attack.
Tiny paws clutched at his hand, teeth nibbling with reckless abandon.
Tate hissed under his breath but laughed anyway, letting the kitten win.
“Yeah,” Nettie whispered. “She’s mad because I walked away so we could talk privately.”
“You should do that more often,” he teased, flexing his fingers free from Mulligan’s claws.
“Or maybe we should talk – and not just on the phone.”
“I’d like that too,” he admitted openly, the words carrying more honesty than he’d offered anyone in weeks.
Saying it out loud felt like undoing a knot inside his chest, one that had been pulled tight with silence and stubbornness.
He exhaled slowly, the tension easing as he added, “Maybe we could talk later or tomorrow? I’m heading to the gym shortly, and then I have practice. ”
Her voice came warm and teasing through the speaker. “Sounds like I’m heading to the dealership to get my car—and write a thank you note for four tires.”