Chapter 24
By the time Tate turns into my driveway and parks in his normal spot, my palms are slick with sweat.
My heart hammers against my chest so violently I’m sure my rib cage is going to splinter.
Every piece of calm I’ve collected over the years flew straight out the window, shattering across the empty highway, the moment he said he wanted to talk.
I know this is my fault. I have nobody to blame but myself. I’m the one who poked and prodded and asked all the questions, but now that he’s ready to talk, I don’t know if I’m prepared to listen.
Guessing what happened to him is one thing. Knowing is another.
I watch the clock and beg time to slow down. I plead with it to allow me extra time to live in the before, but it doesn’t listen.
It never listens.
It just keeps on ticking, dragging me into the after no matter how much I kick and scream.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I walk to my kitchen and open the fridge. My voice sounds surprisingly steady. “I did a beverage restock in town this morning and they had that blackberry Dr Pepper you like.”
He grabs a can off the shelf and cracks it open. “I need to stop drinking this stuff, but I can’t say no.”
I knew there’d be some cultural differences when I moved to Texas.
I just had no idea one of them would be the Texas natives’ love of Dr Pepper.
The number of moms I saw at the morning football practices casually sipping cans of Diet Dr Pepper will never not be shocking to me.
I’ve questioned Tate’s love of the overly sweet pop more times than I can count, but it seems to be his only vice. He’s obsessed with the stuff.
“You already know I don’t get it.” I ignore the wine I really want to uncork for whatever the conversation ahead has in store for me and reach for a grapefruit sparkling water instead. “But I guess if you have to pick one thing to be addicted to, flavored Dr Pepper is one of the better options.”
“If you give it a chance, I know you’ll like it.
” He tries to convince me…again. “The fifth graders take a trip to the Dr Pepper Museum every year. I’ll ask around and see who we have to talk to so we can tag along.
You’re only one well-planned field trip away from understanding what all the hype is about. ”
I laugh and the bubbles from my sparkling water burn my nose.
“I think I’d need new taste buds to appreciate it like you do.” I tell him the unfortunate truth. “I am curious about this museum though. I heard it’s haunted.”
I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts, but this makes sense to me. If there was one pop that might be flavored by evil spirits, it’d be Dr Pepper…
And maybe Mountain Dew.
“The only thing haunting this stuff is deliciousness. But if that’s what it’s going to take to get you to become a believer, I’ll go with it.”
“Well, the great news for you is that if the presentation is good, I can be convinced of most things pretty easily.”
It’s actually a problem.
I banned myself from watching documentaries unless I dedicate an equal, if not greater, amount of time researching the other side.
Gabby stopped allowing me to go to group events without her after the third time she prevented me from joining Petunia Lemon, a multilevel marketing skin-care company that is now out of business on account of it being a scam.
I think her biggest fear of me moving away wasn’t that I’d forget about her, but that I’d return to her a few months later as a full-blown boss babe. Or a cult member.
Unfortunately, both were valid concerns.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Tate sets the can on the counter and takes my hand in his, but when he smiles, I can’t help but notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Come sit on the couch with me?”
As much as I’d love to stand in my kitchen, laughing about everything and nothing at all, pretending that I’m fine and he’s fine, I know my time is up.
All I can do now is look on the bright side and hope for the best. I might not know what his past entails or the secrets he’s kept, but at least I’m still fairly certain he’s not a serial killer.
“Yeah.” I nod and follow behind him.
We sit down on the couch together like we have so many times in the past. I tuck my legs beneath me on my side, and he drapes the throw blanket I always snuggle under over my lap before he falls onto his side and stretches his long legs in front of him.
It’s a familiar scene, but my feelings are new and I hope they aren’t written all over my face.
“I know I said I’d tell you about me, but I want to make sure you’re okay first. I know you don’t love to talk about your mom, and I don’t want to push anything.
” He reaches across the couch and laces his fingers through mine.
The warmth of his skin immediately sets my nerves at ease.
“But if you ever need anything, I’m here. ”
My heart stutters in my chest, and I tighten my hold on his hand.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, and I don’t think it’s a lie. “My mom used to love ‘The Dance.’ I hadn’t heard that song in a long time, and it sparked some feelings I didn’t expect.”
And now that I’ve gotten a taste of the emotions I thought I wanted to feel, I’ll gladly avoid them for the rest of forever, if possible.
“I don’t want to brag, but I have been told by multiple people that I’m much better at listening than talking.” He says it like a joke, but I have a feeling he’s serious. “So as long as you’re sure.”
Am I sure that I don’t want to talk about the way my mom used to play that song on repeat for a week at a time on her and my dad’s anniversary, my dad’s birthday, and the day he died every single year?
“Positive,” I reassure him. “I’ve already trauma dumped on you once, and I wouldn’t want you to think I’m selfish. Tonight is your time to shine.”
It’s not that I enjoy hearing other people’s trauma—I wish everyone had lives filled with rainbows and sprinkles—I just don’t want to think about mine.
“You’re such a giver,” he says, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. “Thanks so much.”
“You don’t have to do this. I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re obligated to tell me anything you don’t want to share.” I grab the remote off the table and put it on his lap. “That new thriller everyone has been talking about is streaming on Netflix. We could watch that instead.”
Would I love it if he felt safe enough to confide in me? Of course, but I’d hate it if he felt like I was forcing him to discuss something he wasn’t ready to. He can keep his secrets forever if he needs to. I just don’t know how long I’d be willing to pursue something with him if he did.
No matter how hot, kind, and helpful he might be.
“No.” He shakes his head, and his locs fall in front of his face.
“It’s not that. I want to tell you. I don’t…
” He looks at the ceiling like he might find the words he’s looking for up there.
“I don’t know where to start. Everyone has always told their own version of my story. I’m not sure I’ve ever told it myself.”
I’d joke about the Celestial gossip tree, but the hurt and insecurity that flashes in his eyes is anything but funny.
“It would be awful to have my entire community talking about me the way you’ve had to deal with.
” I inch across the couch until the fabric of his soft denim jeans is pressed against the bare skin of my thigh.
“Start wherever you want. Nobody else’s story matters.
I only want to hear what you have to say…
unless you’re going to tell me you’re married with kids.
It would really suck to find out I was a mistress. ”
His full lips tip up at the corners and amusement dances in his dark eyes. “I’m not married and I don’t have any kids.”
“Look at that,” I say. “The perfect start. What else do you want me to know about you?”
I wish I was more prepared for this conversation, but in what I’m sure will only come as a surprise to 0.
0001 percent of the female population across the world—and likely the universe—this is the first time a man has ever offered me answers and honesty about his life.
The entire situation feels so fragile. I’m afraid one wrong word or sudden movement could send him running back home.
Letting him lead the conversation feels like the safest bet.
His foot taps relentlessly on my rug-covered floors, and his hand twitches in mine. “I know you did your little mastermind thing to get me and Silas talking again, but did you ever hear what happened to pull us apart?”
I’ve tried to avoid it, but it’s impossible to live here and not hear rumblings about the Jacobs brothers.
“A little bit, but not much. The only person who really talked about you two in front of me was Ciara, and she was more venting than gossiping. I would’ve told her to stop, but since she’s your sister and my friend,” I say, though the latter is said more out of hope than fact, “I had to let her talk.”
Girl code is the most serious code of them all. I really like Tate, but I will never put my good standing as a top-tier girl’s girl in jeopardy over a boy…no matter how hot and grumpy and secretly sweet and caring he is.
“That’s good,” he says. “At least Ciara knows the real story. It’s everyone else who walks around making things up and then repeating it like it’s fact that gets to me.
” He pauses and his jaw tightens. “Someone said I moved back because I was in trouble with the law and Celestial has the only police department that would look the other way. I think it was added to my Wikipedia page.”
“I know it’s the least pertinent bit of information out of everything you said, and I’m so sorry for asking, but did you just say that you have a Wikipedia page?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “You didn’t know that?”