36-REAGAN
The laundry made me late. I needed to do laundry, which pushed everything back by ten minutes. Luckily, the wedding cake and the cupcakes were picked up from my house this morning. I just had to drop off the order of a dozen cookies.
The brown box sat in the passenger seat.
A sticker of my logo sealed it shut. It would be nice if I could leave some items at his house, now that it is finished.
Maybe I could stay there longer. Staying with my mother and Miles can sometimes be a little much.
Always in my business, especially since things have gotten interesting.
I was finally getting into the groove of things at the ranch.
I even stopped asking if they mind that I use the bathroom.
Cathy and Tiffany were great at showing me how things were done, and Beverly wanted to know when I would be able to sneak off and bake with her again. She’s excited for the holidays now.
The week was long, and between packing up my house and work orders, I was excited to go back to the ranch for the weekend.
That was after our date, of course. I was also curious about what the furniture looked like that Vincent insisted I help pick out.
I asked him what if things didn’t work out and he had all this furniture that reminded him of me.
Of course, he responded with a joke jabbing at Jori.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I had to live without half my furniture. ”
I pulled up in front of the old brick storefront, right under the Wild Flour lettering, and moved the gear into park.
The cold morning cloud coverage wasn’t interested in giving us any sun today.
I shoved my keys in one pocket and my phone in the other.
Given the small chance that Vincent would call me the two seconds I was inside.
Gripping the passenger door handle, it popped open with ease, and I slid my hand under the box, balancing it evenly over each finger. Feeling secure in my hand, I swung the door closed and stepped up to the shop door.
The muscle memory of entering the master pin made opening the door an easy and mindless task. It was dark, and I hadn’t missed my customer. The motion detectors caught movement and flicked the lights on, and I made my way to the display fridge along the wall.
A figure moved from the corner of the room behind me. Startled, the box of cookies fell to the floor, and I stepped toward the fridge. My gut twisted with fear, my fight-or-flight sputtered kicking in until my mind caught up. Tate.
“How did you get in here?” I hissed, more angry than scared now.
He smirked, and it pissed me off more. “Just here to get my order of cookies.”
“You’re not supposed to—”
“Not supposed to see you. I know. I had to get creative.” He steps closer to me. My business drop-off and pick-up system, which was supposed to be easy, safe, and seamless, had become a trap, pinning me in place. “I just want to talk.”
“Tate, I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say.” I think of an exit plan. Running around him and out the door was highly unlikely. I had my phone. I could call someone, but that wouldn’t work, and he might take it.
His steps were slow and steady. Tate’s expression was calm and sober. “Too bad.” He stopped before me. “Let’s go for a drive.”
My keys were woven between my fingers in my jacket pocket, and I was unsure of what he would do. “I don’t want to.” My grip tightened.
“Too fucking bad. It wasn’t an option.” The sound of a spring and soft metal, followed by a clink, filled the space between us. My eyes dropped to his side, and he had flicked open his pocket knife.
“Tate—”
“I’m parked in the back.” He moved, pushing me to the back hallway. The one I rarely used because it was already creepy.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice bounced off the walls, even as a whisper. His hand cupped my arm, keeping me secure.
“I told you, I just want to talk.”
The back door opened with a squeal, and he ushered me to his truck in the closest spot. He opened the passenger door first, blocking me from an escape route I couldn’t find. “Go on, up, up.”
I grabbed the handle on the dash, and after heaving myself up, I dropped into the seat. “Don’t try anything.” Tate slammed the door and locked it with his key fob as he walked around. His eyes hardly left me. Tate didn’t look like the man I married. He looked evil and possessed.
I’m going to be pissed if I don’t get out of this alive.
Tate climbed in, started the engine, and dropped it into drive before peeling out of the back alley. One hand on the wheel, he kept the knife in his right hand, ready to use it if he needed to.
Naturally, I would buckle up, but if the opportunity to jump out presented itself, I’d have to take it. I needed to say something, talk him out of it. I knew him for eight years. I could do it. Right? “Tate, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t act so fucking innocent, Reagan. You kicked me out months ago, and despite me being the only one trying to work things out, you’re acting like we never existed.” He turned off Main Street, heading north. “Were you fucking around our whole marriage?”
“No!”
“And you decided to get divorced when my parents’ money wasn’t coming fast enough.”
His parents’ money? On a good week, I made more than he did. I wasn’t worried about his income or his inheritance. “Tate, are you serious right now?”
“Yeah. Why else would you be leaving me?”
“You’re never there for me! I’ve been emotionally detached for years because you can’t have a conversation that doesn’t include partying.”
“You used to party with me. Then you turned into a bitch.”
“Good. So you’re seeing we are on different life paths? Find someone who will make you happy, Tate.”
Tate continued down the long curved road. Unaware he was headed toward the town, The Forewarning was previously. “No.” He shook his head. “You make me happy. We just need to put in the effort. Like in the beginning.”
“I tried! For years! I’m done and too tired. I don’t love you anymore.”
“No. No, no, no. Reagan, you don’t mean it.”
I let his begging die down and sat without responding. How was I going to get out of this mess?
“You know what I was thinking about last night while lying in bed? You and the way your ass shook when you used to ride me.”
I don’t have it in me to roll my eyes and stare at the side mirror, watching the trees shrink in the distance.
“Then I started to picture Vincent’s blood on my hands and wondered what that would feel like. Could be nice getting that distraction out of the way.”
My phone cut through his twisted fantasy, and I retrieved it from my pocket. Vincent.
Tate’s eyes dropped to my screen. “Speak of the fucking devil. Answer it. Put him on speakerphone.” He barked. “And tell him you’re done.” His nostrils flared as he adjusted his grip on his knife between his palm and the wheel.
My hands shook as I hit the green icon. “Hello?” My voice sounded nothing like mine.
Vincent’s deep rumble came through instantly. “Hey. I’m at your place. Are we still on for tonight?”
Tate huffed as his knuckles whitened over the knife handle, angered by my plans.
“No,” I whispered. “I… I can’t do this anymore.”
The silence stretched, and moments seemed longer than they should have. “What do you mean?”
“Things with you are just too—,” I paused long enough to single out two words, “wild. Flowers—” I let my lungs deflate audibly, “...or dates are not enough.” Hoping he wasn’t focused on the fact that I was ending things, I prayed that Vincent would pick up my safeword.
It was right there, crystal clear. “It’s not going north from here. Don’t chase after me.”
“I see. I’m sorry things couldn’t work out. Let me know if you ever change your mind. Goodbye, Reagan.” The line disconnected, and Tate smirked. Tears bit at my eyes, but I couldn’t let them show. Not with how Tate pinned me under his knife.
“Shit, he wouldn’t even fight for you? Wow.
Way to pick a winner.” He chuckled, and his fingers loosened around the knife.
“I drove up to his family’s ranch Halloween night.
I parked across the street and wondered which house he lived in.
I thought I saw his truck parked deep down in a field, but it was too dark to tell, and I didn’t know how to get down there to check. ”
I wanted to get out of the vehicle and stop us so Vincent could catch up. “Where are you taking me?”
“I told you, I just want to talk.”
“Can we pull over at least? I can’t have an emotion-filled conversation with you staring forward.”
“Fine. But you don’t get to decide where, and we’re not getting out. Even if you did decide to run, it’d be miles back to town.”
“I don’t need to get out.” We had driven far enough. There was packed snow on the side of the road, and I truly didn’t feel like getting frostbite.
Another mile passed, and he steered the truck into a pull-out lane along some cement barriers. The locks opened as he set it into park. Tate didn’t move, didn’t reach to lock them back up. His guard was slowly sinking.
With his back to the window, he adjusts his body to face mine.
“Okay,” I said calmly, “I’m listening. Start from the beginning.”
His shoulders rise and quickly drop. “I don’t know. You used to be—we used to do stuff together, you know? Now that you've started your little baking business, you’ve gotten kind of boring. I spent more time with friends and going out because you wouldn’t even sit in the same room as me.”
I take a quick glance through the back window, keeping my suspicion down and thinking of ways to prolong this conversation. “I matured. I didn’t want to do that anymore, and baking was an escape. It still is. I’m damn good at it too. Despite what people online say.”
Tate’s eyes drop for a moment. “You are good at it.” He looks at me. “But I should have come before that. I’m your husband. We made enough with my parents’ insurance business.”
“It was soul-draining! I hated doing the calls and the paperwork.”
“Okay. Well, you don’t have to do that. I can provide for us. You wanted a baby? I can give you that. You can stay at home with it. Just please don’t leave me.”
“Why, Tate? Why did it take you six months to care about all this? After I tried to move on.”
“I didn’t realize how much I would miss you. I miss your meals, the way you clean the house, and I only slept with one girl, but she wasn’t you.”
“Tate.” I tried to act shocked, as I cared, but it fell through. “What did you tell your parents?”
“I can’t tell them.”
“Why not? What do they think has been happening for most of the year?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
I looked past him into his side mirror as a dark car caught my attention. It wasn’t Vincent. “Do they not know you’re getting divorced?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because! We’re not getting divorced! I can’t bring shame to the family name. There’s never been a divorce in the Hansen line. If I do, my inheritance will get cut.”
“Wait.” I stopped him so I could finish my thought. “You refuse to divorce me over money? Do you really love me and want to work it out?”
“I mean a little, but it’s hard to want to make things work when you’re spreading your legs for some random guy.”
God, when would that random guy get here? “So you would sign the papers if it didn’t affect your inheritance?”
“A few times I thought about it. I even had the document opened on my phone, ready to sign electronically. I just couldn’t do it.”
“Tate—” A dark truck swerved around the bend behind us, and my insides twisted. He heard my safewords and found me. I thank God I asked him to pull over, because if we had gone down a small dirt road, I don’t think he would have caught me. “It’s not going to work between us.”
“What if we stay married but we do what we want?”
I played on. “And when your parents want grandchildren?”
The corner of his lip lifts. “I mean, we’ll still fuck around when we are bored. We can pop them out then.”
I sighed in disappointment, although not surprised. That gesture of his procreating with me out of inheritance was small compared to witnessing Vincent pull up behind us. My core was wrung so tight, I thought I’d puke. Despite the winter element nipping at the window, I began to sweat.
Tate hadn’t noticed. That was probably for the best. He took my silence as disagreement. “What? Can’t we agree that we have fun in the bedroom?”
I didn’t answer. My heart raced, and I tried to control my breathing. My eyes bore into him while my peripheral tracked Vincent up the side of the truck and up to his door. I had nothing to say, and I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would vomit.
Vincent found me.