37-VINCENT
I didn’t have words for Tate. I knew something was wrong the moment she said hello, then said ‘Wildflower’, followed by ‘chase me’. I stepped on the brake just enough to round the corner. Up ahead was a red truck pulled off the road, the same make and model as Tate’s.
Reagan better be untouched. Anger sliced through my veins, forcing the urge to ram straight into him. I wouldn’t. Because Reagan was in there, she better be. The windows were tinted, making it hard to see if they were inside.
I almost expected him to speed off or jump out. Fuck, he might even shoot me. No movement from his truck as I tossed it into park and got out. The engine was on, and I was going to check his side first.
My hand wrapped around the handle and yanked it open.
A mass fumbled out, and with the possibility of it being Reagan, I caught them.
Fucking Tate. My hands gripped his clothes, and my eyes shot up across the cab.
She was there, untouched and looking rather annoyed.
My cheek tugged at my lips, happy to see her, then ripped the rest of him out of the driver's side.
His feet scrambled under him as he tried to jerk free. I slammed him against the back door, harder than intended, but I didn't give a fuck.
“Ghaa!” He groaned after knocking the air out of him. It was the least I could do. “What the fuck?”
“I can ask you the same thing. What are you doing with someone who has a restraining order against you?”
He surrendered between me and the metal. “It’s none of your business. She said she was done with you. Said you didn’t have the emotional maturity to be with her.”
I swung at his face. The sound of teeth clattering, followed by the contact of my fist. I wanted to do it before he said that. His comment just made it possible. “Funny. She said the same thing about you.” I gritted my teeth in his face.
Tate stood there, sucking his teeth.
I was going to end all of this right now. “Where is your goddamn phone?”
He stared at me, eyes empty like he checked out.
I pulled my fist back, ready to swing again. He was motionless. I made contact across his jaw again. Red marks began to bloom on his cheek. “Where is your phone?” Still nothing. “You’re going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you?”
“Why do you want my phone?”
“I don’t want it, but pull it out and I’ll tell you.”
His hands flat on my chest, he pushed me back, slipping the grip I had on him.
He aimed low, striking my ribs, and turned to escape back to his truck.
Diving after him, I caught his jacket, spinning him back to me and plowing my fist into his gut repeatedly right in the driver’s door, under Reagan’s eyes.
He let out a struggling breath and a cough. “You’re going to make me call the cops.”
“Do it. Tell them you kidnapped someone who had a no-contact order against you.” I glared at him. “Get. Your. Phone. Out. But we’re not calling the cops.”
Tate pushed his phone out of his pocket. It rattled when it intentionally hit the dirt.
I bent down and retrieved it. “Unlock it.” I shoved it into his chest.
His thumb traces the screen, and he turns it back to me. “Go to your email.”
Tate shockingly follows my request. “Scroll.”
With his screen tilted to me, he scrolls. Some flicks are slow, and some are fast, and he is wasting my time on purpose. “Open that one.” I point to the email sent from a DocuSign website.
It’s her divorce papers, updated from the last meeting they had without him because he missed it. “Sign it.”
He looked at me, rebelling for the first time.
“Judges hate when parties don’t sign. They’ll give everything to Reagan.
You can use what dignity you have left to sign the papers.
Do you really want it on record that you dragged it out any longer?
” Tate doesn’t blink. “Look, man, she’s not coming back, and if you don’t sign, the court will. Give yourself some grace.”
I pause a moment, and Tate slides his thumb around his screen. “There.” He smirks. “The bitch is all yours.”
I give him a goodbye kiss with my fist, knocking his phone back into the dirt. “Call her what you want, but now, you can’t call her yours.” I swoop down and pick up his phone. While he recovers, I scroll down his contacts and delete Reagan’s contact. I delete their text thread while I’m in there.
“Good choice, Tate.” I tossed his phone onto his seat. “Because dead men don’t need to sign.”
I look across the cab, and Reagan’s gone. My gaze darts to my truck, and she’s sitting right there, in the middle. As I leave, I don’t say a word to Tate. I don’t need to. He’s a ghost to us now.
I can’t help but smirk at Reagan in my truck. She was finally all mine. My boots pick up the last of the distance and pull me in. She doesn’t stop to see if Tate is watching or wait for him to pull away. Her lips are on mine, and I’m just as excited as she is.
“I can’t believe you found me.” She acts surprised.
My thumb still steady on her chin, I confess, “If the devil himself knew the wretched things I would do to keep you safe, the gates of hell would weld shut.”
She just smiles and kisses me again before I continue my confession.
“You’re officially mine, Wildflower.” Reagan’s eyes danced between mine, lips slightly apart. “And I’m falling in love with you at a rapid pace.”
“I know, I’m right there with you.” She dropped back down to the middle seat. “Take me home.”