Chapter 38
[Tate]
The rain is more like a deluge. I can’t see out the windshield as I sit in my car waiting on Neve. She wasn’t at the house when I got there, so I called Lumi, who told me Neve was going home.
To her house.
Last night, I would have been on a late-night flight back to Maine if there had been one. I tried to find an early-morning flight, then said fuck it. I drove, instead.
I wanted my car here anyway.
And eight hours didn’t move fast enough.
After Neve’s phone call, I did what I intended to do in New York and got out of there, because Neve’s call was exactly what I’d feared would happen. She’d find out about Bucky Beaver and hate me.
She was right. I should have told her, but the closer we got, the harder it was to spill the truth.
There was no future auto-body shop. No potential job. A hotel was going up on the property.
I knew she’d be crushed. She wouldn’t see the bigger picture. The Snowe sisters had no choice but to sell. They had nothing to bargain with. But rational thought over sentimentality was difficult, and it was something I loved about my feisty auto mechanic.
Neve was devoted to the core.
Which is why the way she said goodbye with such finality hurt so much.
Then she hung up on me.
I couldn’t solve anything over the phone. I had to get home. To her.
When I see the headlights of the SUV pull up to the house, I wait a second before popping open my door. I’m drenched within seconds. Shirt stuck to my chest. Pants like a second skin. Leather shoes ruined. None of it matters.
I reach the passenger side of the car at the same time she does, getting just as soaked as me.
“I’ve got her,” I holler over the torrential rain.
“I’ve got her,” Neve argues back.
We don’t have time for this kind of pissing match.
“Just get the front door,” I nod toward the house.
Thankfully, Neve listens and runs through puddles on her flagstone walk.
I open the back door, grateful to find a small umbrella in the seatback pocket.
I unlatch the car seat, then struggle to open the umbrella in the wind and rain.
After dragging the blanket covering Wren’s legs over the entire seat, I lug her upward, placing the umbrella over her instead of me.
I hip check the car door and rush to the open front door.
I don’t bother asking Neve for permission to enter. I let myself in and shut the door, setting down the car seat, and then snap the umbrella shut. Standing just inside the door, I’m a dripping mess. I shake my arms, as if that will help, but I’m wet to the skin and cold to the bone.
Neve bends for the baby.
“Why don’t you grab some towels? I’ll get Wren.” Her blanket isn’t wet, other than a corner. She’s still toasty and dry, although her eyes are wide at the sudden removal of the covering.
“Hey, baby,” I coo, working with shaking fingers to unbuckle her from the seat. Then I realize I can’t pick her up and pull her to me, I’m too wet.
And all I really want is to hold my baby girl.
Actually, who I want to hold is Neve.
She returns to the living room with a pile of towels and a flannel shirt over the top. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I set the shirt on the back of the chair and take a towel, rubbing it over my face and hair before tugging my shirt out of my pants.
Neve’s breath hitches, like she’s realized too late I’m about to remove my shirt. She stands perfectly still, as I unbutton a few buttons and then tug the saturated mess over my head by the back collar.
When I have the shirt pulled forward, Neve’s head is turned to the side, refusing to look at me.
I quickly scrub at my chest, then slip on the flannel shirt. My flannel shirt. Finally, I take Wren from the car seat.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice low.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I state. “There’s no room here.” I glance around the quaint space, restricted by the simple addition of a car seat in the living space.
“No room for you, you mean.”
The lash stings.
“No room for you either,” I argue. “There’s hardly anywhere to set the car seat. The crib is wedged between your bed and dresser. There’s no space to grow here. For a child to grow.”
I didn’t mean to start off by listing all her faults. I’m just frustrated.
“Maybe you just mean there’s no room for me in your life. Or you in ours.”
“Neve.” I exhale like she’s punched me in the gut. “Don’t say that.”
I take a step toward her, holding Wren in my arms. My socks slosh in my shoes, which squeak against her hardwood. Neve stands her ground but glances down at my ruined shoes. For her part, she’s still dripping wet as well.
“Baby, dry off,” I whisper.
She closes her eyes, making fists at her side. “Don’t call me that.” When her eyes open, she steps forward and holds out her hand.
“These are yours.”
The keys in her hand practically glare up at me. “Actually, the SUV is yours.”
She stares at me, eyes cold as a frozen pond.
“I bought the Honda for you. It’s in your name.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would you do that?”
I jostle Wren, glancing at our baby girl. If I point out that the Bronco doesn’t have modern safety features, it’s like adding to the existing list of grievances.
And I’m not aggrieved. I’m hurt.
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
I hang my head before popping it back up. “Maybe I want you to take care of me, Neve.”
Her eyes widen only the slightest bit.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. I’ve been afraid of this exact moment.”
“Where I’d learn you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.” But I didn’t tell her the truth either. The whole truth. “I’m sorry you found out like you did. I was going to tell you. I was.”
I hold my breath waiting for her to ask me, When? But she never does. She remains silent.
“Neve, from the moment I met you, you scared me. You’re like this bright moon in a dark sky. And I’ve been in the dark for a long, long time.”
She turns her head.
“And when you shine at me, it’s so amazing, Neve. You’re magnificent.”
While she keeps her cheek to me, she lowers her gaze to the floor.
“When we first went to the well, you said you had a mission. Something you had to do. And I didn’t want to intrude. It was your moment.”
She told me she wished for her true love to stay true. That Rusty’s Wrecks would remain hers.
“I made a wish as well. Or maybe it was more like I asked a question.” I pause and lick my lips. “Would I ever be a true love? Not just own the name but be a soulmate to someone else. To my other half.”
Neve’s head pops up.
“But I realize my question wasn’t about a soulmate to just anyone. It was you.” I swallow. “You make me whole. You and I were meant to be.” I run my hand up Wren’s back. “We were meant to be.” The three of us.
“You are the answer to my questions, Neve. I know what I want. I want you. I want Wren. I want our family, because that’s what we are. For life. Whether you accept me or not, forgive me or not, we are a family.” My voice cracks. “And I love us. I love you.”
I swallow back the break in my voice.
Her breath hitches, and her hand slowly comes to her chest.
“But what are your questions, Neve? What remains unanswered for you? I’m standing here telling you how I feel, what I want. I want you to come home. Our home.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.
“But I can wait. I’ve already been waiting my entire life for you.” I blink the water dripping from my hair out of my eyes, or maybe those are tears. I clear my throat.
“I told you to tell me what you want when I came back from New York, but this new information throws a wrench in everything, and I get that. You’re hurt. I hurt you, and I never, ever wanted to do that to you. I’m so sorry, Neve.”
She doesn’t acknowledge the apology, so I pause and stand taller.
“I’m here to stay, Neve,” I state. “When you want to talk, the door is always open.”
I press a kiss to the crown of Wren’s head, my chest ripping in half when I hand her over to Neve, whose arms move like an automaton.
She shivers from the wet clothes still on her body, and I take another towel from the pile and tuck it over her shoulder so she can bring Wren closer to her.
Her fingers shake as she runs them up Wren’s back, inhaling her baby scent while closing her eyes a second before looking at me.
Neve once said she hated goodbyes. They were hard, and they hurt, and I never understood what she meant until right now.
She didn’t mean casual farewells. She meant permanent absences. A final goodbye.
She was right. It hurt like hell.