Chapter 20
Summer
Since the day I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been teetering on the edge, ready to go over at the drop of a hat. My emotions have been all over the place, running the gamut from anger to fear to anxiety to resignation.
But now that he’s here everything is raw all over again.
He’s being so nice. Patient. Sweet.
Just like when he was here last time.
I don’t know who the Tate I spoke to on the phone was because he’s not the same guy sitting across from me.
“You’re the one who’s different,” I say quietly.
“On the phone.” He looks almost embarrassed. “I’m really sorry, Summer. It was temporary insanity. That’s not who I am. Not really. That was scared, caught-off-guard Tate.”
“And who are you now?”
“Sheepish, apologetic Tate? Tate who wants to make it up to you?”
I stare into his handsome face, looking for answers to unasked questions.
There’s a reason I never brought a man who wasn’t a friend or officially my boyfriend home before.
And there has to be a reason I didn’t hesitate to bring him here.
He is different.
Current circumstances notwithstanding.
“I’m scared,” I say finally. “Because the truth is, you’re saying and doing all the right things, but then like you said, you’re going back on tour—and I have to stay here.”
“You do, but you can also come out to see me on tour. You have friends, don’t you?
If your mom has a bad morning, Dolly can go.
Sylvie can go. Hell, even Brent was giving me the side eye last night, so I know there are people who care about you.
If you flew out on a Sunday morning, a Sunday that we have a show, you could fly back Tuesday afternoon.
Maybe even Wednesday morning, depending on our schedule.
See us play. And most of all, the two of us would spend some time getting to know each other.
“And I can come back. We usually have Mondays and Tuesdays off. It’s not really convenient if we’re out west, but that’s not until August. For the rest of July we’re either on the Atlantic seaboard or the Midwest—both of which are fairly easy flights to get here.”
“But it’s a lot of money,” I whisper. “Money we could be saving for the baby.”
“Look, I don’t disagree, but I’m making money now. Not stay-at-home-mom money but at least enough to make you comfortable. Pay for health insurance, even if we have to pay cash. We’ll figure it out, Summer. If you want to try.”
“Try what?” I ask carefully. “I assumed this was about the baby. Not about…us.”
“They’re the same thing.” He looks completely sincere as he reaches across the table for my hands.
“We agreed we wanted to see each other again but that it was too hard at this stage of our lives. My career, your mom, all that. But now there’s a baby.
Yeah, it’s going to be hard—maybe the hardest thing ever—but we have to do it anyway.
This is fate forcing us to do what we didn’t think we could do. ”
Is he really this perfect?
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I admit finally.
“The other shoe?” He looks genuinely confused.
“Do you not realize how perfect you sound? You’re literally saying everything any girl in my situation wants to hear.
Offering money. Time. Essentially…a relationship.
Who are you really? This Tate or the Tate on the phone?
Because if you turn into the other Tate the minute we’re apart, this isn’t going to work for me.
I’m not a kid—I’ve been around the block a few times and had my heart stomped on too. The only difference now is the baby.”
“I am far from perfect,” he says gently. “I can be loud and larger than life. On tour, I tend to stay up all night and sleep all day. I don’t like vegetables, hardly any. And I’m bad with money. You’ll have to rein me in because I’ll be ordering shit for the baby every time I get on my phone.”
“Our faults complement each other,” I say, a faint smile playing on my lips. “I can be too quiet sometimes, even though I don’t take shit from anyone. And I can be frugal to the point of being cheap sometimes.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, squeezing my hands. “Now how about we go upstairs and relax? And I’m not talking about sex. I don’t want you to feel obligated—but I really don’t want to sleep on a couch.”
“There’s a bed in the guest room,” I tease.
To my surprise, he doesn’t even blink. “Would you prefer me to sleep in there?”
Would I?
Not even a little.
“No. But I’m…tired. I feel like I haven’t truly slept since I found out.”
“Then tonight you will.” He gets up and holds out his hands. “Come on.”
And despite my misgivings, I don’t hesitate.
Even if this is short-lived and the other Tate comes out the minute he leaves, I’m going to enjoy every second we have together.
* * *
I wake up to a familiar roiling in my stomach and groan.
Opening my eyes, the light in the room tells me it’s late, which means I slept well, but my stomach isn’t going to let me off the hook. And I really don’t want to puke in front of Tate.
“Here.” I look up, confused, as Tate hands me a napkin with something in it. “I did some research online and it says dry crackers first thing in the morning can stave off the morning sickness.”
“I read that too but usually I make a run for the bathroom before I can get downstairs.”
“Let’s try it this way.”
I take the napkin and look at the crackers with distaste. Plain, boring Saltines. Yuck. But I’ll try anything if it means I don’t need to puke. I nibble one side and then pop the whole thing in my mouth.
Jesus, it’s like a mouth full of sand.
But I dutifully eat the second one and to my shock, the gurgling in stomach abates enough for me to sit up.
Tate looks delightfully disheveled but dressed for the day.
“Did you go out and buy me crackers?” I ask.
He nods. “I also didn’t see any ginger ale in the kitchen, so I got some of that and I ordered these ginger candies online that are supposed to be really good for morning sickness. They’ll arrive tomorrow.”
“Tate.” Tears fill my eyes.
“Come on, don’t cry.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me close. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears are impossible to stave off these days so I let them fall.
“Easy, baby. I’m here. Shh.” He’s so sweet and thoughtful and tender. Stroking my hair, rubbing my back.
I don’t know how I’m going to go back to being without him now that he’s here again.
I cry for a full five minutes, much to my chagrin, but I manage to get up to use the bathroom—and I don’t feel the need to puke. I’m still queasy and a little unsteady on my feet, but it’s not like the other mornings.
Why didn’t I think to bring crackers upstairs so I’d have them next to me when I wake up in the morning?
We go downstairs and I brew a cup of tea while he makes coffee for himself. I haven’t been eating breakfast because I’m usually bent over the toilet at this point in the day.
“What are your plans today?” he asks as we sit at the counter.
“I want to see my mom.”
“Yay! I can play guitar for the gang at the nursing home again. I learned some Frank Sinatra because someone asked if I knew ‘Volare.’ I didn’t, but I do now.”
I laugh because he’s adorable.
Thoughtful.
Sweet.
“Then I have to bake.”
“I like helping you bake.”
“You like making me take breaks from baking,” I say primly, batting my eyelashes at him.
His eyes darken for a moment. “Are baking breaks on the table?”
“It would be kind of silly to go backward. Unless…” Is he dating other women? Is he fucking other women? Ew, I can’t even think about that.
“What?” he asks automatically. “You got a really dark look on your face.”
“We can’t sleep together if you’re sleeping with…other women on tour. Especially not while I’m pregnant.”
He looks horrified. “Look, I know I screwed up when you called me, but can we please move past that? I’m not that kind of man. If we’re going to be together, we’re together. I don’t know what the future is going to bring, but right now, no. Of course, I’m not sleeping with other women!”
“Have you?” I ask softly. I know I shouldn’t. I know the answer will probably gut me. But I have to know.
“Have I what? Slept with other women since you?” He actually laughs.
And for a moment my feelings are hurt.
“Baby, I’ve been so pissed off at the world since I left here last time, I haven’t even looked at another woman.
The guys in the band think something is wrong with me, that’s how bad it’s been.
I think the guy you talked to on the phone was sexually frustrated Tate.
That’s the only explanation I have for how surly I was. ”
I stare at him in complete shock.
He’s been faithful this whole time? Even though we didn’t talk about it, literally agreed to go our separate ways.
He continues to surprise me.
The more I get to know him the more I like him.
I’m in dangerous territory, but I don’t care.
“Well, we can’t have that,” I say quietly. “I don’t like sexually frustrated Tate nearly as much as sated Tate.”
“No?” He cocks his head. “What do you plan to do about that?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” I murmur sweetly. “You, however, need to put down that cup of coffee and take me to bed.”