23
TATE
“Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles
- -
“What’s got you so quiet over there?” I ask Quinn, looking over from the passenger seat of Paw’s old F1.
Quinn’s eyes have a faraway look to them, her face more downcast than usual. “I’m just a little sad about startin’ him up. It seems like forever ago you called about him and that’s all it took to throw my whole world for a loop. I’m not sure I’m ready to say good-bye to the beast that helped bring us back together. Every time I walk into the shop and see him sittin’ there, waitin’ for me to come crawl under him and mess with his body, I get a sense of pride in not just him—but because really, he’s kind of . . . us.”
“I find it oddly sexy when you talk about workin’ on trucks like that,” I drawl, twirling a long piece of her hair around my finger.
She rolls her eyes and looks over at me. “I’m serious.”
“I know, Grease. I wasn’t tryin’ to devalue your feelin’s. Bad timin’ to bring it up. How do you figure this old thing is us?”
Her face grows serious, and I’m not sure if I should brace myself for what she has to say or not.
“Think about it, Tate. You had this thing delivered to me a broken, rusty, sad shell of the beauty he used to be. Everyone would have counted him out and taken one look at him, immediately assumin’ that he would never be set to rights again. That he was a lost cause or somethin’. All he needed, though, was the right touch and someone determined to get him back to what he used to be. With a little hard work, sweat, tears, and maybe a little blood—he’s lookin’ better than he probably ever did, even when he was first made. He’s . . . us.”
I blow out a breath and study her face, her words tumbling around in my mind, making a whole lot of sense when she puts it that way.
“No one woulda thought we would get a second chance, Tate. Not even us. That’s how much of a lost cause we were,” she continues, her voice lower as she shifts in her seat to look at me better. “Even though we both would have given anything to have each other back, there were just too many broken pieces, rusty unused parts, and the broken shell of what we were. Situations changed and you—thank God—were determined even without knowin’ for sure what you’d get when you got back to Pine Oak. Together, we had the right things drivin’ us toward bein’ a better version of what we once were. You and me, we’re Homer and Bertha. The two wouldn’t be what they are now without the other.”
“Bertha?” I ask thickly, her explanation rocking me to my core.
She points over my shoulder and I look over to the other F1 I vaguely remember her talking about weeks ago. I had been so desperate for anything from her, that conversation was a test to my abilities of focusing. I try to remember exactly what she said, but the only thing I can remember is that Quinn had used the engine in that truck for mine.
What she said finally registers completely and I feel my heart skip a beat. “Wait a minute, how are we these two trucks when that one,” I say, pointing to the one she keeps calling Bertha, “doesn’t have an engine anymore. Are you sayin’ you’re still broken, baby?”
God, I fucking hope not. I thought, after the wedding and her talk with her brother that night, that we were past this. I figured we were finally in the right spot—that place where nothing would stand in our way again.
Her serious expression breaks and a sly, content smile tips up her lips. “No, honey,” she breathes, reaching out to caress the side of my face, stopping when she reaches my jaw to cup it lovingly. It’s pathetic how addicted to her touch I am. I fucking crave her hands on me. I turn my head to nuzzle into her so I can smell the perfume on her wrist better.
“Bertha’s a good girl, Tate. She’s patient when it comes to her man and wants to give him what he needs to be whole. I’m sayin’ you came back and gave me Homer to fix and in turn offered me somethin’ I never imagined I would get another chance at again. They both got the same thing in the end. Homer got Bertha’s engine—her heart, the part of her that is the most vulnerable and important—and you . . . you got mine.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I mumble in awe, feeling like my heart is about to pound out of my fucking chest over what she’s just said and what it means to our relationship.
“What d’you say we fire this bad boy up?” she asks, giving me the moment of recovery I need to get my shit together.
Too overcome by her words to speak right then, I give her a nod and try not to cry like a fucking baby.
The second she turns the key and the truck roars, vibrations shooting through my whole body, she tosses her head back and laughs—pure elation shooting from her, just from starting up a truck. She shakes her head, pressing on the gas a few times to rev the engine, the whole time bouncing in her seat like a kid on a sugar high. She’s fucking eating this up. Seeing her like this, in her element, is a joy.
When she looks over, her dark hair running over the skin of my forearm that’s still resting on the back of the seat, goose bumps shoot over my body. I just stare at her, at the streak of grease just above the line of her chin, at her eyes wild and bright with excitement, and I’m not sure that she’s ever looked more beautiful.
“You wanna drive?” she asks, her green eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed. No fucking way I would take the chance to do so away from her, not when she looks like she was just handed the world by turning the key.
“Figure with what you just said, darlin’, the only person that should be drivin’ the truck that represents me is you.”
She leans her head back and sighs with contentment, still bouncing slightly as her hands grip the wheel.
“Show me what you got, darlin’,” I say with a smile.
I know she gets what I’m saying—that she reads between the words spoken to find the deeper meaning—because her whole face gets even softer, love shining so fucking bright in her eyes that it would bring a lesser man to his knees. It’s that expression, paired with the rumble of Homer as she pulls him out of Davis Auto Works and starts tearing up the streets of Pine Oak, that confirms to me that she is giving me exactly what I was requesting.
She continues to race through the whole damn town, laughing and giggling. She switches gears, the window down and her hair flying wildly around her face, the truck under her control coming powerfully back to life with her hands on him now that she’s fixed every single thing that had rotted.
If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget this ride.
- -
I rub my stomach when it rumbles again, the scent of the food Quinn’s gotten out of the fridge reminding me just how hungry I was. We just spent another afternoon after work in Homer’s cab, riding around like we’ve been doing the past few days. It’s become a routine of sorts: bump around in the revamped truck until eventually, the high dims enough that Quinn wants to head back to either my house or hers. I’m sure there are a million other things I could be doing, but this time with her is so fucking perfect there isn’t anywhere else I would rather be.
It’s been a few days since our first ride—a full week since her brother’s wedding. Until today, she’s been acting fine. Her smile rarely dropped, and she’s even gone out of her way to come have lunch in my office with me every day. Other than when we were both at work, we haven’t spent a moment apart in seven days. But right now, she seems different. Not even when she was feeling bummed about being done with the truck was she this quiet and almost fretful, like she is now.
The truck I can’t stop referring to as Homer is now parked in the garage behind my house—back in his old spot, only now he doesn’t stay locked up. Quinn’s taken him to the shop every day since with the excuse that she just wants to keep an eye on him to make sure nothing is going wrong, but I can see through her bullshit. She’s as attached to the truck as she is to the man she claims he represents.
“When do the newlyweds get back from their honeymoon?” I call to Quinn from my spot in the middle of the couch.
Up until a little while ago, she had been in this spot with me, warming my body with hers while we did more listening to the TV than watching it, seeing as we haven’t been doing much focusing lately other than on each other’s bodies. I’m pretty sure she would still be in my arms, letting me run my hands all over her body, if we both hadn’t gotten hungry.
“Two days,” Quinn mumbles, looking up briefly from the sandwiches she’s making before looking away.
Her sudden shift in mood makes me pause, lowering the remote that I had been holding up to shift through the channels, waiting until she was done so we could start a movie. She was bouncing around the kitchen like she was full of happy, bubbly energy not even five minutes ago. What the hell could have happened in the time it took her to pull out sandwich shit and start putting a meal together?
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” She hums, nodding her head.
“You’re a shit liar, darlin’. What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and continues to move around my kitchen, looking like she feels at home here in my house—exactly how I want her to feel, since I hope one day she’ll be living here with me. I give her some time to work through her thoughts. If she hasn’t figured out how to let me know what’s bothering her by the time she sits down, I’ll have to think of a more creative way to get her to speak up.
When she drops down on the couch, handing me my sandwich before leaning into my body and placing her own on her lap, she still doesn’t speak.
“Quinn,” I prod, trying to get her to tell me what’s bothering her because she wants to, and not because I’m pulling it out of her.
A long exhale answers me back, and she tears at the corners of the paper towel she’s using as a plate for her sandwich. My heart pounds while I wait her out. I can’t think of a single thing that’s happened this past week that would have made her look this . . . despondent.
“Maverick gets back home in two days,” she whispers, still not looking at me, picking at her sandwich.
I frown. “I know, Grease, you just told me that.”
Her back moves against my side as she breathes deeply and because she’s so close to my body, I know that deep inhale was held tight before she blew her breath out slowly. Almost like she was using those few extra seconds to work up the courage to finish talking. Jesus, where is she going with this?
“He . . . Well, with him comin’ back from their honeymoon and all, I couldn’t help but remember the talk I had with Clay at the bar, and I started thinkin’ about goin’ out to California again. To see my mama. Him comin’ home just reminded me of that.”
The fog of confusion that was hanging heavily in the air between us is sliced in half instantly, giving me a clear path of certainty as I realize where her head is at.
She’s nervous about talking to Maverick.
And . . . more than that, she’s scared.
Not because of anything between her and me—thank God. She hasn’t spoken to Maverick about this yet, not wanting to dampen the mood around his wedding, so his arrival back home after taking his new wife to some tropical beach for their honeymoon is rightfully making her nervous. This woman loves her brothers so much, respects their feelings, the last thing she wants to do is upset them. Even though she knows that Clay is on her side with this, Maverick is still an unknown, and there’s nothing wrong with being nervous about how he’ll react. After all, I can remember all too vividly how Maverick responded to me at first, when I was a piece of news he didn’t seem to want to hear.
However, I have a feeling the majority of the fear floating around in her head is because, even with her wanting and needing this so she can move on completely, she’s been weaving a fantasy for twenty-seven years around this woman and she’s about to face the fact that the fantasy is really a nightmare. Going to see her mama is basically her admitting that those dreams are just that—dreams, fantasy, unreal.
If there was anything I could do to make this right in her mind and heart, I would do it in an instant, but this is a fight I can’t take on for her. All I can do is stand at her side and help her forge through the battlefield.
“What if I can’t do it?” she finally asks, looking up at me with desperation in her pleading eyes. “What if Maverick doesn’t want me to, or maybe, even worse, if askin’ him to let me go hurts him? What if I get out there and I can’t even function, seein’ her only tearin’ me up again instead of helpin’ me move on?”
“God, Quinn,” I breathe, leaning forward to put the plate of food she’s handed me onto the coffee table before pulling her into my lap, her back against the armrest and feet on the couch. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Quinn Davis, but even the strongest people need help sometimes. There’s not a damn thing wrong with that. Everything you’re feelin’ is normal, darlin’, but I promise you, your brother is gonna support you every step of the way. That’s not somethin’ he’s gonna do for any other reason other than because he loves you. The only thing that’s gonna hurt him in all this is knowin’ you seein’ her will be hard on you. That’s nothin’ you can prevent, darlin’, because he loves you and that’s somethin’ he will always feel when it comes to you feelin’ heartache. If y’all get out there and you can’t go through with it, then that won’t make you less of a person. You makin’ this decision alone shows your strength, regardless of whether you can take those final steps. It makes you human, Quinn. And anyone would struggle with this. No matter what happens, nothin’ will ever touch you with the power to tear you up. Not one damn thing. Not when I’m here to make sure you stay whole.”
She blinks a few times, clearing from her eyes the moisture that had formed while I spoke. “I don’t want my brothers to go with me,” she breathes.
I frown, and she brings up a hand to rub at the space between my eyebrows until I feel my face relax and the frown fall away.
“You want to go out there alone?”
She shakes her head, looking unsure again.
“I only want you there,” she mutters, looking down and fiddling with the end of her shirt. “You brought me back, Tate. You made me believe again, and when I think about how bad it could get there for me—there’s only one person who could bring me back from that, if that’s the case.”
I feel the tension rush out of my body and gather her closer to me, my arms wrapped around her. I have to bite back a grunt of pain when her ass shifts awkwardly in my lap. Since we’re in for the night, both of us are in loungewear, so the basketball shorts she just yanked on aren’t offering much protection. Still—I pull her even tighter, pain be damned.
“Is that what you’ve worked yourself up worryin’ about? That I wouldn’t want to be there with you or somethin’?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Kinda. I think bein’ scared about talkin’ to Mav on top of worryin’ about askin’ you to come with me and not them just got the best of me. I didn’t know how to tell you I needed you when it would pull you away from here. I didn’t want you to feel torn after just startin’ at the practice and all, but also put you in a position that you didn’t exactly sign up for, Tate. Mama issues are messy, and I didn’t want to burden you with that kinda stink when you’ve been so happy.”
I kiss her temple and she shifts so that she’s curled up in my lap, head against my chest as she looks up at me, one hand moving up my naked torso until she stops and rests her palm there—something I’ve noticed she does a lot lately—her thumb tapping softly with the beat of my heart.
“No matter what, and no matter how far, I’ll follow, Quinn. Don’t ever be scared to tell me you need me when that’s somethin’ I’ve spent the past nine years prayin’ to God you’d feel about me again. I struggled for years knowin’ me disappearin’ like I did would stir up the painful memories of your mama doin’ the same, Quinn. Comin’ back and findin’ out that you felt that pain over and over again while I was gone slashed me through the gut, but you were usin’ all that—what I did, what she did, my unspoken truths and her lies—to convince yourself you were just like her when that couldn’t be further from the truth, that was a knife to the heart. It would be just as excruciatin’ stayin’ back knowin’ you would be facin’ these demons again and I wouldn’t be there again to slay them if you needed me to. But more than that, I want to be there because when you realize you’re nothin’ like her and finally see the beautiful strength inside you it’s goin’ to be somethin’ that steals your breath, it’s so powerful.”
She looks up and I pull my head back just in time to miss her colliding with my chin.
“You say that like you know from experience what it’ll feel like,” she gasps, eyes wide with a hesitant hopefulness.
“That’s because I do, baby,” I answer. “The day I knew there wasn’t shit keepin’ me from you any longer, I called my parents—FaceTimed them, so they wouldn’t be able to have a sliver of doubt as to how serious I was, bein’ able to see me—and even though I knew I’d still have to fight to convince you to give us another chance, they had to know where I stood.”
“And . . . where was that?”
“With you, Quinn. The same place I stood for nine years, helplessly on the sidelines miles away. I told them both that, while they might have been the reason I was alive—havin’ made me and all—they wouldn’t keep me from the person that keeps me breathin’ one day longer. My father actually laughed at me, and I swear to God, it didn’t even touch me, because I knew I had won. Not them. When I found out what had motivated my father to keep his son away from the woman he loved, I let the security of my win over his bullshit cushion the blow, and in that moment, I knew he might have cost us a lot, but in the end, we would be the ones to gain from his efforts. He finally taught me the difference between a coward and a fighter—somethin’ I couldn’t keep from mixin’ up the whole time I was away from you and powerless to change the course of my life—but in that one phone call, he at least gave me that.”
“Why did he do it?” she hesitantly questions.
Knowing this moment would come eventually and having to actually go through with it are two different things. She deserves to learn what motivated him, but I also don’t want her to think poorly of herself just because the man who fathered me is a spineless, misogynistic prick. My fear that she will is what kept me from telling her this weeks ago, when I explained why I stayed gone.
“He thought what he wanted was more important than what I wanted—that our family would gain something they couldn’t if I was attached to a family that didn’t have the bullshit social pull ours did. He had some bullshit plan that I would become a successful doctor and he could then use me as a pawn to collect more power players in his life, marry me off to someone whose family he could use to fulfill his need for supremacy. All my father saw was that I was begging him to let me be the man I wanted to be, not the one he tried to force me to be.”
Quinn whistles slowly in disbelief. “All of this because I wasn’t good enough? Everything we lost was because my family wasn’t important enough for him to use?”
I shake my head, praying she understands me. “No, all of this was because he never felt like what he had was good enough. He craves status and wanted to use me to get him more of it. It wasn’t even about you, in the long run, but about him securing a future through me that he could exploit for his own gain.”
“What would have happened if he had forced you further in his game? Tried to hurt more people in order to get you to agree to be his pawn fully?”
“Never would’ve happened. I’m not proud of it, but he was close to pushing me to the point of no return as it was. If fate hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure I would be walkin’ the earth a free man. I did what he asked. I sacrificed my happiness to keep those he threatened safe, but I still had my pride. I would have killed him or been killed before I let him have that. I didn’t have you, and baby, death would have been a far less painful fate at that point.”
She gasps.
“I’m not my father,” I tell her, holding her gaze, speaking the words for my benefit just as much as hers.
She jolts in my arms. “I would never think you were, Tate. Does what you said shock me? Damn right it does. But I won’t ever hold what he did to you—to us—against you. I know you did what you had to do and that you would have done anything to get back to me if there had been another way. The only thing I hold you accountable for, Tate, is protectin’ those that you care about.”
“I would die for you.” I say the words softly, but there’s a desperation to the truth in them.
“I know, honey,” she breathes, pressing her lips against mine. “That’s why I need you with me. Every step, not just to help me deal with movin’ on from what my mama did. I need you with me to help me finally let go so I can give you all of me without the fear lingerin’ in the back. I also want you with me so I can prove to you that I’m worthy of you after the sacrifices you made. I’m nervous beyond belief, but I’m like you—I can’t let what her leavin’ did to me win over the future we have before us.”
God, this woman brings me to my knees. If only she knew how strong she was already just by admitting this.
“Trust me when I tell you, you’re gonna feel the nerves of knowin’ you’re about to face somethin’ that’s stood in your path in some form your whole life, even with me there to shield you the best I can. Your mama might not have stood in the way like my father did, but her leavin’ put a shadow on you that I think you’re just now startin’ to see fade. We’ll go talk to your brother this weekend. If you want me there while y’all talk, I’ll be there, or if you want to do that alone, I’ll wait close by for that to happen. Either way, you won’t be without me. We’ll figure out when to go out there, get things settled at the practice and the shop, and I’ll make the travel arrangements for us to go see her. However you want this to play out, I’ll move mountains to make sure it happens, as long as you know that through all that, I will never let your step falter, and in the end, I’ll be with you when you see the sun shinin’ and that shadow around you vanish completely.”
She nods, and I feel her body relax in my arms.
It won’t be easy, but I meant everything I said to her. Our sandwiches lie forgotten a moment later when I rise from the couch with her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom.
Words aren’t needed when I lay her down on the bed, worship her body, and show her with every part of my body just how loved she is—as we come together.
I know she’s still worried about facing the last thing holding her back from moving on with her life completely. She might not be as nervous after our talk, but I have a feeling that’s because she’s distracted by the truth of my father’s motivations. She’s got a forgiving heart, thank God, but even if she does understand the reasons that kept us apart and doesn’t hold that against me, when you factor in that her mama’s abandonment has compounded everything she’s lost over the years until she was terrified to believe she could move on without it happening again, I know this visit to her mama is even more important to her and our future than she realizes, because with her finally letting that part of her past go, there will be no stopping our future.