IT’S KIND OF LATE, BUT Melissa answers my text when I tell her I’m coming over. A few minutes later I pull my car to the curb of their single family home. The neighborhood is cute, row after row of perfect little cookie cutter homes with low maintenance desert landscapes. Even without the house number, I can differentiate my sister’s from the others by the little flag stand at the walkway. She changes it out with different designs to go along with the holiday or time of year. I tease her because, living in Arizona, we don’t really get seasons. What we get is nice weather for some months and then sweltering heat for the rest of the year. She doesn’t care though, and this month’s flag is patterned in blossoming tulips to welcome spring.
Before I can knock or let myself in, my sister opens the door. Her belly separates us farther than I like, but she pulls me inside and hugs me anyway. “Oh, Evie,” she says and it’s then I realize I’m crying.
My niece’s laughter floats from down the hall and I ease out of her embrace, wiping the tears from my face.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really, but I think I should. Where’s Drew?”
“Putting Claire to bed. Or rather, trying to.” When I raise my eyebrows—it’s almost ten o’clock—Mel just rolls her eyes and walks past me toward the kitchen. “She’s wound up and won’t stay in her bed. This is like the tenth try. Must be the full moon. Brings out the crazy in everyone.”
“You think she’d give up by now. Or you could build her a cage,” I suggest, sliding onto one of the barstools.
“Putting an eighteen month old in a cage is frowned upon. Though I won’t lie, it’s tempting. That girl is incredibly tenacious. Also, I think she thrives on her parents’ exhaustion.” My sister flicks on the water at the sink and resumes scrubbing a pile of dirty dishes.
“Let me do that for you.” I stand, but she narrows her death stare on me so I plop my butt back in the chair.
“I’m pregnant, not disabled.” She rubs the rough end of the sponge over the Teflon pan and raises one eyebrow. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
I wring my hands together atop the counter and bite the inside of my cheek when I consider my argument with Tate. We never fight like that. Ever. “Can I stay here tonight?” I try to get the words out as evenly as I can. Maybe not well enough.
Melissa flicks the faucet off, dries her hands, and comes around the kitchen island to take the seat beside mine. “You know you can, but why would you need to? Did Tate do something to you? Did he hurt you?”
“Yes.” I nod, but when her eyes widen with alarm I shake my head. “No. Not the way you think. It’s just that he lied to me and now I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Her face falls and she nods because she gets it. She more than gets it. “Shit. How did our lives get so complicated?” I wonder in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know, little sister. I don’t know.”
“I think she’s down for the count! I say we celebrate . . . Oh, hey, Evie. I didn’t know you were stopping by.” Drew stands at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes darting between me and Melissa. “Shit. I know that look.” He comes over to kiss Mel’s cheek and then leaves a peck on the top of my head before setting the video baby monitor on the counter between us. “I’m on it.” He winks, pulls his keys from the little dish on the counter, and heads toward the door that leads to their garage.
“Wha—?” I can hardly get out the question before he turns back to grin at Melissa.
“Ice cream. Chocolate. Really, anything decadent.” He raises his brows and then winks before meeting my confused expression. “See! I’ve been at the marriage business for years. I know the look. Don’t worry, I got you. Be back in fifteen.” With that, he closes the door on his way outside.
“If I didn’t want to kill him, I’d hug him right now,” I say.
Melissa nods, her face sour. “That’s how I’ve felt for the past few weeks.” She reaches across and settles her hand over where my fingers rub together nervously. “But you’re not here to discuss me and Drew. Tell me what happened.”
She’s my sister. I love her so much. As much as I want to tell her everything, I can’t bear to bring her any more pain or sorrow so I omit the details of my night that relate to Amelia. Anger and frustration resurface afresh when I recount my run-in with Lindsay. Repeating her words to me in the locker room only cements my suspicion that she’s not to be trusted. Melissa nods, listens, and gasps at all the right parts, but when I finish, slumping into my chair with defeat, she levels me with the big sister line of questioning.
“You think there’s something there with his ex? He’d really go back to her?” Her eyebrows lift when I open my mouth and I stop to really consider my answers.
“No. I don’t. Not really. But she’s a sneaky little bitch. I don’t trust her.”
“As you shouldn’t. Tate’s one of the nice ones. Women are going to want him. Always. That doesn’t stop when you put a ring on it. But if he’s not interested, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I know that. I do. But how could he not tell me she was at their party? It’s a pretty big fucking detail.”
“Girl. Really? You going to play off the fact you couldn’t even walk last night? Did you even make it home without passing out? When was he gonna tell you? Not saying that he shouldn’t have. He should. But I doubt those would be his first words to your drunk ass.”
“I made it home.” Kind of. Sort of. I think I passed out in the car, but I was awake when Carly and Kate dropped me at home. My anger at Tate gradually fades when I remember how sweet he was taking care of me, and not at all mad even though he did request we mutually keep strippers out of our parties. “Shit.” I took all my frustrations from my day out on him. My head drops into my hands and Melissa rubs my back.
“It’s this thing with Drew and me, isn’t it?”
It’s not helping, but I don’t confess that aloud. “No.” I lift my head to meet my sister’s concerned stare.
“You can’t let someone else’s issues cause trouble for your own relationship, Evie. Tate loves you. Just because my life is falling apart doesn’t mean yours has to. Marry the man. Beat the odds. Prove the haters wrong.”
“It’s just that I still can’t believe he could do this to you. And if Drew can, then Tate . . .”
“You and Tate aren’t us.”
“But you always seem so perfect.”
“Ha! Right.” She rolls her eyes.
“No, really. I’ve always thought that. Ever since you brought him home to meet Mom and Dad.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem. Nothing’s been easy. We’ve had ups and downs. Hard work, tears, fighting, and a whole lot of love, but not perfection. That’s impossible.” She rubs her belly, their child growing inside.
My mind races with a million thoughts and questions, but I land back on the one that continues to resurface. “Why don’t you just confront Drew?”
She blows out a breath of air and runs her fingertips through her hair. “Because . . . Part of me . . . Part of me is scared he won’t tell the truth. And I’ll believe him.”
The dull static from the baby monitor dances between her words and we both stare at the video, with Claire sleeping in that adorable way only babies can, her arms tucked at her sides and butt propped up in the air.
“And the other part?” I whisper.
Melissa answers, her voice so low . . . As if any louder and she’ll wake Claire. “I’m terrified, Evie. I’m terrified he will tell the truth, and all of this . . . our happy little life . . . will all be over. Without Drew, I’m not me.”
The sound of their car pulling back into the drive interrupts our heartfelt conversation. Melissa slides off the barstool with a sad smile and turns away to the cupboard to pull down bowls.
The door opens but she doesn’t turn around. Drew steps inside, a grocery bag of ice cream in hand and a wide smile on his face. “I hope you two are ready. I’ve got chocolate. Cookie dough. Whipped cream, too.”
“Thanks, babe.” Melissa says, opening the drawer to grab spoons. They hit the counter with a clatter and still she doesn’t turn.
My gaze follows Drew’s as he regards his wife with so much adoration, attraction, and love that it can’t be faked. Why would he even need to? He doesn’t notice me watching. It’s as if he couldn’t drag his eyes from her if he tried. He walks to her, sets down the grocery bag, and runs his arms from her hips to the front of her belly, kissing her cheek.
“How’s baby?” he murmurs and I suddenly feel like a third wheel. Confused, because Drew’s acting nothing other than a man devoted to his family. After what I witnessed earlier in the evening, my conclusions feel dishonest.
“Hey, I’m gonna head out,” I announce. Melissa’s eyes hold worry, but I’m not sure if it’s for me or herself. “I need to see Tate.”
Drew’s lips pull up with his crooked smile and he nods. “Want to take some ice cream for the road?”
“That’s, okay. I’d better not.”
“Right. Big day on Saturday. We’ll see you Friday at the rehearsal,” he says.
“Yep. Thanks for talking, Melissa. You always know what to say.”
“Anytime. Love you, Evie.”
“Love you, too, sis.”
My pulse slows to a steady rhythm despite my worries, and I hold on to hope as I wind through the barely there late night traffic. My sister’s words ring in my head—marry the man; beat the odds—and there’s nothing I need more in this moment than to follow through on just that. I only hope he reciprocates the feeling.
Key in the lock, the worst of my fears flash in my mind. It’s not even that Tate might not want to get married, or even that he’ll be mad. No. It’s more frightening than that. What if he doesn’t want to be together? What if I broke our trust, I’m not worth fighting for, what we are isn’t enough to make him stay and put in the work? What if he’s already gone?
As I twist the handle and push open the door, I realize all those thoughts are only fear and self-doubt talking. He’s here.
“Evie.” He rushes to stand from the couch, muting the television and taking a few steps forward. The space between us feels too far when I meet his stare. His eyes reflect the same apprehension that coils in my gut.
“Tate. I’m sorry,” I say through trembling lips. He opens his arms and I walk straight into them, relishing in their strength as he holds me tight against his chest. All my worries quiet for a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry, Evie. I never want to fight like that again.” He still doesn’t let me go.
“Me, too.” I lift my chin to meet his gaze. “I love you.”
“I love you. Always.” His lips brush over mine, once, twice, and my body lights up in the way it only can for him. “God, I’m so glad you came home tonight.”
“Me, too.” I sigh as his lips rest on my forehead, his arms hold my waist, and a warmth grips my soul and assures me I’m where I belong. I take a step back and my hands slide into his. “You’re my home, Tate. I’ll always come home to you. Even when we fight. When we argue and don’t see things the same way, I’ll always come back to you.”
“But we’re never going to fight like that again.” There’s humor in his tone, as though he’s trying to make a joke or let me off the hook, but I hear his apprehension.
“I don’t want to. But realistically, babe, we won’t always see eye to eye. Someone has to back down, or take the high road, and that’s okay.”
“Okay, but I hate fighting. I hope you know that. I wanted to run after you, but you asked for space and I was trying to give you what you needed. I always do my best to give you what you need.”
“Hey, save the vows for Saturday.” I wink and his lips twitch with the beginnings of his own smile.
“Yes. Saturday. That’s still a go? Or we driving to Vegas tonight?” He lifts his eyebrows and waits for my answer. He’s joking. At least mostly.
A giggle escapes my mouth and I shake my head. “No way. We can make it a few more days. I’m putting everything with my sister out of my head. At least until after the wedding.”
“And honeymoon.”
“Right. I’ll try.” I laugh again.
Tate’s gaze narrows and his thumbs rub across the insides of my wrists. “I know you want to save her, do the right thing, but some choices are out of your control, you know? Right now, it’s your time to be happy. She wants that for you too.”
“She does. I know that. It’s just hard. I want her to be happy too,” I say. “I feel guilty being this content when she’s so sad.”
“You’re the kindest, most generous person I know.” His eyes drift to my lips. “That doesn’t change. No matter what.”
“Thank you for seeing the best in me. You’re giving me more credit than I deserve. This week I’ve been behaving like a crazy person.” I shake my head.
He shrugs. “Weddings are stressful.”
“So I’ve heard.” I roll my eyes. “Why did I not know this before? I thought I’d be immune since I don’t care about materialistic crap. I only care about you.”
“That’s why I still say we elope.” He quirks his lips up with a grin and I can’t help but laugh.
“We’ve made it this far.”
“That’s what you keep telling me.” He lets go of my hands and his fingers find my hips to rub tiny circles over the fabric of my shirt. His gaze narrows when he speaks again. “But you’re certain this is what you want? I don’t want you to have any doubts. If you’re not sure or if you need time, we can wait. I can wait. I love you, Evie. So damn much.”
“I’m sure. I don’t need time. But I need you to promise we’ll always speak the truth. Even when it’s painful or might upset the other person.”
“I promise.” He kisses my lips, but pulls away before I can deepen it. “We’re gonna rock the hell out of our vows.” His laughter mixes with my own and my hands wrap around his neck to pull him back to me for another kiss. This time he doesn’t pull away or keep it sweet. It’s as if all the energy I put into being angry, mad, and jealous manifests between us, and when Tate finally pulls away we’re both breathing heavily.
“I want to respect your wishes and this stupid no sex rule, but I really want to touch you right now.”
I sigh because hell, after the day we’ve had, I want that too. To feel his hands on my most intimate parts, to kiss him back, to fall apart at his expert touch and know he will be right there to catch me. To make me feel safe, cherished and loved.
He shakes his head and his brows pull together. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to pressure you or make you feel bad. I just miss making love—” My fingers on his lips stop him from speaking.
“Tate.”
“Yeah.”
“Make love to me. Now. Please.”
His smile stretches so wide I think my heart might combust. God, I love this man. “Yes, ma’am,” he says and he takes my hand in his to lead me into our bedroom. Home.