Page 137 of Then You Happened
I can repeat those truths to myself over and over, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t still hoping they were lies.
55
JACK
Lauren’s soft snores come from the room opposite mine in the bunkhouse, but I don’t listen to them.
I don’t care about them.
The past hours replay in my mind. The hour I spent on the phone getting her set up in rehab followed by another one to her ex-mother-in-law who is currently watching the kids to ask her if she’ll keep watching them while she sobers up. Just another revolution in a long list of repeats when it comes to my sister.
And I did all of that while fighting every goddamn urge I have to make Tate listen to me. To shake her shoulders until those storm-cloud-colored eyes of hers see the truth, see that I love her.
But I fucked this up. I fucked her over.
She deserves better than me.
Than this.
She deserves everything for her next time.
It doesn’t mean the ache in my heart agrees with me, though.
56
TATE
I force myself to watch Jack load his two duffel bags into the back of his truck and keep watching as his sister walks out, sunglasses on and looking like hell, and slides behind the wheel of her car.
I make myself stand at the kitchen window so I can physically watch him go . . . as if that will help my heart and my head and my hope be on the same page.
Sleep came in bouts, but I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling as I tried to process how something so good could turn so very wrong.
How I tried to process how I’m going to watch the man I love walk out of my life.
“It’s better this way.” But even I don’t buy the lie.
“Tate?”
I fight the urge to run and hide. I fight an even stronger urge to run into his arms and beg him not to go.
But I can’t do that.
I just can’t.
“I know you’re standing there,” he says as he pushes open the front door and walks into the kitchen.
Gracie’s tail thumps at the sight of him, but I don’t turn because I know it would hurt too much to meet his eyes.
“Can’t you even look at me?”
Tears threaten as I stare at the floor and shake my head.
“Tate? Look at me. Please.” The raw emotion in his voice begs me to do as he asks as surely as his words do.
When I do, it’s as if my heart constricts in my chest. He looks tired and worn out. Maybe he got as little sleep as I did last night.
“When I came to Lone Star, it was to fulfill both promises I’d made my dad. I never thought I’d get a chance to do them at the same time. The first was to make amends for some poor decisions I made in my last job. The other was to find out if you were every bit the piece of shit my brother was. A liar. A cheat. Someone I was ashamed to have my name associated with. I figured that, if you were any of those things, I’d tell the executor that I couldn’t find you. I’d get a copy of his death certificate to prove his demise and then turn Fletcher’s portion over to charity. But then you happened.” He shakes his head ever so subtly and a ghost of a smile—one laced with regret and sorrow—curves up his lips. “Your grit and ferocity and devotion and love and your wild happened.”
