Page 284 of Darling Venom
When I reach the roof, I’m surprised at how familiar it is. How it hasn’t changed. I’m also surprised to find Tate already here.
His back is to me.
The wind whips his dark hair. Seeing him like this, his coat hanging perfectly on his imperial body, I forgive myself for drowning in him.
For taking the bait.
For falling in love with my dead best friend’s brother. My dead best friend who was in love with me and who left me the most precious gift of all—a brilliant, heartfelt book.
“Yes.” Tate’s voice booms.
He knows I’m here, yet I don’t th
ink I made a sound.
It’s funny how even though we’re together—been together for a while now—he is still formidable. Still cold to people around him who are not me.
“Yes,” he continues, “it had to be here. I know you’ve been wondering. But it had to.”
“Why?”
I don’t ask what it entails.
It is less important than why we’re here.
Tate spins, pinning me with a look. “Because so many of your memories from this place are all wrong, and it’s not fair to you. Because it’s time to build good memories on top of the bad ones. It doesn’t mean we’re forgetting Kellan. It means we’re honoring him.”
I’m surprised to find myself not completely on defense where Kellan is concerned.
That, too, is a welcome change.
I think what caused it is that Tate and I are a team now. That I no longer doubt his emotions toward his little brother.
“Okay.” I incline my head. “We’re here now. Is this where we’re having lunch?”
Tate is not the picnic type, but stranger things have happened. Like the fact that he is now on good terms with Terry, who took Tate’s old house when he traded up to the new one closer to the clinic.
Tate makes his way toward me, moving with the grace and composure of a nocturnal predator. My heart jackhammers in my chest.
I reach to pluck at my leg, but instead squeeze my jacket pocket. It always carries a paperback of Darling Venom. Wrinkled and read to death, but there.
My tribute to Kellan.
Tate stops two feet from me.
I have so much adrenaline in my body, I want to scream.
What’s happening?
“Charlie.”
“Tate.”
“Did Reagan really not tell you why you’re here today?”
I scrunch my forehead. “No. And I’m getting real tired of being in the dark, so you may wanna jump ahead and tell me what’s happening.”
He laughs, and in this moment, I can see Kellan in him. In the bashfulness. In the youth. But also something that’s uniquely and completely Tate.
