Page 85 of Darling Venom
Hannah nodded. “Will he be here?”
“Not sure.” Reagan looked to me, arching a brow. “Charlotte?”
“Oh.” I set down my crushed sandwich, figuring a white lie would be better than the truth—that Tate seemed appalled by the prospect. “I didn’t get a definitive answer, but I don’t think he’ll show.”
“Tatum isn’t one for gender reveals,” Hannah said as if she were an authority figure on all things Tatum Marchetti.
“Or celebrations in general,” I muttered into my teacup.
“He prefers to stay pretty close to the clinic when he’s on call, too.”
Or maybe Tate’s brother died, and he no longer sees a point to life outside of work.
At least, that was the person I saw when I looked at Tate Marchetti. Broken and functioning on autopilot.
Irene leaned forward. “It sounds like you know him well.”
“We used to be engaged.”
“What?” Reagan swiveled, bumping her belly into Hannah’s hip. “How did I not know this?”
Hannah shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. Her voice had a musical quality to it, and it made everything she said sound like a blessing. Or lyrics to a Bonnie Tyler song. “It’s all in the past.”
It happened fast, the curling of her fingers. So fast, I couldn’t be sure it’d actually happened.
Did Hannah still have a thing for Tate? Or did she harbor resentment toward him?
Either way, she could join the club. We could have t-shirts made in bulk.
“Well… no need to dwell on that!” Reagan decided.
“It’s fine. I’ve moved on. He has, too. It’s been four years.”
I did the mental math. Kellan had mentioned the breakup junior year, which meant it’d been five years. Not four.
Did Tate and Hannah get back together after he died? Before?
The fact that I knew so little about Tate Marchetti hammered itself into me. I slumped deeper into the couch cushion, thinking about the Marchetti boys.
I wanted to grill Tate about the Harvard thing. It had nagged at me all week.
I felt blindsided. Derailed. The healing I’d done in the past four years—wiped away with one fell swoop.
Frankly, I knew Kellan well enough to know he couldn’t be forced to do something he didn’t want. Which meant he’d applied to Harvard on his own. Did he have a dream for the future and still choose death?
The women shifted the conversation to upcoming releases and trending nonfiction audiobooks.
I downed the rest of my tea, wishing I’d gotten here earlier so I could leave now without being rude.
The regret spiked when I heard one of Reagan’s cousins nearby. “Is that him? Dr. Miracle? Do you think he’ll take me on if I beg?”
I snapped my head toward the door at the same time Hannah did, sucking in a breath when I saw him.
Tate.
Let it be known that I came for my patient.
At the rates Reagan paid, she deserved for her baby to pop out diamond-studded and bulletproof.
