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“I’ll try. Speak soon.”
We hang up, and once the bill is paid, I don’t bother calling the car service and order a cab instead. I ransack my brain for any clue on what to do next. Clearly, this plan was a huge mistake. My second week home is almost over and I’m no closer to repairing the damage than I was a year ago.
I remember our wedding day so vividly. The way Talia walked toward me in the courthouse, her cheeks pink, matching the bouquet of tulips clutched in her shaking hands. She wasn’t nervous. Neither was I. We were overpowered with excitement, high on love, and ready to start the next chapter in our life.
Standing on the sidewalk as I wait for my cab, I stare up at the crisp blue sky, not a cloud in sight. The state is experiencing one of its driest summers in over a decade, the grass yellow and lifeless. Flowers can’t survive the scorching heat.
The sky was gray and gloomy when we walked out of the courthouse as husband and wife. Full of life and love and hope.
I’d kill for just one drop of rain right now. Anything that might revive the couple we once were.
Then an idea takes root.
If she wants our old life back, I know exactly where to take her on our next date.
TWENTY
TATE
“Talia, get out of the truck.”
She flips me off through the windshield, looking like an angry little sprite from where she’s half hidden behind the wheel.
It took a fair bit of convincing for her to leave the house this morning. I gave her space after our first disaster of a date until the following Saturday.
Vanessa and Howard were on a mission to find the hospital staff member who leaked the photos of me and shut down any lingering rumors. It was a mess I didn’t need on my already overflowing plate, and another reason I hated being this version of Tate Brooks.
This is where I tell her I hate it. Despise everything about touring, recording, brand deals, fans. But if I admit my regret, it changes nothing. I still left, and there’s another year left on my contract. All I can hope is that when these six weeks are up, she sees us surviving another year of long distance.
Then I’m done.
I have to be done not only for my sanity but for the sake of my marriage.
When she finally emerged at the front door this morning, sleepy and grumpy, she didn’t kick up a fuss when I handed her the keys to my truck. I hated the fact I couldn’t drive, and she knew it. I didn’t give her the exact location and directed her an hour out of town until we reached our destination.
It felt unnatural to sit next to her and not be touching her in some capacity.
I wasn’t too happy about the no touching rule, but we’d work on it, and I wasn’t talking sexually. I just wanted to hold my wife’s hand again. It felt empty—like an extension of me was missing.
We are a work in progress, and fuck, if I wasn’t working hard.
I knock on the glass again. “We’re going to miss the safety briefing.”
“I’ll give you a safety briefing,” she mutters, her angry voice floating through the crack in the window.
If Talia wouldn’t be won over with candlelit dinners or fancy restaurants, then I had to get creative. The pop-pop of paintballs hitting their targets echoes through the open field. Hay bales, old oil drums, and tires create a makeshift maze, splattered with paint.
“Hear that? It’s the sound of our younger years.” I gesture behind me as a mob of screaming kids darts toward the entrance. “Remember, we went paintballing for my fourteenth birthday?”
“And I hated every minute of it.” She harrumphs in her seat. “Can’t we go on a hike like a normal couple?”
“Nope. Normal is boring.” I try not to relish that she referred to us as a couple and tug the door open. She tries to scramble away, but I’m quicker, and I catch her by the ankle, drag her across the seat, haul her over my shoulder like a beautiful sack of potatoes.
“Tate! You let me down!” she hollers, fists banging into my back. “You’re way out of line!”
I ignore her, and the peculiar looks we’re getting, and stride toward the main entrance, only depositing her on her feet once I’ve checked us in. Her pout is in full force. I wanna kiss it off her face. She sulks as we sit through the safety briefing, and then we’re handed our gear.
She struggles with the clasp on her helmet, huffing and puffing.
