Page 92

Ten minutes later, we’ve whipped up my mom’s signature bacon breakfast burritos.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask before taking a bite of the melty, tangy goodness.

Talia dips her burrito into a puddle of hot sauce. “Like a log. The dancing and…other activities drained me.”

My lip quivers. Other activities.

“How about you?” She takes a bite, eyes rolling back as she chews.

“Meh. It could’ve been better.” If you’d slept next to me. “Do you have plans today?”

She dabs some sauce off her chin. “Not much. I was just going to get ready for work tomorrow. I need to head into the office.”

The office. That building is my arch nemesis. It isn’t her fault she’s a beautiful genius. I couldn’t ask her to take any more time off. Kidnapping her wasn’t an option, though the idea of whisking her away to a remote cabin for a week sounded idyllic. She didn’t even need to kiss me. I’d just stare at her all day.

“Think you could spare a couple of hours for little ol’ me? I’ve got something planned for date number seven.”

She tilts her head. “Seven? We just had a date yesterday.”

I calm my internal panic, not wanting to tell her the news of my pending departure yet. “There’s no time like the present. It’ll be fun. Dress comfortably.”

Her gaze narrows, trying to read my mind. This date might be the riskiest one yet, but if I didn’t start taking some risks, well, I didn’t want to think about what could happen.

“You’re not taking me paintballing again, are you?” She goes in for another bite of her burrito.

“Um, not quite…”

“A rage room?” Kitted out in a pair of navy overalls and protective goggles, Talia stares warily at the scene in front of us. “This is where we’re spending our seventh date?”

Scattered around the room are busted televisions, microwaves, vases, and a bunch of other breakable objects. On our left is our armory, a mixture of sledgehammers and baseball bats.

“Romantic? No. Necessary? Yes.” I pluck a bat off the wall and balance it on my shoulder. “You’re angry at me. And I’m angry at you. We both handled the past year poorly, with our heads in the sand.” I gesture around the room. “We need to let it out.”

Talia has a feisty streak, but she bottles her emotions until they spill over. I’ve got some built-up frustration too—toward her, the way we both handled things, the breakdown of our marriage, my stupidity at signing with the label, the label itself. We’re a gasket ready to blow.

There’s no reversing it. No time machine to hop into. The past is the past.

“I’m not angry,” she lies.

I circle the room, keeping my eyes on her. “You’re not?”

“No. We’ve made our peace.” Her words contradict her expression. “This is stupid.”

I shake my head. “I’m not letting you get out of this one. You’re lying so you don’t upset me, and that’s part of the issue. You continue to put on a brave face and put others’ needs ahead of yours. You did it with your mom. You helped Harriet with her copyright lawsuit, even though you knew I was involved.” I grip the bat in both hands, testing its grip. “And you did it with me. You continued pretending everything was fine until boom, it all blew up. I should’ve paid more attention, but you should’ve been honest with me. That’s why I’m angry.”

The bat whizzes through the air, crashing into a stereo, sending plastic and buttons spraying.

Talia jumps in shock. “Tate!”

I shake out my arms and jump on the spot. “I feel better already.” Then I turn the bat over, offering it to her. “Your turn.”

“No.” She backs away, jerking her head. “I have nothing to let out.”

Following her retreat, I corner her. She glances at the door, planning her escape. “Yes. You do. And until you admit it, we’re not going anywhere.”

I push.

“Stop lying to yourself.”