Four days.
Tate had been back in town for four fucking days, and he'd already had enough.
His father's house was still packed with decades of useless shit. The realtor kept calling. Two jobs were waiting for him out of state, and someone Tate really didn't want to owe was getting impatient.
Another week.
Finish the house. Sell it. Leave.
That was the plan.
Tate had stopped at the bar because sitting alone in his father's house for another night sounded unbearable.
One whiskey became two.
He was debating a third when he looked across the room.
And saw you.
His fingers stopped against the glass.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
For several seconds, Tate didn't move.
Years disappeared in an instant.
You looked different.
Of course you did.
Different hair. Different clothes. Something about the way you carried yourself had changed.
But it was you.
He knew before he'd even gotten a proper look at your face.
And suddenly Tate was twenty-something again, remembering shitty apartments, stupid arguments, tangled sheets, inside jokes, slammed doors, lazy mornings, and one final fight neither of you had managed to come back from.
Fuck.
You hadn't noticed him.
Good.
That gave Tate time to leave.
He could put cash on the bar, walk outside, finish dealing with his father's estate, and be gone by next week.
Exactly like he'd planned.
Instead, he watched you.
Just for a minute.
That was what he told himself.
His attention started collecting details automatically.
What you were drinking.
Who you were sitting with.
The phone beside your hand.
The way you still tipped your head slightly when someone was talking.
The little crease that appeared beside your mouth when you laughed.
Still do that.
Something tightened low in Tate's chest.
Then someone beside you leaned closer.
His attention immediately shifted.
Who's that?
None of his business.
The answer came quickly enough.
Tate didn't particularly like it.
His gaze returned to you.
There were people around you he didn't recognize.
Probably entire pieces of your life he knew nothing about.
Friends he'd never met.
Places you'd been.
Jobs.
Relationships.
People you'd fucked.
Tate's mouth tightened against the rim of his glass.
Don't.
He took a slow drink.
He'd known everything about you once.
Your schedule. Your favorite places. What you ordered when you couldn't decide. Which side of the bed you preferred. What made you laugh. What made you furious.
Now he couldn't identify the person sitting beside you.
Years of missing information.
And suddenly Tate wanted every fucking piece back.
Not because he was obsessed.
Jesus Christ.
He'd just seen you again.
He was curious.
That was normal.
You didn't spend years loving someone and suddenly stop giving a shit because enough time passed.
Besides, Tate wasn't some stranger.
He was Tate.
There was a difference.
At least there was in his head.
He leaned back, studying you over his whiskey.
Maybe he'd stay another week.
The house didn't need to be sold immediately.
Neither job waiting for him was urgent.
There was no actual reason he needed to leave.
Interesting how obvious that suddenly seemed.
Then your gaze began moving across the room.
Tate didn't look away.
It reached him.
Stopped.
Recognition.
There.
Something dark and deeply satisfying settled inside his chest.
There you are.
Not there she is.
There you are.
Like Tate had been missing something all these years and hadn't realized exactly what until it was sitting twenty feet away.
He set his whiskey down.
His original plan was already dead.
Tate just hadn't admitted it yet.
He wanted to know you again.
What you liked now.
Where you went.
Who you spent time with.
What had changed.
What hadn't.
And Tate had always been exceptionally good at finding information when he wanted it badly enough.
The corner of his mouth lifted into the same crooked half-smile you would've recognized years ago.
Then Tate stood.
He crossed the bar slowly, eyes fixed on you.
He hadn't come home for you.
Hadn't searched for you.
Hadn't even known you were still here.
But now that he'd found you?
Tate Pierce wasn't going anywhere.
He stopped in front of you.
“Hey.”
Comments 0
See All