by Harper Sloan
Most of all, though, I finally feel like myself after spending over three weeks living through the foggy memories of my past. It's out of my system, thankfully before Tate returned, because the last thing I plan on showing him is how deeply I still feel the emptiness his departure left behind.
Nope.
He won't get that. Quinn, the hell-raisin' badass is back, and Tate Montgomery can kiss my boots.
7
TATE
"Get Me Some of That" by Thomas Rhett
- -
Nothing has changed. Everything looks different.
Those are the first two conflicting thoughts to cross my mind as I roll into Pine Oak, thumb tapping against the steering wheel in tempo with the slow classic country music playing in the background. I can see Main Street ahead, and just like the last time I was here, everything is shut down, even though it's just past 8 p.m. Having lived just north of Atlanta since leaving Texas, I'm not used to this . . . stillness, but I find it makes for a very welcome change of pace. I didn't realize just how out of place I had been in Georgia until I got closer to Texas. The stuffy suits I had been wearing for the past few years were left behind, old faded Wranglers and tees, flannels, and casual button-downs taking their place.
It's no secret that I was burned out, and only a little of that had to do with the rut I seemed to have gotten stuck in. It felt like my life was one giant muddin' trail right after the rain. You know that moment when the divots are the deepest and the mud just reaches up, grabs hold of your tires, and won't let go? You could spin those sons of bitches for hours and not get any traction. That's where my life had been.
Stuck, spinning for purchase, but getting nowhere despite how much effort I was putting forth.
I hate to admit it, but when my parents called to tell me my paw had passed away, I felt relief. Not because he was gone, but because even in his death he was still saving me. Of course, that relief was short-lived where my parents are concerned. We aren't close, not that we ever were, but they killed any chance of that shit ever happenin' a long time ago. Hell, they didn't even have the decency to tell me about Paw until after the fuckin' funeral. I still don't understand it, but I have the feeling a lot of the reason they did that was because they knew I would jump off the path I was on--the one they wanted me to be on--which I did. I had just come home from one of the hardest deliveries I had ever had, having almost lost the mother, and I get that shit from them.
I continue cruising down Main, looking at all the new--and old--businesses. It's shocking how little one place can change so much and yet remain exactly the same. The bakery is new, something my sweet tooth will be happy to visit. The urge to pull into Davis Auto Works when I pass by is so damn strong I almost am not able to keep my truck on the street, my hand twitching to turn into the parking lot. I see the light glowing into the darkness around the building, the only seemingly open business on the street, inviting and taunting me closer, but somehow I manage to keep my trucks' wheels spinnin'.
Just manage, that is.
Fuck. When was the last time I felt this way? The rush of nerves and excitement speeding through my body, feeding some metaphorical, adrenaline-pumpin' erection for life. I don't have one single clue what I'm coming back to Pine Oak to find--aside from the career path I always wanted more than the harried, fast-paced life of a doctor at an overcrowded hospital. I know what I hope to find in addition to that--but will it still be mine for the taking?
Only time will tell.
I reach over and turn up the radio, trying to drown out my thoughts while I take the back roads to my grandparents' old farmhouse. You would never guess I haven't driven these roads since I left to start school in Georgia. Back then I had a raven-haired vixen at my side hootin' and hollerin' for me to go faster so she could hear my tires screech.
God, I miss her.
Missed her since the day I left and haven't stopped since.
The ringing of my phone cuts my thoughts off and I look at the display on my dash to see Ella's name on the caller ID. Swear to God, that woman is on my last nerve. During my final month at work she was fine, abiding by what we'd discussed at the restaurant that night, but the closer it got to my last day, the more she reverted to her overbearing self.
And I've damn just about had enough of it.
"Ella," I answer, my voice sounding monotone and pissed the fuck off. I would ignore her call, like I've been doing all day, but clearly that wasn't enough for her to take a hint and stop.
"Tatum, hello, dear. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine, Ella. Look, we talked about this last night. I've got somethin' I'm hopin' to build when I get back to Texas, and the last thing I want is her gettin' the wrong idea because you won't leave well enough alone."
"But Tatum," she whines, sniffling. "We had a good thing going. I know you didn't mean it when you said it was over. I just don't want you to make a mistake."
"I'm gonna be real honest with you right now, Ella, and I want this to take root. The only fuckin' mistake I made was ever hookin' up with you. Harsh as fuck, I know, but you can't seem to understand what I'm tellin' you. Stop callin'."
I press the button on my steering wheel to disconnect the call, feeling pissed as fuck.
My mood shifts when I pull into my grandparents'--no, my--driveway, a smile creepin' onto my lips when I see Mark Blake waving his arms above his head like an idiot. The glow from the porch light hits him and makes his blond hair look white, shining bright around his shadowed face like a makeshift halo. Mark is one of the only friends I've kept from my summers spent in Pine Oak. He knows all about my past with Quinn, but he also knows why I stayed gone. If anyone has the power to erase the aftereffects of that frustrating-as-fuck call, it's Mark.
"Took you long enough, jackass," he bellows the second I open the door and have my boots in the dirt.
"Took me long enough? How long did you think it would take me to drive from fuckin' Georgia?"
He shrugs, one big shoulder going up, before I see his face split into a wide grin. His hand reaches out to grab mine before he pulls me into a backslappin' hug. "Not sure I ever thought this day would come, Tate. Damn, it's good to see you back in Pine Oak."
I pull away and give my old friend a genuine smile. "You aren't the only one who thought it wouldn't happen," I agree, blowing out a relieved gust of air now that I finally have my boots back on Texas ground. "What's Janie been feedin' you? Last time you came out to see me you weren't this damn big."
He laughs hard, puffing his chest out slightly. "Has nothin' to do with what she's feedin' me, Tate. Reckon you'll figure out once you get set up at the office and all, but we're tryin' to get pregnant. She's got us goin' at it mornin', noon, night, and what feels like every second between. Never thought I'd say this, but fuck, I'm tired of fuckin'."
"Congratulations, Mark, 'bout the baby-makin', not the whole tired-of-fuckin' thing. What's that got to do with you puttin' on a small human's worth of solid muscle though?"
His mouth tips. "Gotta keep up with my woman, so I've been workin' out every second I get. If I ain't at the station or inside my wife, I'm buildin' up my stamina."
I shake my head, not even botherin' to entertain this conversation any longer.
"Anyway, told Janie it wouldn't be right to let you get back to Pine Oak after all this time and not drag you out to celebrate your return. I know you just got in and all, but you got ten minutes to take a piss and grab a sandwich before I take you out. You're damn lucky my wife likes you and made sure to stock your fridge. Janie also said she'd be on call to pick us up later if we got too rowdy, so plan on it bein' a long night."
"Been on the road for close to eleven hours, Mark. Wouldn't be my first choice to go out drinkin' myself under the table."
He straightens and puffs out his chest. I'm a tall man, but Mark is a motherfuckin' tall man. He's got a few inches on my six foot three, but he's got close to a hundred pounds to my one-eighty.
I
meet his gaze for a minute and try to stare him down; then I give up. "Not gonna let me out of this, are you?"
He shakes his head. "Ever since you headed out yonder, settin' down in Atlanta of all places, I've come to you. I did what you asked, keepin' my eye on Quinn to make sure she was okay, and I respected your wishes when you told me it wasn't my business to butt into that shit between y'all you left hangin', but that was then. Now I'm gonna take my old buddy out, and he's gonna listen to me buttin' in."
I hook my hands on my hips and drop my head to look down at my boots, feelin' tired as hell from my drive. Lifting my gaze, I give him a nod and stretch my road-tired body. "At least let me get my shit inside and make sure I have a clear path to a bed when I end up stumblin' ass-backwards in here later. Hell, for all I know the housekeeping service I hired to make this place livable didn't do their job."
"It's just fine," he says, shock painting his words. "Like I would let some city folks come in here and do that shit. Managed to get some of your paw's shit out before your parents got their stink all over it, came back in when those idiots you hired to fix this place up left and put it back to rights. Well, kinda."
His words cause a sharp pain to slice through my chest. "Fuck, I can't believe they're both gone. I know they understood my distance, but still cuts me up knowin' I won't see them again. Paw seemed lost as hell without Gram, that's the only consolation I feel about him bein' gone--at least he's with her now."
"You're back, Tate. That's all that matters. Shocked the shit outta me when I saw this place go up on the market. Didn't think your parents had it in them. I know your paw would be mighty proud that you stepped in and bought it."
Rage fills me when I think about them tryin' to sell this place. They would have succeeded, too, if I hadn't called to check on things at Paw's old practice a week after he passed. My paw, God love him, was stuck in his ways. He always prayed his daughter--my mother--would come back to her parents. He hated my father. Hated what my father had turned his daughter into, but still he held onto that hope. Which is why he never changed his will. My only guess is that he hoped she would want to come home, eventually. I guarantee he never thought she would remain the evil bitch she'd turned into, that she'd have a come-to-Jesus moment of some kind. But that moment had never arrived, and the day he died she had this place listed for sale. The same fuckin' day.
I thank my lucky stars for the trust fund my father's parents had set up for me, which they turned over to me when I turned twenty-five. I have more money than I know what to do with now because of them and probably will for the rest of my life, but I also now own the twenty acres of land that my maternal grandparents' home sat on because of it.
And with that land, I've bought back part of my life, too.
It's a damn shame I hadn't been able to get my hands on that money before then, otherwise I would have traveled an entirely different path than the one I had taken.
"Help me get some of this shit inside and then we can head out," I say to Mark, hoisting a bag over my shoulder. Suddenly, a drink sounds like the greatest idea in the world.
- -
An hour later we're pullin' Mark's truck into the crowded gravel parking lot of the Dam Bar, which he claims is still the best bar in town. I didn't feel like pointing out that, as far as I could remember, it was the only bar in town. Pine Oak wasn't exactly a hotbed for partying back in the day, even if we had been old enough to do so legally, and I'm guessin' that hasn't changed much since.
"Are there even this many people who live here?" I ask as we climb down from his jacked-up Ford. I knew without askin' who had done all the work on his truck. A little QD was etched in cursive on one of the back brake lights. Not noticeable to anyone that didn't know to look for it, but that girl wants to mark her creations and always has the back left brake light cover sent off to get etched.
He smirks. "Last time you lived here we'd party down in the fields with whatever beer we could snatch from our houses without gettin' caught. That crew grew up and now this place pretty much fills up all weekend, every weekend."
"You make it sound like everyone I knew back in the day is still here." I laugh. "Last field party I was at had almost the whole damn high school there. No way they're all still here."
"Pine Oak isn't a place you wanna leave, Tate. You know that."
He doesn't wait for me to respond, stompin' through the parking lot and pulling open the door to the bar, sendin' music spillin' into the night air around us. He knew I couldn't contradict him. Pine Oak isn't even where I grew up, but all it took was a few months out of each year for it to be a place I never wanted to leave. I shake my head, not wanting to bring the mood down with the way my thoughts keep wandering back to that shit, pull the old Dallas Cowboys baseball hat I have on a little lower, and follow him into the loud, rowdy bar. With Mark, I know to just go with the flow and hang on for the ride.
Three steps in I'm assaulted by people I instantly recognize, even with the years of maturity on them. Twenty minutes later my own face hurts from smiling so much and my throat is sore from yellin' over the country music blurring through the air, but fuck if I don't feel like this is a welcome-home.
True to Mark's promise, the next few hours pass with us drinking so much beer I get a damn good buzz going on. But no buzz would keep me from feeling her the second she walks into the bar. Even with my back to the door and a bar full of people between us, I know that, just as sure as I'll wake up tomorrow with the world still spinnin', Quinn Davis has arrived.
I can feel it, but I can't see her yet and it's drivin' me crazy. I grab my glass and pour the last half of the cold, bitter brew down my throat. I don't even wait until I'm done swallowing before standing from my stool and looking through the room to find her. The dim lighting and crowded room make it impossible.
I have to force myself to not go rushing off through the damn room to find her. I've waited this damn long, a little longer won't kill me, especially since I'm not going anywhere this time. And in all honesty, I'm not sure I'm ready to come face-to-face with her. If I see her with another man, I'm about fairly certain I'll turn green with envy, and that mixed with my swirling head wouldn't make for a pretty picture. I'm sure it would be great marketing for Pine Oak's newest--and only--gynecologist to be getting in bar fights his first night in town. Nothing screams, Trust me with your health, pregnancy, and future like a drunken bar brawl.
"Gotta piss," I call out to Mark, slapping his shoulder on my way to the back hallway. I take my time, splashing some water on my face, and pausing outside the bathroom to give the room a quick once-over.
And wouldn't you know it, but my eyes collide right with those of the Davis men.
Well, this should be fun.
I lift my chin, acknowledging them, but look away without waiting to see if my salutation is returned, heading back to my spot at the bar with Mark and a few of his friends from the fire station. I signal for another, realizing the second the bartender moves to fill my glass that my spot gives me yet another clear view of Clayton and Maverick Davis. They appear to be alone, but the buzz still crawling across my skin tells me their sister is most likely with them somewhere. They always were a close bunch.
"She's the one in the purple," Mark grunts, leaning his heavy bulk into my side and lifting his hand with a slight tremor toward the open area people are using as a makeshift dance floor. I narrow my eyes to see where he's pointing and almost fall off the fuckin' stool when I see the women he's referring to.
Two scantily clad, sexy-as-hell women wearing bright-ass wigs, one in pink and one in purple. Both attractive with great bodies, but the one he's referring to catches my eye over the other and keeps it. She's got everything a man would ever think of putting on his dream list. Killer body, round ass, full tits, and legs that would look great wrapped around my waist.
"No shit?" I wheeze. Fuckin' wheeze like an old fuckin' man on life support. My eyes remain on her as if I'm in some sort of trance as she rolls her hips to th
e music, moving in a way that screams, Good in bed. I remember with absolute clarity just how good she is in bed, getting even better each time we shared that together.
Yeah, Quinn Davis knows how to ride her man almost as well as she could ride a horse.
Mark chuckles appreciatively as he watches the women dance. "Those two used to do this shit every weekend a few years back. Sit back and enjoy, man. Even with Clay and Mav here, those girls are gonna get rowdy, and I promise you it's funny as hell to watch. 'Course, last time they did this shit, they were both single, so who knows how rowdy it'll get tonight."
The breath stills in my lungs, his words slamming into my brain and clearing out my buzz with a sobering impact.
I turn my head and look at Mark. "She's taken?" I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer to that.
"Huh? Oh, shit, I forgot what we were talkin' about. Yeah, gettin' married in a few weeks, I think. 'Bout damn time too," Mark slurs, still looking off toward the dance floor. He turns when I don't speak and looks at me, confused, before whatever lightbulb switched off with the first sip earlier snaps back on. "Fuck, Tate, I was talkin' 'bout Leighton. She and Maverick are gettin' hitched."
"Quinn?" I grunt harshly, not willing to have him get confused this time. My fuckin' heart can't handle it.
He laughs like I just said the funniest thing in the world and I narrow my eyes.
"You got nothin' to worry 'bout there, Tate. You fucked that girl up real good because ever since you, no man can get close enough to attempt changin' that, not that there haven't been plenty tryin'. She went through a wild stage but never had a serious relationship. Her wild hair got cut off 'bout the same time her brother got back last year."
I feel my body deflate, instantly eased by his words even if it churns my gut to think about what that wild stage might have meant. Makes no fuckin' sense for me to feel this overwhelmingly possessive over her, not when I ruined what we had. Logic be damned, though. There isn't anyone standin' in the way of us now and I don't care what it takes, I'm gettin' back in there.