Remember When (Teach Me Book 3)

by RC Boldt

  He suddenly felt like he was eavesdropping on an intimate moment, uncomfortable with witnessing it, for some reason. But when her chin dropped to her chest, shoulders slumping defeatedly, there wasn’t anything that could have prevented him from emerging from his spot and moving toward her.

  She always was your weakness, an inner voice remarked.

  With ingrained stealth, he approached her and realized he would likely startle her if he didn’t speak first.

  “Tate.” Miller was taken aback by the huskiness in his own voice. But when her head turned to glance at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, mortar fire, terrorists, suicide bombers—all the threats he had ever faced as a SEAL couldn’t have stopped him from reaching for her.

  She regarded him warily as if gauging the threat he posed to her. And, after all that had transpired between them, he really couldn’t blame her. He lifted his arms out to her, trying to communicate that he simply wanted to hold her. Needed to offer her comfort. And, damn, if that need didn’t feel all encompassing. He waited, watched her for a few beats before she finally stepped into his embrace.

  And, in that moment, he recalled exactly how it felt to have the whole world in his arms.

  No. That was entirely wrong. She was no longer his whole world. That had been made perfectly clear with her disappearing act years ago.

  Yet, holding her in his arms—her body pressed flush against his, the back of his shirt gently fisted in her hands, the soothing sounds of the waves surrounding them—Miller couldn’t deny that he felt like a part of him was being comforted. By Tate Donnelly. The one person he never thought he’d encounter again. The one person his heart had a hard time ignoring. Was it any wonder since he literally had her tattooed over his heart?

  Yet, aside from that, there was no denying the warmth flowing through him as he held her in his arms, not to mention the sense of … rightness.

  Because the only woman who had ever elicited that feeling—the only woman who still elicited that feeling from him—was the one currently in his arms.

  * * *

  Why was she crying? And why was she allowing herself to be comforted by Miller Vaughn? Sweet mother of all that was holy. Of all the people in the world to offer her comfort. Of all the people in the world, it had to be the same person who played a key role in the most devastating and heart wrenching day of her life.

  It had hit her like a freight train as she’d stood up there on the deck. Her friends were going places in their lives. They were in relationships, married, or planning on getting married. Which was how it should be. But, for some reason, it had hit her hard. She had always imagined getting engaged to Miller and having her father walk her down the aisle, joking with her about how the guests probably wouldn’t get much cake if she and her infamous appetite had their way. Imagined her mother helping her into her wedding dress, giggling over little things like they often had. Having her mother fuss over her hair with a teary-eyed smile.

  But that was all impossible. Heartbreakingly so.

  “Sorry. I’m, uh, making your shirt a mess.” She lifted her head from his chest, just now realizing how pathetic she was being, her tears wetting his shirt.

  He gazed down at her, watchful. “I’m not worried about it, T.”

  Her eyes fell closed at that. T. She hadn’t heard that nickname in years. And hearing it fall from Miller’s lips …

  Opening her eyes, she saw that his gaze was focused on her lips. His head drew closer and her breath came out in the slightest wisp when she felt the softness of his lips brush against her own. Taking advantage of her parted lips, his tongue slid inside to tentatively touch hers, sending delicious shivers running down her spine. Her fingers clenched tight fistfuls of his shirt in an attempt to draw him even closer. Feeling him harden against her stomach, her nipples tightened in response, aching for him to touch her.

  His fingers threaded through her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. God, had he always tasted this good? She heard a tiny groan and wasn’t sure if it had come from Miller or herself. All she knew was she didn’t want this kiss to end, didn’t want to—

  “Tate?”

  She jerked away, startled by the interruption, and Miller’s eyes fell closed on a groan. Moving from his embrace, she took a step away, peering in the direction of the end of the walkway where Pearce stood.

  “You okay, babe?”

  A growl-like sound came from Miller.

  “Yes, I’m good.”

  “Laws was looking for you. Said you’re the best person to do the ‘Cha Cha Slide’ with.”

  She gave a tiny laugh. “All right. I’m coming up.” Turning her head to take one last look at Miller, she noticed he hadn’t moved. He stood stock still, facing the ocean, his back to them.

  Softly, she spoke. “Thank you. For being there for me.” I still wish you’d been there for me years ago.

  Nearly imperceptibly, he nodded. With that, she made her way up the steps of the walkway, giving Pearce’s hand a quick squeeze at the concerned expression which still remained on his face, to affirm that she was truly okay. Deep down, as Tate walked toward the house, she couldn’t ignore that tiny whisper of her inner voice.

  The nagging one reminding her of how weary she had grown at continuously being just okay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MILLER KNEW HE WAS STILL standing there behind him. Staring a hole in his back. But years of training had taught him patience.

  “What’s the deal, Vaughn?” Pearce’s casual tone was in deep contrast with the demanding nature of his question.

  And just who the hell was he to demand that answer?

  Slowly turning to face the former PJ, Miller’s hands remained in his pockets to further emphasize his casual stance. Because he knew from experience that the enemy often miscalculated and assumed you were unprepared—weren’t expecting their next move—if you appeared relaxed and unsuspecting.

  And Pearce? Right now, Miller was most certainly classifying this guy as his enemy.

  Giving an easy laugh, he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “No deal, Hadley. No deal at all. Just offering her some comfort.”

  With the man standing in that particular spot, shadows disguising him, it was difficult to see the tiny nuances or pinpoint any microexpressions from this distance. But Miller had honed his skills of assessing body language. This meant he noticed the slight stiffening of the man’s shoulders and felt the weight of his steely glare.

  Heavy silence hung between the two men. Pearce finally spoke and his words were deceptively quiet with a lethal underdone.

  “You’ve hurt her enough. Don’t do it again, Vaughn.” The man swiveled to head back up to the house when Miller’s words gave him pause. Because this dude wasn’t about to toss those words out and scamper off. Fuck that.

  “Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Miller swiftly approached the landing of the walkway where Pearce stood, now turned to face him, blatant surprise etched on his face.

  “Answer me, Hadley.”

  Studying him curiously, a tinge of shock in his features, Pearce finally answered, “You really don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Jesus. This cryptic shit was about to make him lose his mind.

  The former PJ tipped his head to the side before shaking it slowly. “Sorry, man, but it’s really not my story to tell. You’ll have to take it up with her.”

  Just as Miller’s lips parted to respond with something close to a growl of, “Oh, believe me, I will,” he was interrupted.

  “And not like that. No rough, tough interrogation techniques. Because I know how you’re used to operating. You can’t do that with Tate.” He broke off with a sigh, lowering his voice. “Man, I may not have known her for very long but anyone can see that she’s amazing. A genuinely good person. And … a bit wounded.”

  The two men stared at one another a long moment until Miller finally drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, attempting to calm
himself before he spoke.

  “So. What’s your deal? With Tate?”

  The other man had the audacity to give him a smug grin, hands casually sliding into his pockets, rocking back on his heels—like he didn’t have a damn titanium leg—taking his time answering. Miller felt his jaw clench so hard that his teeth began to ache.

  “What’s my deal with Tate, you ask?” How was it even possible that Pearce’s grin grew wider? He was enjoying this way too damn much. “Well, let’s just say that Tate and I have come to an agreement, of sorts, about our relationship.”

  An agreement? On their relationship?

  Taking one more deep, calming breath, Miller practically bit out the words, “What. Fucking. Agreement.”

  “Oh?” Pearce asked with mock innocence. “You’d like to know what our agreement is?”

  Miller’s fingers itched, practically begging him to rid that smug grin from the other man’s face. Begged. Him.

  “Hadley.”

  His low growl of warning merely made the other man throw his head back in laughter.

  “You’re too easy, Vaughn.” Reaching out to slap him on the shoulder, Pearce chuckled. “Way too easy, dude. Now, come on. Let’s go check out our girl’s dance moves.”

  “Our girl?” He couldn’t withhold the dangerous tone to the question.

  Pearce, already heading up the walkway, turned slightly to look back at him, eyes alit with amusement.

  “Yeah. She’s my BFF. But from mere observation alone, I’d say she’s your girl and always has been.” Expression sobering for a moment, he added, “It’s up to you to remind her of that, though.”

  Heading back in the direction of the house, Pearce called over his shoulder, “Get your ass in gear, Vaughn. I know you’re not going to let a gimp like me beat you up to the house.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Miller ambled up the stairs to the walkway, finding himself in a childlike shoving match along the walkway, he and Pearce jostling each other for the lead. It didn’t take long before they were both laughing and even a bit sweaty from their exertion. Hell, he was impressed by the dude. Even with a slighter build than himself, Pearce clearly hadn’t let himself get soft after his injury. The man was actually pretty spry, giving Miller a run for his money.

  That was the night Miller ended up forming a tentative friendship with a damn former PJ.

  It was also the night he realized that he and Tate had a hell of a lot more baggage to deal with than he had imagined. And, for the first time in forever, he found himself wanting to sit down with her and finally sort through it. To finally know the nagging question which had plagued him for over a decade, the question that had haunted him at night, even while he was faced with the terrors of combat.

  Why?

  Miller,

  I’m down to one final letter after this. Can’t really believe this is it. Crazy that it’s been this long. Maybe I’m the crazy one for sticking with it this long.

  Sometimes, I think this is therapeutic, like the grief counselor had said. Other times, I wonder if it’s not just stirring up the anger and resentment I feel toward you. And, of course, other times, I think it drives the knife deeper in my heart. I’m hoping that when I’m done—when the final letter is sent—maybe I’ll finally be able to move on. Maybe someday down the road I’ll find some amazing guy who will make me fall in love with him and he’ll do something crazy: he’ll love me back. And, crazier than that, he’ll love me forever.

  Right now, though, in this moment, my heart’s calling my bluff. Because it still wants you.

  I hope that, wherever you are, you’re safe.

  Tate

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE DRAGGING us to this.”

  Tate made a face as they rode in Foster’s four-door truck on their way to a … wait for it … sex toy party. Laney had told her and Raine not to make any plans for that particular Saturday because they were attending a party thrown by one of the older teachers at their school—a much older divorcee who also happened to be a cougar. No, wait. That was an understatement. This woman was better classified as a puma. She pounced on men—mainly younger ones, in the twenty to thirty-year range—faster than you could blink.

  “Stop pouting,” Laney told her. “Besides, you might find something useful since you refuse to take advantage of he who shall remain nameless.”

  Raine gave Laney a dry look. “We all know that you’ll be the one who ends up buying everything in sight.”

  “Hey, now.” Their friend frowned. “I don’t need as much now that I have Zach. Although, we did get creative the other night with my vi—”

  “Laney!” Tate and Raine hissed, giving a meaningful glance toward Foster.

  “Yeah, I could totally do without hearing anything about you and Zach,” he said, disgust evident in his voice. “Although I’ve heard far, far worse. Trust me.” He paused. “Seen it, too.”

  Tate scrunched her nose at the pair of women’s underwear lying carelessly beneath the seat in front of her, muttering under her breath, “That, I don’t doubt.”

  “Anyway,” Laney began, “tonight is going to be so much fun. We haven’t had a girls night in forever.” To get her point across, she dragged out the last word.

  That much was certain, Tate thought to herself. She couldn’t recall the last time the three of them had gone out without the guys in tow. Maybe she should lighten up. It was difficult, at times, being the single one and having to be around others who were either in a relationship or just getting lucky all the time. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She was just in this funk and really hadn’t been looking forward to being surrounded by a bunch of women who were currently getting … well, laid. She hated that she was thinking like this and felt like an absolute bitch, but it was hard to be the odd man—or, more aptly, woman—out. The one who didn’t have anyone to try out the lotion or toy or who knows what on.

  Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it—

  “Mac wanted me to see if there’s any of that flavored body lotion stuff,” Raine told them.

  Laney’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Oooh! I heard about that. I want the kiwi flavored one, and maybe the …”

  Tate slumped against the back of the seat, closing her eyes on a silent groan. There’d better be alcohol at this party.

  Lots of it.

  * * *

  She loved her friends. And her coworkers. Even if they were crazy as hell and would probably be classified as nymphos by anyone else’s standards.

  Oh, and she loved margaritas. Loooooooved them.

  “I’m having so much fun,” she told Raine and Laney as they sat on the couch, waiting on their turn to inspect the next vibrating toy currently being passed around the room.

  Raine’s hand immediately shot out to steady Tate’s margarita glass, which had come dangerously close to sloshing over the rim and spilling onto their hostess’ floor.

  “Sweetie, I really think you should ease up on the margaritas.” Her friend flashed her a concerned look.

  “Nooooo.” Her tongue felt thicker than usual and she brought the glass closer to her, cradling it possessively. “They’re just … delish.”

  Raine and Laney glanced at each other.

  “I’m glad we hitched a ride. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Laney held up a hand, “I knew the three of us would be drinking, but I didn’t expect Donnelly, here, to hit up the margaritas like a man dying of thirst in the desert.”

  Tate frowned at the insult. Or she thought she did. Her face really didn’t have much feeling.

  “You’re being mean and hurting my feelers.”

  Laney’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “Oh? Really now?” She leaned close to Raine and murmured, “Did she really just say ‘feelers’?”

  Raine stared at Tate, nodding. “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s wa-sted,” Laney sing-songed.

  “I can. Hear. You. Youknow?” Tate’s words were choppy and then ran together. “By
the way, I’m thinking about getting Ben Wa Balls. Because,” she giggled, “I’m thinking if I get good enough, strong enough muscles down there, I could be like a pin ball machine.” More giggles. “You know? Like ping, ping, ping!” She succumbed to uncontrollably giggling.

  Raine’s head snapped in Laney’s direction. “Did she just—”

  “Refer to her vajayjay as being a potential pin ball machine with Ben Wa Balls shooting out? Yep,” Laney answered, popping the “p” sound.

  “We need to call our ride home. ASAP.”

  “Already taken care of.” Laney paused. “Fos sent me a text to say he would pick us up.”

  Raine’s brow wrinkled. “Really? But I thought he was having a poker night and that Laws was coming for us?”

  Laney shrugged. “He said it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Fos is such a shweetheart.” Tate sighed. “He’s got nice mushels. Mushels. Ugh.” She frowned in frustration. “You know what I mean.”

  Laney quickly stood and grabbed the entire platter of cheese and crackers that had been sitting on the coffee table nearby. Abruptly shoving it onto Tate’s lap, she snatched the margarita glass from her.

  “Hey—” Tate protested.

  “Eat. Now,” Laney commanded in her firm “teacher” voice.

  “Fine,” huffed Tate, shoving a cracker with two slices of cheese into her mouth unceremoniously. Munching around it, she pouted, mumbling, “So mean to me.”

  * * *

  “Okay, one more step down, Tate. There you go.”

  Laney and Raine were helping her down the steps of their coworker’s house to the driveway where their ride home was currently waiting. Like she was a freaking invalid. She wasn’t as tipsy as she had been before her friends had all but force-fed her crackers and what seemed like an entire block of cheese.

  As they came to the last step down to the driveway, Tate finally looked up and faltered. Because that most certainly wasn’t Foster’s vehicle in the driveway. Nope. His black truck was not parked there. Instead, there was a shiny, black Jeep Rubicon parked, engine idling. And that could only mean one thing: Miller Vaughn had come to pick them up. That was confirmed when the driver’s side door opened and he stepped out, looking like …