

Brazing

A Forged in fire series novel

Lila Felix

Rachel Higginson

Text Copyright ©2014, by Lila Felix and Rachel Higginson. Striking and Brazing (The Forged In Fire Series). The series, characters, names, and related indicia are trademarked and © by Lila Felix and Rachel Higginson.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Lila:

To our families for putting up with our rowdy hours, our incessant craving for coffee, and for measuring our and your time in words instead of hours. Thanks for sticking with us. It means the world.

Rachel:

To Rob, if you were a girl and didn't have Maggie, this would be your story. Okay, maybe not. I'm sorry you went through what you did, but look! It's now fiction. So worth it. Love you, brother.

Chapter One

Bridger

"Come on, man. Get your ass in gear. You've been studying too hard. Everybody needs a break. You're making _my_ brain hurt."

I heard his words, but I wasn't listening. My little brother had become quite the partier, but I just wasn't interested. Partying was nothing but trouble and the last time I'd been to one, was the one time I'd wished I hadn't gone.

I'd taken a chance on Jesse, even though she was my sister's best friend—even though it felt wrong—she swore she wouldn't do to me what she did before. And I'd looked into her deep brown eyes and somehow saw some truth.

I walked into a big, white mansion, more plantation estate than animal house, but the bass pumping from inside was louder than a freight train. She'd made friends with some of my college buddies and they'd invited us all to a party. I was kind of stoked. It was gonna be great to see Jesse in my world instead of having to go back home to see her.

I walked into the front door and weaved my way through the hordes of dancers and drinkers, some loners, some plastered to each other in the thralls of lustful rhythm, others happy enough to dance with their beer. I saw my friends but didn't see Jesse. I figured she must be late. I grabbed my own cup of the cheap stuff from the keg and explored the house. One room held a piano, with a girl passed out underneath the bench seat. I didn't dare venture upstairs. Instead, I finished my beer walking around the enormous house.

I made one last pass of the back of the house and stopped to look at the partiers in the hot tub. And that's when I saw Jesse. It seemed innocent. She had the same red cup as me in her hand and she was talking to everyone in the bubbling tank. But then the guy next to her, looking like some kind of Vin Diesel in Fast and Furious wanna-be, ran his finger under the string of her bikini top. And that's when she leaned forward, practically crawled on top of him—and ruined me for parties and women for good.

"I hate parties. You know that."

"You just hate them because of Jesse. I won't even drink. I'll be the DD and you can get sloshed."

I looked back at my desk. It looked like it belonged to an accountant instead of a college student. I was way too stuck up. Business ethics textbook or beer?

"Ok, I'm in. Let me get showered and changed."

I showered and threw on some clothes, nothing too nice as beer didn't need to be impressed to give it up—just a simple t-shirt and jeans would suffice.

"Hey," my brother, West, threw me a cell phone when I got back in the room, "Stock."

I put the phone to my ear while pulling on my Chucks, "Hey, Stock, what's up?"

"I want you both to come home for Thanksgiving. Will's coming home too and Cami and Mallory are cooking. And there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Yeah," I looked at West who was spraying some gunk in his hair. The boy always overdid it with the hair products, but the girls seemed to love it. "We'll be home."

"Good. Y'all be careful tonight. Love y'all."

Stockton had gone from being a more stoic version of Oscar the Grouch to a big, muscled lump of goo. It still shocked me from time to time.

"Gross, you're so sappy now."

"Shut up."

"Love you too, Stock."

Six techno songs and countless beers later, I had glued my back to the wall. The wall and the floor were always safe bets. I knew if I tried to move too fast without a specific target, my drunken legs would fail me. Even in my wobbly state, I could see a girl across the way with brazen, red curly hair; her arms in the air, her hips popping back and forth. She captured my attention and every mans' eyes in the room. She was perfectly content to dance by herself in the middle of the room. The corner of my mouth rose in a smile while I watched her. The air was thick with the longing from the men in the room for her curves and the women in the room for her brazenness. Gorgeous—that's what she was. As if she heard my thoughts, she opened her eyes and looked my way. She crooked her finger in my direction, inviting me to join her in her scandalous gypsy-like display. As beautiful as she was, she was just another one of _them._ And I was a fool for love—always had been. I'd fallen for Jesse, and she'd broken my heart.

I could tell just by her gait what kind she was. If one of her friends described her, they were bound to say she was wild and free. Wild and free was a layman's term for "gonna cheat on you."

I pushed off the wall and went for a refill—I was thinking way too much. This was supposed to have been a thoughtless night. My mind wanted to be filled with nothingness—anything but Jesse.

"Hey, can I get one too?" A female voice chirped as her arm swished against mine.

"Sure," I refilled the cup next to mine without even looking at the owner—I was an equal drinking opportunity kind of guy.

"Thanks."

"Yep."

"So, you don't dance or you're not into chicks? I didn't see you with a guy—or a girl."

That got my attention. I looked up to find the questioner to be the redhead. Her nose and the apples of her cheeks were speckled with freckles and it made her look a little less wild, a little more innocent—such a farce. And her long pink skirt and white tank top tried to prove her case more.

But I knew the truth.

There were no innocent girls.

They were all out to eat my heart.

Except Cami.

But she was a rarity.

I wasn't so lucky.

"Nah, I'm not into guys. But I'm not into random screws either."

And with that, I walked away.

I found West out back after dodging shady conversational bullets on the way. One guy tried to wrangle me into a conversation about aliens. Though, it was partly my fault. I did ask him if he'd seen my brother after spotting his X-Files t-shirt. Drunken conversations with people about aliens never ended well.

I also spent a lengthy amount of time scouring the meaning behind that particular frat's emblem. I'd never seen one that had an actual goat in it. What did they call themselves—the goat heads? It hung by the back door with pride. They were proud of their horns, maybe?

Probably just horny.

Like I said, I spent way too much time analyzing it.

Finally spotting a blurrily familiar shirt outside the back door, I proceeded to find my brother and ask him to take me home. I was dulled enough not to even think about the J girl. He was hunched over a rail talking to someone below. I touched him on the shoulder and he spun around laughing. I knew that laugh. My brother was hilarious most of the time. But he had one particular kind of cackle, it was reminiscent of a hyena being slowly castrated by a clown that was reserved for only special occasions.

Like when he was gassed at the dentist's office.

And when he was pissed beyond measure.

So when he spilled half a bottle of whatever liquor he was holding in his hand all over the front of my shirt, I wasn't a bit surprised.

"West, shit, you were supposed to stay sober."

"I did," he smiled at me, showing way too much gums for a normal person. For some reason when West was drunk, his smile was downright menacing. His upper lip rested on top of his teeth and it reminded me of a horse.

"You're an ass. Now, we have to walk home. You're an ass."

He turned to whomever he was talking to below the railing and thumbed my way, "You see how he talks to me. He called me an ass—twice."

"Who is it?"

"Audrey Hepburn."

"Audrey Hepburn is in the bushes? Wait, how do you know Audrey Hepburn?"

"Cami was watching Dinner with Beth or some shit. She was on it."

I knew he was wrong about that movie. Maybe I wasn't as drunk as I thought, or as drunk as I wanted.

"Let's get walking," I said.

"No. I'm not ready," he shook the bottle in my direction, sloshing more of the stuff everywhere. He was a messy, loud-ass, weird drunk. Which is why I'd agreed to come here only if he were sober.

Instead of waiting for him to begin another imaginary talk with Audrey, I grabbed the shoulder of West's shirt and dragged him down the weathered steps of the back porch, trying not to stumble down and have him crash on top of me. I made it, barely, but found that West was now ass up in one of the flower beds.

"Get up!" I screamed at him and kicked his boot.

Eventually, he got up after more prodding and yelling. At least I think it was yelling. It may have been all in my mind. We'd walked at least seventeen miles when I noticed a car coming up beside us. I figured it was another group of loopy people such as ourselves out to have some fun. I imagined any minute now I would be covered with some substance—or vomit.

"Hey," someone hollered. I turned, still firmly grasping West's shirt and looked.

And hanging outside the window, with flames of wild, red curls flailing in the wind was not the ride I had hoped for.
Chapter Two

Tate

I thought about stomping on the gas and running him down for just one second. Okay... a second and a half. Fine. Thoughts of gunning the engine and making new highway out of that surly bastard had been flipping through my head on repeat since I spotted the drunken bozo stumbling down the middle of the street.

I couldn't believe he didn't remember me!

Like, he didn't even have a momentary flash of recognition.

This boy had all but forgotten my existence.

He had made my life hell for six years, made me fall in love with him and then forgotten about me!

It took me years to get over him! _Years._

And one emotional summer of therapy.

Although, that hadn't been entirely about him... I went through this Goth/Emo phase and my parents saw the signs of the devil in everything I did or said. Therapy was their way of proving to the community that their daughter's issues were not their fault.

Thank God, therapy actually worked.

Could you imagine their next option to rehabilitate me? I'd put fifty dollars on an exorcism.

And I just didn't have the patience to sit through that.

Or the dexterity to make my head spin all the way around.

Or the life expectancy.

Bridger Wright.

Bridger Freaking Wright after all these years.

And have I mentioned that he didn't even remember me???

It wasn't like I had forgettable features.

Usually people tended to remember the bright red curly hair that I could never seem to tame. And if it wasn't the hair, it was the freckles that painted every inch of my skin.

This wasn't even about vanity.

This was all fact.

I had a face that people remembered.

And if anyone should have remembered me, it should be Bridger f-ing Wright. The boy that tortured me all through my childhood. The boy that used to smash spiders in my Bible on Sunday mornings and lure me out to the woods during potluck so he could push me in puddles of mud and ruin my best, er, only dress. This boy used to call me "Little Orphan Annie" and tell the other kids in town that my freckles were contagious. When we were older, he used to ask when my mom was going to let me dye my hair a "normal" color.

He set me up on a date once. It was supposed to be with his friend Jake Bristol. Jake was this really shy kid, so while he was always nice to me, we'd never actually held a conversation before. But Bridger convinced me Jake was just too shy to approach me. So Bridger set up this date and I begged my daddy for weeks to let me go. I was only thirteen at the time and my parents were not ready to let me see some boy alone. So Bridger promised that it was a group outing and that Jake just wanted to sit by me in the movie. Only, Jake didn't get the memo that he liked me because when I got there I found out that Jake didn't know anything about Bridger's scheming! The stupid boy had set me up to look like a fool and then I had to endure the whole movie before my parents could come back and get me.

I didn't even like the movie and I'd ironed clothes for a full week just so I could earn enough to go.

Some might wonder how this same amateur-bully had managed to make me, the amazing, independent and fabulous Tate Halloway fall in love with him. But it was all that little boy flirting that pulled me in to begin with. He tugged on my pigtails and I heard him confess his undying love. He tripped me so that I skinned my knees and ripped holes in my tights and I read between the lines and saw him planning how many children we would eventually have together.

Besides, the boy was a charmer when he wanted to be. It was no coincidence that he'd convinced me Jake liked me. Bridger could talk his way out of or into anything he damn well pleased. He was just good about stuff like that. And people listened to him. They always had.

Hell, I always had.

But then, when I turned fourteen, my daddy got a new job in Ohio, so we'd left the sticks of Hillbilly Tennessee and made a new life in real, populated civilization.

I might have loved that boy with every bit of my aching, beating middle school heart, but not enough to be disappointed about our move. I'd said goodbye to Bridger and traded my childhood infatuation for city life. Even while I still thought about him from time to time. Even while I still wondered what kind of man he'd grown into and what he was up to these days. Still, I'd managed to grow up and move on.

Although, once, I'd tried to look him up on Facebook, but his profile picture was one of those stupid pictures that didn't show his face and everything about his page had been private. I wasn't too disappointed. I couldn't imagine he put a whole lot of effort into that thing anyway.

But then here he was.

I had no trouble recognizing him tonight while he tried to become part of the paint on the wall and watched me dance the night away without making a move to join me. Even through the crowd of people I recognized Bridger Wright easily from a distance. With those sharp cheekbones, and bright green eyes he had turned into exactly the man I always imagined him to be. His mess of dark hair looked as wild as mine tonight as it stuck up in unruly tufts all over his handsome head. His lips were in a perpetual pout the entire time he ignored the party around him, but as full and delicious as they had been when we were children.

My heartbeat quickened the moment I noticed the man against the wall and all but pounded out of my chest when I realized it was him. I was already on the dance floor so I'd decided to let him come to me.

Dancing was my _thing_. I knew I was good at it. I knew I looked hot. And with my hair loose to the middle of my back and in all its "going-out" glory, I practically glowed like a stop sign in the middle of the floor. I fended off plenty of frat-boy-randoms waiting for Bridger to notice me, but he never even lifted his eyebrows.

When I'd finally found the courage to talk to the butthead, he'd been nothing but rude and condescending.

And still, he had no idea who I was.

That was the worst of it. That was why I couldn't just move on with my life and settle for making this into a hilariously stupid story to share with my roommate, and best friend, Carter. The fact that he didn't remember me was the reason I was following him now, ready to force a memory into his thick head so I could finally call it a night and take my tired, sore feet home to bed.

I grudgingly decided against vehicular manslaughter and pulled up next to the drunken version of my childhood crush. One glance at his partner-in-bad-decision-making revealed one of his brothers, although I couldn't tell which one. They looked too much alike for me to miss the familial similarities, but he had enough brothers that I couldn't be sure which one was stumbling alongside him.

"Y'all need a ride?" I called out to the two boys since they had not even acknowledged the bus-sized Buick pulled up alongside them. Sure, this might be the ugliest car in the entire state, but she was my baby and I loved her to pieces!

"Yes!" the brother screamed at the same time Bridger yelled, "Go away!"

The brother looked at Bridger and gave him a two-handed shove. Or tried to. He missed connecting his hands to Bridger's body, but the momentum carried him forward until they smacked heads really hard. I mean... really, _really_ hard. I heard the skulls cracking together from where I sat, behind the wheel with the radio up.

Now they were both hollering and holding their heads, leaned over at the waist. If they didn't settle down, the whole neighborhood was bound to wake up and then they'd be arrested for public intoxication.

I smiled at the idea of Bridger behind bars.

No, I wasn't really that cruel.

I would have been happy if he just got a ticket and had to take a six-hour class.

When they finally settled down, I threw the car into park and unlocked the car. "Come on, one of you probably has a brain bleed after that. I'll give you a ride back to your place where you can die in peace."

The brother looked up at me and grinned stupidly. The boy was like six sheets to the wind and I knew he would not be this happy tomorrow. I just hoped he didn't have any important papers to write or homework to struggle through. "Thankssss," he slurred at me. "We ap-eciate the hops-pitality."

I couldn't help but smile back, he was kind of adorable like this. "My pleasure."

"We don't needs a ride," Bridger declared mutinously, and it should be said, drunkenly. He stood up and crossed his arms, but then his hand went right back to his head as if pressing his fingers to his temple could take away the pain.

I really tried not to feel justified that his brother had head-butted the same part of his body I'd been fantasizing about driving my Blue Beauty over, but I failed.

And I was a confident enough person to be content with my failure.

"Come on, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum, before campus police hauls you off to student jail for disrupting the peace."

The brother pushed into the backseat where he face-planted on my long, leather bench seat and immediately started snoring.

I looked at Bridger, and with all seriousness, said, "Now, you have to accept the ride because if you don't tell me where y'all live, I'm going to take him home with me and take advantage of his inebriated moral compass."

Bridger looked like he was going to be sick. "Don't you dare. He doesn't need some female like you messing with his head."

"Some female like me? You don't even know me!" Although, to be honest, I was _really_ hoping he would interject right now and say that he did, in fact, know me. With every ounce of over-exaggerated enthusiasm I could muster, I went on, "I could be the best thing that ever happened to him! This could be a night that he remembers, er, kind of remembers for the rest of his life! Obviously he is just waiting for me to rock his unconscious world!"

"Oh," he said dryly. "You're joking."

"About every part except that he truly is unconscious and I truly don't know where you live."

"Fine," he mumbled and then crawled into the front passenger's seat. Literally, he crawled in. The Blue Beauty was big enough for even his huge frame to spread out in.

He sat down and slapped at the seatbelt for a minute before successfully latching it in place. He looked around the car, looked at me strangely and then looked around the car again.

"There's something really familiar about..."

"Yes?" This was it! He was going to remember me!

"This car." He slapped the dash with drunken precision. "I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like I know this car."

I snorted. He felt like he knew the car. Well, there was the romantic gesture I had waited my whole life for.

"How about your address? Do you feel like you _know_ your address?"

"Seriously," he mused. "A man doesn't forget this color blue. Like Jeff Daniel's suit in _Dumb and Dumber_. Makes you want to get dressed in a top hat and ride a Moped to Colorado."

"Oh, good lord." He knew the car because it belonged to my grandmother for most of his life. And my grandmother was the preacher's wife in his small town. Of course, he knew this car. Everybody in that town knew this car. She'd given it to me when I'd gone to college and my granddaddy had taken her license away on the grounds that she was ruining his reputation with her road rage. But I wasn't going to give him hints about my identity. If this boy couldn't remember me, his loss. I would just chalk this good deed up to my daily "Pay it Forward" campaign and move on with my life.

I pulled up in front of his dorm, located on the opposite side of campus from mine and turned off the engine.

"Darlin' don't bother. This is not the start of a beautiful friendship. This was a ride home." He didn't even wait for me to reply. He just jumped out of the car and went to collect his brother from the backseat. "You should get better at taking hints."

"And you should get better at saying 'Thank you.'" If he was going to be snippy, so was I.

I ignored his warning and exited the car. I opened the opposite door from Bridger and started pushing on his brother's shoulders. Bridger wasn't the only one in a hurry to end this evening.

The sooner I left the Wright brothers behind, the sooner I could write Dr. Gunthry a letter and let her know that her middle school counseling sessions, while at the time had felt stupid and pointless, had proved her right on one very important thing: He might have made me feel stupid for years of my childhood, but I was definitely the one getting the last laugh.

Being the least idiotic of the trio, when I pushed on the passed-out Wright brother, he actually moved. Bridger had been tugging on his legs, but he could barely stand on his own. So when the brother slid successfully out of the backseat, he hit Bridger like a bowling ball at the end of the lane and the two of them when down as if I'd released a perfectly-aimed ten-pounder.

Strike!

I slammed the door shut and ran around to the other side of Blue Beauty. "Are you alright?"

The brother that had been knocked-out was wide awake now and the two of them were trying to untangle themselves with limbs that were slow-moving and unresponsive. I watched for several minutes, debating how morally corrupt it would be to take a video of this with my cell phone and post it all over the internet.

Finally, they were able to stand up and brush themselves off. Leaning on each other, they made their way to the key-carded front door. Bridger pulled out a set of keys and his keycard and let his brother in before turning around to reluctantly acknowledge me.

"You're right," he said simply and leaned against the open glass door for support.

I took a step toward him. It was that damn natural magnetism again. I couldn't help but be drawn to him, even when he had previously proven to be a giant pain in the ass.

"About what?" I asked as sweetly as I could. I wasn't always the southern belle my mother had hoped to raise. Actually, I was more like Esmerelda from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ transplanted into the heart of the South with the kind of red hair that didn't belong on any living creature. I tried to shove a chunk of it behind my ear in a move that I hoped was both sexy and sophisticated. The hair bounced back as if my ear was some kind of trampoline and fell in front of my face again.

"I _should_ say thank you," he told me honestly.

Our gazes locked at that moment and the sharp emerald color cut straight through me. He was a boy. That color of green shouldn't be wasted on him and those long, thick lashes should make him look feminine. But both of those features enhanced his rugged good looks and heady masculinity.

My childhood crush was all man these days and I swallowed from a sudden stirring of nerves.

He could keep me here with the way he was looking at me. I could stand here forever if he didn't blink.

"You _should_ thank me," I agreed.

He flinched at my words or maybe at my closeness. I hadn't realized I'd taken another step toward him. We were only a couple inches apart by now and I could smell his wild night on the autumn breeze; beer, sweat and something underneath... something I wanted to inhale until my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

He opened his mouth like he was going to respond but then closed it when I took one last step into him. He couldn't get a word out with my body brushing against his and my total lack of concern for his personal space.

This boy had messed with me for _years_ , I couldn't help the sick thrill that came with the success of a little bit of payback.

Besides, I wanted him to _remember_ me. I put my face right in front of his and dared him not to get it.

"Th-thank you," he finally said with eyes narrowed and a tight jaw.

I lifted my fingers and gently smoothed them over the angry bump on his head from where his brother ran into him. "You should put some ice on that before you go to bed." He nodded slowly. My smile grew and my fingers pushed into his bump aggressively, just enough so that he winced a little, but I knew that he would remember this moment tomorrow. "You'll want to thank me for that, too."

"Th-"

I slid my hands from his bump to his lips, pressing my fingertips against their fullness. "Not yet," I told him. "You're not allowed to thank me for that until you remember my name."

I gave him one last flirty smile and then turned around and flounced off. I could feel his eyes burning into my back the entire walk, but I refused to turn around and look at him again.

I did steal one more glance once I'd restarted the engine and clicked my seatbelt into place. He was still glued to that open door, staring at me like a codfish with his mouth open so wide. I waved at his brother you had his loopy face plastered against the glass of the side panel, and he waved back shooting me an even sillier grin.

I drove away with my own version of happiness spread out across my face, but I could not figure it out.

Bridger Wright was not someone I wanted to see again. Not ever. Whether he remembered my name or not, I hoped he kept his grumpy attitude and all-grown-up body far away from me.

My days of panting after him just so he could make me feel like crap were over.

I was grown up, too. And happy. And smart. And my hair was less orange. And my freckles were less bright.

I was enjoying the quintessential college experience. Well, mostly. With just that one small hiccup. The point was, I wasn't going to let him affect it in any way.

And that would be true, just as soon as I could stop smiling.

For now, I'd go back to my dorm and tell Carter the hilariously-stupid story Bridger had given me after all.

Chapter Three

Bridger

I was probably the only person on the planet who went through this—but I completely panicked when I woke up after drinking and my entire mouth felt like it had been dried out with a blow dryer. My damned tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I finagled my jaw this way and that and pried my tongue down from where it was Velcro-ed, trying to get some kind of liquid in there so I don't feel like I've swallowed a case of cotton balls—or sand paper.

Even opening my eyes hurt. Eyeballs weren't supposed to hurt. They just sat there in their little eye socket cubbies, tethered by tentacles to your brain. Maybe it was residual brain pain.

Maybe I'm still a little drunk.

It had been a long time since I was that drunk. All I remember is dragging West somewhere and then being picked up by a red haired girl in a big ass blue car. I thought someone with some sense had already gathered those sky colored monster-mobiles and sent them to car heaven—those that weren't currently being driven by grandmothers and a lone college girl named...

What the hell was her name?

What the hell was my name?

"Bridger," a groan resounds from the other side of the room. I didn't dare open my eyes. I didn't have to. It was West and if I felt like this, then he must really feel like shit.

Bridger, that was my name.

I grunted—it was the only response I could manage in this state.

"...urch." He moaned out and even his baritone voice made my temples churn a new level of pain. There was one of two things he could be saying and I didn't really like the idea of either one. The first of which could be lurch. I was down with lurching. In fact, it was really the main thought on my stomach's mind. Do stomachs have minds—no.

And I knew that if my brother had any sense at all he wouldn't be saying the other word. That word was like a curse word to me most of the time. That was where I met Jesse. And Jesse was trouble. So now I associated everything trouble with that place.

Shit, I was still thinking about Jesse. Hangovers sucked.

Noises of drawers opening and shutting made the walls of my head vibrate, sending waves of incurable pain to my temples. Then the closet sliding door screeched against the railings above and below it—I thought maybe just the sound had ripped the skin off of my face. Then West started saying something again as he made more noises. It sounded like he was brushing his teeth, using my ears as the sink.

"What?" I grumbled out. My chin hit a hard, cold surface as I bellowed out the syllable. That's when I realized I was on the floor—somewhere—on my stomach. I flopped myself around until my chin was in the air and something wet was on my heels.

I think my feet are in the shower.

Or I pissed on my feet.

Either was a good possibility.

But I was too lazy to even get up and see what it was.

"Church!" West yelled and the word and all its nefarious meanings echoed with knives through my aching head. Surely our level of stupidity from the night before warranted a free pass from the religious routine.

"No!" I yelled back, fully intending to hurt him the way he'd hurt me. But instead my own yelling made me grab my head and curl up into the fetal position.

"Yes!" He was now in the room with me—wherever we were. It smelled like West's dirty socks, which to me, meant we were back in our dorm room.

"Sit up," he told me and it took me a full ten minutes to get my head off the floor. He handed me a Gatorade and some white pills and stood there while I downed the whole thing. West didn't even look like he'd been talking to Audrey Hepburn in the bushes all night. There wasn't even a speck of dirt in his hair or teeth from him being ass up in a flower bed. Maybe I dreamed that. How did my little brother manage to keep up appearances so well?

Asshole.

I stripped right there and held onto doors and every willing piece of furniture until I reached the shower. The cold water brought me from cloudy to aware in just a few seconds. I soaped up, grouching the whole time about how that body wash that's supposed to wake you up really just makes you feel like you've accidentally put Icy Hot on your balls.

But I supposed Icy Hot on your balls would make anyone wake up.

Quickly.

"Ten minutes," West announced.

"What are you an effing cuckoo clock?"

"Nine minutes and fifty-six seconds," he yelled right outside the shower door.

Asshole.

Fumbling and having to do everything twice, I finally got some semi-decent clothes on appropriate for church. We went to a small church on campus run by a chaplain. It wasn't even a church building. It was simply a lecture hall used on Sundays for sermons and worshippers. It was a contemporary service, nothing like the ones in my hometown. The pastor in my town was known as Preacher. I'm sure he had a real name, but I couldn't think of it. He only answered to Preacher anyway.

The walk to the lecture hall did me good. West was smart enough to keep his trap shut on the way. I was a slow waker anyway. I liked to wake up, check my emails, look over notes from the day before, eat a few slices of leftover pizza and find coffee—all before speaking a single word. It was my way. I never understood the need for people to talk in the morning. It's not necessary unless someone wakes up in an emergency situation—like they have an appendage missing—or the zombies are coming.

If it were not either one of those, then they should keep their pie hole zipped.

The other thing I hated more than talking in the morning?

Being late.

This day had gone from hussy to whore in no time.

We had to sit in the second row all the way down in the front of the lecture hall. Those were the only seats left in the place.

All I could think about was homework. It ruled my world. That was my curse for trying to be a business major. I'd pursued the same pipe dream that Stockton had, only to find that of late—I hated it. And since Stockton had now formed his own company, the temptation to quit school and pursue what I was really good at was so close I could taste it. But I was determined to at least finish out the semester.

Stockton was trained by my father as a blacksmith, focused on the bigger, some would say manlier, projects—gates, machetes, knives.

I was equally trained in those things, but our father also trained me in the little things.

The silversmithing side of what he did.

While I did most of my training under my own father, while Stockton was beating down iron with his hammer, I was tinkering with chainmail and delicate items.

Stockton and I worked side by side during the last summer. I made some of my best pieces there, with no cares, just me and my tools. He said he was sending samples off to see what people thought and if they cared to buy my designs. But so far, he hadn't heard anything.

Who wants personalized silverware anymore when you can buy a set for ten bucks at the local superstore?

No one—that's who.

My right eye closed in protest as an overzealous group of mediocre musicians clanged through an up-tempo version of Amazing Grace. They should've just left it alone. Some songs were just fine the way they were first composed. But no, everyone thought they could add a keyboard and a snare drum and call it contemporary. I called it killing a good thing.

After they brutally murdered a few more songs and I was uncouthly elbowed by West to join in the singing, church bulletins were passed around in a little basket with fall leaves sticking out from every hole. The passing started at the front of the congregation and was making its way to me.

Good. Something to read.

The pastor got up and was just as 'Holy Spirit is better than coffee' as the rest. He called out, in his holey jeans and button down shirt, for people to shout out their blessings. A man up front yelled out 'Love' at the same time another yelled out "Joy." Then right in front of me a big pile of flame red hair yelled out "Grace."

I wanted to yell out Tylenol.

Coffee.

Sugar.

As the pastor finally started something resembling a real sermon with his microphone planted in his ear with a boy band contraption that hovered around his mouth, the girl in front of me turned to finally hand me the basket with my coveted reading material.

And that's when I saw her face—the face of dreams.

Maybe church wasn't so bad after all.

She shoved the basket at me again, bringing me out of my ogling. Just a glimpse is what I got, but it was all I needed to get a good enough taste of her.

It's also when I recognized her and my brain finally put it all together.

Beer goggle images from the night before meshed and integrated with the ones from my childhood in a hazy slideshow of recognition.

It couldn't be. No, it just couldn't be. She was a gangly wiry thing when we were babies. I mean, we weren't exactly babies. We were adolescent Hicksville rebels who thought we knew everything. I did. There was no way this gorgeous creature in front of me could be her. But it was her.

When I'd set her up with Jake back in school, I'd done it to give her a boost. She was always a sweet thing, pretty sassy—smart as hell—everyone thought so. But her dad was a coal miner, just trying to do the best he could by his family. Coal miners worked their asses off but didn't bring in a lot of money. She always wore clothes two or three sizes too big for her and some of them made for a grandmother rather than a teenaged girl. We never faulted her for it. Poverty in our town was as rampant as milk drinking.

Tate Halloway—who would've thought?

Her hair was wild now. Before it was an almost bleached out red—nothing as vibrant as the tendrils that floated over her chair now and tickled my jean-clad knees. I could see the back of her neck too, her freckles had now multiplied and taken on a 'loud and proud' stance all over her—a far cry from her previous, 'maybe I have freckles, maybe it's just dirt' appearance. In school, she wore Coke bottle glasses that made her eyes look like they were being studied under a twenty-four-hour microscope.

It was like everything pretty about her was being hidden beneath a grandmother's disguise.

Not wanting to keep the info to myself, I dead-legged West in the thigh who then bit on his fist to keep from yelling at me.

"What," he whispered through a clenched jaw.

"That's Tate Halloway."

"What?"

"That's Tate Halloway."

"What?"

All that contemporary hymn singing had apparently deafened my brother. I jerked the pen out of West's pocket—because he was extra nerdy like that and scribbled her name on the bulletin I'd yet to read.

He shrugged like he could give a shit, but I just continued to give him the biggest stare down ever. I watched his face evolve from ambiguity to knowing as he contorted his body to try and get a look at her face. Then he turned to me with wide eyes and a huge smile.

No one could ever say West was a quick one.

I spent the rest of the service studying Tate instead of the bulletin in front of me. I couldn't believe I acted like such an ass in front of her last night. And it certainly explained why she was so snippy with me. The last memory she probably had of me was when I set her up on a date and Jake stood her up—not that last night gave her anything better to remember me by.

I hoped I didn't puke on her.

Everyone around me bowed their head. I'd been observing her through the whole damned sermon.

While everyone was deep in prayer, I scooted past them—up the stairs and out of the hall. Pounding the pavement as fast as my overhung legs would take me, I kept glancing behind me to make sure she wasn't following me. I had to run from her and avoid her at all costs.

First and foremost, she knew about Jesse and would ask me about her.

Second, I knew her kind and didn't even want to begin to touch that fire.

Third, and this was probably what I was running from the most—I had a feeling that if Jesse had ruined me—that this girl could surely kill me.

Ignoring her wasn't that hard.

That was a lie. The girl was everywhere.

I tried to pick up coffee—she was at a table near where I had to order.

I tried to go study in the library—she worked in the dang library.

She was every single place I wanted to go every single minute of every single day.

Not really—only the places I wanted to go.

I slummed down to the School of Business library to study with the suits now. One day I was gonna go in there in my Dad's best overalls and some grass whittling between my teeth and proclaim "This sure is one fine studyin' shack." That would clear out their stuck up asses for sure.

Everything smelled like leather in their library.

Two more weeks was all I had until Thanksgiving break. I could put up with anything for two more weeks.

After an hour of staring at the economics book, having not even read a single sentence I slammed it shut, causing the hyped up sponsors of Red Bull studying around me to jump out of their ties.

What? They'd never heard a book slam?

It had become a real problem of late. I couldn't concentrate on my studies regardless of my earnest determination. I wasn't lazy by a long shot. Any kid raised on a farm, especially raised on a farm by a father who was a blacksmith, didn't have a choice in the matter.

Poor country kids didn't have the luxury of being lazy.

We worked for every morsel that hit our mouths.

Which was why I was so conflicted. I felt like a spoilt brat not happy with Daddy's color choice of their brand new sports car.

I was stuck in a constant juggling of choices. My mind never stopped thinking about it. I looked around the room, observing the way the other students were diligent in their goals, highlighting the shit out of them in their books, taking notes like note taking was their pic line to the IV of life. Some of them shook out 'stay awake' pills and chased them with enough energy drinks to give heart palpitations to an Orca whale. It was their life, school and the pursuit of bigger better things.

I'd once chased that same dream.

Why was I finishing out the semester again?

I stood with my brow furrowed cursing the books in front of me on the table and what they stood for. School felt like a prison of late.

I hate school.

My home was in the workshop.

My home was with the metal—the silver—the gold.

Home was feeling the heat through my gloves and a constant sweat on my brow.

Home was on my mother's discarded stool focused on a project—seeing the finished product in my mind's eye as it took shape under my capable hands.

Still standing, the librarian eyed me as if someone not comfortable among the leather and highlighters was an anomaly.

_I should be grateful,_ I began to debate myself out of what I really wanted to do.

I should be grateful that I have the opportunity that most people would kill for. I have a killer truck and a paid for education courtesy of my brother and my father's legacy. I had a great family and a business degree would only further those prospects.

But I hated it—every single second of it.

The walls came to life in my mind, closing in on me.

No, this is not what I want.

I want to go home.
Chapter Four

Tate

"No, I'm not doing that!" I laughed hysterically into the thin cell phone. "You're out of your mind!"

"Please," Carter begged me from the other end. "Please, please, _please_!"

"Now you're just being pathetic." I hovered outside the library doors, knowing I wouldn't be able to keep my voice down while talking with Carter. I had an issue with talking quietly. An issue as in I was incapable of doing it. When I spoke to anyone, my voice got obnoxiously loud and my laugh was worse. My friends were constantly shushing me.

It was a miracle and also a kind of ironic joke that I got a shelving job in the library. While I loved my place of employment, even more so because it was perfectly convenient to my college life, I didn't exactly fit in.

The library, and consequently most of the other employees, had this certain stoic severity about them. The books were lined up perfectly. The volume level kept to a studious whisper. My coworkers wore modest, preppy clothes that matched their trimmed, perfectly coiffed hair and their dull, lifeless shoes.

My boss had told me once that she hired me to "spice things up" around the mundane routine that hardly ever changed from day-to-day. And the thing was, I didn't blame her. The library was _boring_. And that was an emotion I could not tolerate.

But I stayed for the good of the people I worked with. I didn't even want to imagine their lives without me to brighten the mood and bring a little crazy to their rigidly scheduled programming. Plus, when I wasn't stacking books, I could study and I always got the books I wanted when I needed them because as soon as they were returned, I set them aside for myself.

"Listen, we're going tonight," Carter continued on. "And if I have to blindfold and gag you again to get your ass there, then that's what I'll do."

The thing was... I believed her. "Come on, Carter. Really? Karaoke? I would rather go to the silent film marathon in the student union then endure a bunch of my peers singing bad boy band remixes while drunk off their asses."

She snorted a laugh. "What happened to _carpe diem_ , Tate? I thought we were living the college life to the fullest? Especially before you-"

"I never said it included every bad song from the nineties," I snickered. But she'd already said the magic words and she knew it.

"Tatum Mackenzie Halloway, you're going tonight, even if I have to drag you there myself. Plus, those guys from my Econ class are going to meet us. I can finally introduce you to Sawyer."

"And his friend Huckleberry Finn?"

"You laugh now, but this guy is seriously hot, my friend. And he's interested in you." She sounded so smug on the other end. I could just imagine what Sawyer had already heard about me. If it was coming from my optimistic BFF, the sky was the limit.

"Yeah right. Just wait until he hears me sing... that interest will die a very painful, very slow, very tone-deaf death."

"Maybe we'll just watch other people sing," Carter suggested wisely.

I started laughing again, loudly. "This was _your_ idea!"

"But mostly for the half-price beer and free peanuts."

"Ah, my frugal friend, this is why our college years are going to be epic." I looked out at the sprawling campus in front of me. We were way into fall at the beginning of November and all of the trees had turned to beautifully muted tones of dark orange and rusty red, burnished gold and rich purples. The sun had settled low on the horizon and the pastel pinks and indigos in the sky blended well with all the fall glory. I breathed in the smoky air and smiled at this life I lead. Carter was right. I had taken up this whole live-life-to-the-fullest manifesto and I was enjoying every minute of it. Karaoke would be fun. And maybe the added bonus of Sawyer would coat the fringes of loneliness that seemed adamant on staying with me.

The funny thing about this sudden epiphany that my soul felt alone was that I hadn't even been aware of it until a certain frat house part a few weeks ago. Had I know that the re-emergence of Bridger Wright in my life was going to awaken a hunger for some kind of relationship, I would have left him and his drunk ass to wander the streets of Nashville in the middle of the night.

I had tried to convince myself that I wasn't really lonely, that it was just the rejection that Bridger was so intent to give me every time we shared the same breathing space. And in trying to convince myself that he was a grade-A douche for avoiding me at any cost, I'd managed to ignore the true stirrings of heartache.

Gah! Boys.

Dumb.

"So you're in?" Carter asked hopefully.

"I'm in," I sighed. "Carpe karaoke!"

She giggled in my ear. "And you get off of work when?"

"Four hours from five minutes ago. Shit, I'm late!" And then I hung up on her. That's how much she loved me. She put up with my frazzled chaos.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and rushed through the heavy wooden doors. My supervisor, Catherine, stood at the circulation desk and promptly gave me the stink eye. I smiled at her and then tripped over some kid's backpack that he'd left out in the middle of the aisle. I landed flat on my face with absolutely nothing graceful to brag about.

"Ow," I moaned.

"Oh, no," I heard a thick southern drawl groan above me.

I rolled over to my back and looked up at none other than Bridger Wright. Apparently, he wasn't only trying to murder my soul but also, in the physical sense of murdering, me.

"Ow," I said again.

He seemed to come back to himself somewhat and jumped up from his chair. "Uh, sorry," he mumbled. He held out his hand like any boy raised with manners would and pulled me to my feet. But as soon as I was standing, he backed off and dropped my hand.

"Well, well, well," I grinned at him. "Bridger Wright. I did not expect to see you here tonight. You know, because usually whenever you see me, you run the complete opposite direction like I'm getting ready to light your pants on fire."

He blushed the satisfying color of eggplant. Obviously, he thought he had been smoother about this.

"You saw that?" he croaked.

I gave him a "Duh," look and let him suffer for a little bit longer. "Figure out my name yet?" I teased him.

A small smile played at the corner of his full lips and his green eyes twinkled with confidence. "I have figured that out, Tate Halloway." His eyes smoldered at me for just a moment and he said, "All grown up." Before the fire could be fully lit in my belly, his good-humor suddenly disappeared and he rubbed the back of his neck when he said, "Hey, that night, I wasn't exactly at my best."

I let out a bark of laughter that I knew had Catherine glaring over at me. "No kidding! You mean, wandering around the middle of the road, with more alcohol in your system than blood, wasn't one of your shining moments?"

His cheeks pinked on the high planes and he ducked his head. "Not exactly," he admitted and then cleared his throat.

"Well, don't worry about it. I've seen a lot worse at those frat parties. You were mostly highly entertaining. You and your brother were kind of ridiculous but at least you weren't trying to come on to me."

He smiled, but it was a faded version of the real thing. Images of him as a child flashed in my mind's eye and I pictured him laughing in bursts of loud laughter and horsing around with his brothers. Bridger had always been one of the happiest kids I'd ever known, but these days he seemed withdrawn and depressed.

I wondered if something was going on with his family. I knew his parents had died a few years ago; my grandparents occasionally caught me up with the happenings of that little town and they'd mentioned the fire as soon as it happened. The Wright family was a pillar of that community and Noah and Grace had been some of the loveliest people I had ever met.

He chuckled politely but then an awkward silence fell between us. "So, uh, how have you been?" I asked after it was clear he wasn't going to say anything more.

"Fine."

"Yeah? You like school?"

"It's fine."

Alright, a man of few words. I could work with that. "So, we should catch up sometime. I haven't seen you in forever. You know, I actually heard that you had decided to come here from my Grams, but since I hadn't seen you in two years, I thought maybe she had the school wrong. I would love to hear all about what's going on back in Constance."

He looked down at his homework and then slowly dragged his eyes back to me, or rather, my feet. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair and shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, sure."

There was this part of me... this evil, malicious, sadistic part of me that really loved torturing Bridger right now. He had been such a pain in my ass my entire childhood! And now, _finally_ , I could extract my revenge.

Plus, good grief, he was adorable shuffling his feet and looking like he'd rather be swallowing nails than talking to me.

Nobody could say I didn't love a challenge.

"Like tonight!" The words bubbled out of me in an excited giggle. Okay, it wasn't all about revenge. It was just that he looked so... lonely, and sad or miserable or something. I hated seeing him like this. I knew it was dumb because we hadn't been around each other for years, but this was not the Bridger that I knew. This guy was depressing to look at, let alone be around. I felt sucked into his vortex of gloom and I'd only been with him for five minutes.

What happened to this guy?

When we were kids, he used to have the most infectious laugh. Even when he made fun of me, I couldn't help but laugh too just because of the sound of his deep chuckle. And when he would smile, I always found myself smiling back. I couldn't help it. His eyes twinkled, his dimples came out to wink at me, and his whole body would glow with bright happiness.

But now he looked at me and flinched. It was almost like... like he was afraid of me.

Which didn't make sense. For as clumsy and loud as I could be, I was actually very gentle. Completely harmless. He didn't need to be scared of me. I wasn't planning on biting him.

Unless, maybe he asked. Because the one thing that had changed about Bridger for the better was that he was now a man. And not just the grown-up version of his childhood body, but like a _manly_ -man. Even through his long-sleeved Henley, I could see how ripped his torso was. Muscle popped from neck to the very waistline of his jeans. His bulking arms were flexed tightly as he tensed with anxiety. His jaw had firmed up and the squareness to it made his face a work of chiseled art. His lips were too full for a boy, but they worked so well on him and the pout he seemed to constantly keep. His deep green eyes were as dark and volatile as the surface of a lake during a thunderstorm, but they were compelling... hypnotizing even.

But so sad.

I wanted to make him smile. I wanted to lift the secret burden he carried for just a moment. I wanted him to look at me and _see me_ , remember me... laugh with me.

"I have a lot of homework to do," he answered quickly.

I moved over to the table that had said homework spread out all over the glossy wooden surface. I propped my butt against it and then anchored my arms so that when I jumped, they helped propel me the last couple inches. My bum landed on top of all that obnoxious busywork with a satisfying whoosh of scattered papers. The corner of one of his textbooks dug into the side of my thigh and I swear I snapped a pencil in half, such was the destructive force of my ass.

His mouth dropped open and he blinked quickly as if he couldn't get my behavior to process correctly in his head.

"Homework is stupid." I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.

He shook his head out. I thought he might have been hoping that I would disappear if he shook hard enough, but I wasn't going to make this that easy for him.

"Um..."

"I'm going out with some friends, so it won't be just the two of us." I threw that in for his benefit. I assumed the thought of the two of us alone probably had his knees knocking together and his lunch threatening to resurface. I _would_ get to the bottom of his fear of me. "It will be fun! You do know what fun is, don't you?"

His eyebrows snapped together and some heat lit those stormy eyes. "I know how to have fun, Tate. I just prefer my homework's finished beforehand."

"So rigid," I taunted. Mischief ran like fire through my blood. I loved a challenge and the Bridger I remembered did, too. It was one of the reasons he was such a black mark on my childhood. He hated the idea of me beating him in anything. Our competitions used to be legendary around town. People knew to stay clear of us whenever we really started going after each other.

"I'm not rigid," he argued.

I gave a pointed look at his strewn homework and then at the fists clenched at his sides. When I lifted my gaze back to his, I couldn't help the triumphant glow that lit my face. "Right," I drawled. "How about this, I promise that your homework will still be here in the morning. It's not like it's going to go out, get drunk and go home with a random."

"Is that what you're planning on doing?" His voice sounded so strained that I wondered if he was in physical pain.

"I don't think so," I shrugged. "I was thinking something much more trashy."

"Like what?" he nearly shrieked. I waited for the five or six "Shh's" that I knew were coming.

Once our angry library audience had settled, I revealed my big secret, "Like karaoke."

His lips twitched in the corners and then suddenly there was the briefest grin as he relaxed. He ran another hand through that dark hair and met my eyes again. "I can't sing for shit."

A burst of laughter bubbled up out of me and I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth while I rode out another wave of hushes from the surrounding students. "Me either," I whispered dramatically. "But we don't have to sing. We could just make fun of all the other idiots that can't sing either."

His smile disappeared, but his eyes still burned. And I liked that burn. I wanted to watch it singe the air around him. I wanted to feel the heat of it on my skin and the embers sizzle in my blood.

Wait. No.

This was for him, not for me. I didn't want anything for Bridger. I just wanted to see him not so sad. That was all.

"What time?" he asked with that frown firmly back in place.

"Eight," I told him. "At Captain's." That was a local bar close to campus he should know and love. If not, I would seriously have him sent to a retirement center where he belonged.

Whew. He nodded. He knew what I was talking about. "Okay." He drew out the word as long as he could. "I might stop by."

My smile stretched from ear to ear and I threw my hands up in the air. My hair bounced around my shoulders and I tried to stop acting like a dork. I dropped my hands to my lap and winked at him. "I might be happy about that."

His cheeks turned pink again and I tried not to sigh. I reached behind me and picked up his phone before he could stop me. I quickly slid my finger across the screen and shook my head when there was no password protection. Didn't he know to guard his identity? Oh, this boy needed so much help.

Good thing he had me now.

"What are you doing?" He sounded a little panicked, so I swatted away his hand.

"Just..." I turned around and hunched over his phone. I quickly punched my number in and pressed call.

My phone buzzed in my pocket not two seconds later and I held up his so he could see what I did. "Now we have each other's numbers. Do you want me to add my name? Or do you think you can remember it?"

He huffed, "Well, I don't think there's any forgetting it."

That made me laugh. I didn't remember him being this funny before. Okay, I knew he wasn't trying to be funny... but he was still cracking me up.

I hopped off the table and created another flurry of paperwork and writing utensils. "Don't stand me up, Bridger Wright, or I'll send Granddaddy after you on Potluck Sunday and we both know you don't want that." He paled a little, but I didn't really feel the message was received until I warned, "Plus, if you don't show up, I'll be forced to call you nonstop until you do. And I'm pretty sure you underestimate how determined I can be."

He got that blank look again, the one where his brain clearly struggled to accept me as his new reality. Probably, I should go now.

I walked by him, patting his shoulder as I went. "See you soon, Bridge."

He didn't say anything back but that was okay. I hadn't exactly helped him through a breakthrough, but he had smiled at me. And I hadn't seen him smile once in the few weeks he'd popped back into my life.

A smile was a victory.

A smile was hope.

And for some reason, when it came to Bridger, that hope meant more to me than anything else had in a very, very long time.

Karaoke was destined to be a disaster. That was a given. But maybe there would be another smile in it for me.

At the very least, there would be more Bridger.

The stupid smile that I couldn't wipe off my face said it all. I could barely tolerate childhood Bridger. But _manly_ -man Bridger was someone I was _very_ excited to tolerate. Even if he was the grumpiest man alive.
Chapter Five

Bridger

My brother's laugh was that of a badger on bath salts.

"She called me Bridge," I huffed at West who was getting way too big of a kick out of my library visit. "It makes my name go from completely manly and utterly rugged to some old, worn out, forgotten method of transporting goods over a river. It's the place that houses trolls for the love of Pete."

"Shut up," he chucked a chip in my direction. "Your name wasn't all that manly in the first place. It sounds like someone who followed Lewis and Clarke on the expedition. Don't get your testicles in a knot. Isn't that a girl thing, making up cutesy names to demasculate us? Take it as a compliment."

West always frat-housed things up.

This school's first case of fratricide was about to go down.

He needed a dictionary.

"Demasculate? That's not even a word, college boy. It's emasculate. And shit if I know. Jesse didn't really call me by loving names while she was screwing me over."

"You mean screwing other people over."

That's it. I'm gonna beat his ass.

Casually strolling over towards him, pretending to reach for a chip, I grabbed the binder sitting behind him and proceeded to plunder him over the head with it.

"Ow! Okay. Bridger is so sexy and Jesse is a whore. Okay?" He made the statement with a Mariah Carey high pitched voice and a little flick of the wrist to match. My brother was a diva.

Not okay.

"She was just young. She made a mistake—a few of them. Don't call women names—even if they're not here."

West sobered. He hated "Yeah, okay, whatever."

Cocky little sap sucker.

Plopping down on my bed, the cheap, worn out springs of a dorm room bed protested the weight of me. She'd called me on ignoring her all the time. I hadn't expected that. Truth was, I didn't know what to expect. Her physical appearance was in stark opposition to what she looked like when she was younger—but that flame inside was just the same. I knew it as soon as she spoke. And when she hopped up on that table, planting her firm ass on my books like it belonged there.

It made me want to—well, it made me not want to continue studying anything but her.

Wild—that's what her name should be.

I kicked one of my ten pound textbooks inch by inch until it fell from the edge of the bed onto the floor. I was quitting after this semester was over with, right? I studied my ass off all the time, never taking breaks for anything, but family events and church—because West made me go to church—because Cami made Stockton force West to make me go to church.

Cami ruled our roost now—which was completely fine by the rest of us.

"Don't overthink it _Bridge_. Go over there, make fun of the people who can't sing, buy the girl a beer. She's just asking to catch up—she's not asking for a ring or a cup full of your baby juice."

There was something very wrong with Weston Wright. I think my mom dropped him in a pile of sheep shit when he was little. He always said the most inappropriate things at the most inopportune times. Like right now—while I was in arm's length.

"Maybe I'll come with you," he shrugged. As if I would invite him. The boy had real issues.

"No you won't. Hell, I'm not even going to go. A girl like that? I couldn't even keep Jesse entertained. Anyway, you'd do something stupid."

"No one can keep Jesse entertained, Bridger. That girl gets around more than the flu."

I laid back on the bed and threw my arm over my eyes pretending to get some shut eye so West would shut up. Why karaoke? What was wrong with coffee? I knew the girl drank coffee. Every damned time I went to get coffee there she was taking up all the coffee and sugar and tables.

It's not that small of a school.

Despite my efforts to pretend to be asleep, West cranked up his heavy metal. I had two choices. Either I could lay there and listen to all the killing and stabbing or I could go to the gym. I hadn't gotten any studying done at the library. Every time I touched a book or a pencil, I was reminded that Tate's ass had been on it. She completely made and ruined the library for me—forever.

Not to mention, that skirt.

Skirts like that would make her preacher grandfather mortified.

Sounded like excellent blackmail to me.

I jolted up, ignoring the headbanging of West, grabbed my bag and a pair of shoes, and headed to the student gym. Before Stockton came into all his money, I used the student gym because it was free for all full-time students. It was a perk. Now I used it to avoid all the pseudo-athletes and their never-been-washed, brand new workout gear. I never understood why grown men and women got dressed up to work out. Yes, the women looked good in their little outfits. But it was flat out weird when the men came in with shoes that looked like they'd never hit the pavement much less the gym.

It embarrassed me for them.

Scuff the bastards in the parking lot and throw some sand on them. Make it look like they've been used once.

A few blocks later, I walked into the sweat-smelling place and grabbed the first weight machine not being used. Lifting always made me think clearly. It took the edge off of the thinking part of me. I did that. I thought about things too much. I analyze and play things over and over in my head until I don't know where to turn or what to do. Usually I just let Stockton tell me what to do.

I know, it's horrible and immature. But Stockton always has his head on straight. And I can't figure people out in general. I must've read into every single word Jesse uttered the second time we were together. I thought that if I paid more attention—if I showered her with affection that maybe she wouldn't have a reason to cheat again. The only blame to be placed was on me. There was something I wasn't doing—something I'd fallen short on.

It wasn't going to happen again—that much I knew.

But if it was—Tate could really break me. There was something so carefree about her—I'd never be able to contain that or even be a part of that whirlwind. I had a feeling it was either be free with her or be left behind.

I couldn't get over the change in Tate. My mind kept coming back to it over and over again. But even though most of the changes were drastic, some things remained the same. Her eyes were that same brilliant gray. They reminded me of smoke emerging from a chimney.

And where there was smoke, there was fire.

The creek was one place we went on a regular basis as children. When you lived in the country, the deep country like we did, life was what you made of it. We woke up with the sun, completed our chores, and then we were free. There were creeks to discover and frogs to catch. The creek was where I'd first seen her. She didn't have a pink frilly suit like the rest of the girls so she just stood in the water, enjoying as much of the cool liquid as she could through her toes. I went home and told Mama about Tate and her lack of swimming attire.

My dear mom bought Tate a suit the next day at a thrift store and left it on the porch while we all were at school. She swore me to secrecy. That was one of many lessons I learned from her about the honor in helping people without telling everyone in town what you'd done.

The next time we were at the creek Tate was able to swim and from a distance, I was able to watch her bright smile and, for once, fitting in with the rest.

Tate had been the focus of all my childhood crushes. I'd beat her in races just to see her cheeks flame red in anger. I'd put salamanders in her grandma dress' pockets just knowing that later on she would discover the slimy reptiles and scream. I wrote her a note once and then buried it in an old homemade wine bottle near her farm. To what end, I didn't know.

I would've been the first to admit, I had no idea how to flirt with a girl like that. Hell, I had no clue how to flirt in general. But then Jesse happened.

I didn't have to flirt with Jesse.

And in all those childhood crushes, Jesse hadn't starred in any of them. I hadn't planned on her. She barreled in, guns blazing, when I was a punk kid, ruled by my hormones instead of my brain. She wasn't my first kiss, but she was my first date, my first make-out session.

My first heartbreak.

The first time I'd purposefully sought out alcohol as salve for my wound.

She was also the second of all those things.

But there would never ever be a third. I may have been naïve and under experienced then, but that was a long time ago.

I supposed one day I would have to put myself out there again.

But in my mind it would be with someone humble, loyal and maybe a bit overly pious.

Yes, pious girls didn't go cheat on your with your best friend—twice.

Images of coppery curls invaded those thoughts.

I worked through three sets on each machine I could get on before deciding I'd had enough. The showers in the gym weren't the best, but they were more private and cleaner than the ones in the dorm, so I made quick use of them and headed back to the dorms.

West was gone when I returned. Glancing at my watch, I cringed. It was almost seven. The decision whether or not to go knocked at my door.

Karaoke to me was akin to bending over in a worn pair of jeans and having them rip open in a packed room of silent people. It ripped, it was uncomfortable and it would make me feel all—exposed.

The real question was, was it worth it?

Was it worth all the discomfort and sheer embarrassment to get another taste of the new Tate?

There was another level to karaoke, other than the singing that I just couldn't tolerate. It was on television. Willa and Cami loved those damned shows. All action, speech and breathing had to cease in the Wright household when those shows came on. There was just something about them that embarrassed me to no end.

I just couldn't take it.

The same cringing sensation flowed through me when I saw someone sing in public whether they were talented or not made no difference—the whole thing was too much to handle.

I avoided concerts, solos at church, singing and dancing on television, and all music award shows—even signing on late night shows crawled up my last nerve.

But I would get to see Tate again.

A beer or fourteen would help me be able to tolerate the singing.

I could always sit in a chair with my back to the stage.

Shit.

Deciding that Tate was more interesting than avoiding my pet peeve, I changed into a pair of jeans and a V-necked, teal t-shirt that Cami had bought for me. The girl was quite a shopper. She still couldn't cook for shit, but she could buy dinner like nobody's business.

I slipped into my best pair of snakeskin cowboy boots hoping the cowboy vibe would draw away any notion she had about getting me to sing on stage.

Captain's was a bar that all the students knew about. I'd heard tons of people talk about it now and again, but a regular bar was just fine for me. I walked the couple of blocks to the place simmering with all things I hated. The front sign boasted a Captain Morgan type character with a much creepier moustache and looked more like one of the three musketeers with a zoot suit obsession than pirate. People my age filed in and out as I stood there, giving myself one last chance to step away from the disaster inside.

A high-pitched squeal mixed with laughter caught my attention across the road and instantly my decision was made as my eyes caught up with the sound. It was Tate. There was no missing that untamed mass of hair, catching everyone's attention like a mass of unorderly flames. She was with another girl, a little taller than her sporting long brown hair. I hadn't realized until that moment how much I missed that laugh of hers. If her hair didn't already have the world on their toes, then her laugh alone would do it for sure.

There was nothing like it.

I couldn't help my eye roaming to the rest of her. The skirt was another one that would easily warrant a slew of sermons on everything from humility to modesty to the sins of the eyes. My eyes were committing a laundry list of sins at that very second. I chuckled as my gaze found her shoes, expecting to find those high shoes that make the guys take bets on how fast she's going to bust her ass wide open.

Instead, she wore purple cowboy boots.

Apparently that little detail wasn't going to save me from anything.

Damn, she looked hot in a pair of boots.

I raised my phone and took several pictures of her. It was stalkerish, sure. But it would also make excellent blackmail material later. Preacher would just about shit his pants if he saw his prissy little granddaughter wearing a skirt fit for street business—and we weren't talking about selling corn dogs either. If a good wind caught her, the Lord himself would shy away from that sight.

Preacher wife would fall out with an aneurism.

One time she sent Cami home, after she was married to Stockton, for showing too much leg in church.

Tate was showing enough leg for three women.

I didn't mind one damned bit.

They waited for the traffic to slow, several cars honking as they passed, and then crossed together, holding hands and giggling the entire way. I found myself smiling again in her presence, something I wasn't used to.

I hadn't regularly smiled since my mom was around.

Everyone thought the death of our parents was hardest on Stockton because he took the brunt of the responsibility after they died. He took in Willa, took over my parents' work, the whole bit without one word of complaint. And he'd done a fine job, no one would argue that for a second. Not even me.

And poor Willa, she was just a girl starting out when she lost them.

But I missed them just as much.

I think Stockton missed my father the most. I could've been very wrong about that, but he spent the most time with him. Dad taught Stockton everything he knew—even his little trips to town to help everyone out. He thought no one knew and I let him have it that way. All of us were close. I'd kill anyone who tried to mess with Stockton, West or Will. But it was a known fact that Willa and Stock were like mashed potatoes and gravy and West and I were the same. West made me angry enough to strangle him sometimes, but I'd pummel anyone who messed with him at the same time—the pecker head.

That was the kind of comment my mom would've popped me on the back of the head with a rolling pin for.

I missed my mom. I missed her every day. It struck me at odd times like that one, watching the girls cross the street with an anxiety-ridden pull in my stomach and not just about the singing or the crowded place. Tate scared me.

Maybe my mourning hit me when things happened in my life that I would usually call her up and tell her about.

I would've definitely called her and told her about Tate.

My mom knew about Jesse. She knew the whole thing. I made her swear not to tell anyone, even Dad. I didn't want Jesse uncomfortable coming around the house to see Willa or anyone.

And though she deserved every bit of it, I didn't want her reputation ruined—or smeared all over town.

Jesse did a good enough job of that all by herself.

My mom took my secret to the grave. When it happened a second time, Stockton and Cami were already involved and I couldn't talk to Willa—it was her best friend. So I talked to West.

Shit, I was such a mama's boy.

"You must be Bridge," the brunette, suddenly in front of me, extended her hand. I'd been in my thoughts way too long.

"I am Bridger. And you are?" I extended the pronunciation of the R like a toaster in the middle of an electrical mishap.

_See? Bridge_ r _, it's just an R. You can do it. All of you._

"Well Bridger, I'm Carter. And we know you know Tate. She's been telling us all kinds of stories about you two having fun at the crick."

She tried very hard to say creek like crick. It was a pitiful hillbilly accent if I'd ever heard one.

I wondered what kinds of stories Tate had been telling her.

Tate responded with a fierce blush that extended all the way down into her black top and probably far beyond that. At least that was a plus. I could still make her blush.

"Why don't we go in where it's very loud and not a good place for storytelling," Tate offered in a blatant attempt to take the attention away from herself.

"After you," I waved them inside.

God, I really don't want to go in here.

I did the gentlemanly thing and paid the entrance fee for the three of us to get in. Carter stood aside like she expected the gesture while Tate loudly protested.

"I can pay for myself. This is not a date."

"No one said it was a date, Ms. Self-Reliance. But I'm a Southern boy and my mama didn't raise a scoundrel."

"A scoundrel! This boy is priceless," Carter cackled. "Tate, when you go home, find me one of these boys, pretty, pretty please. I need a piece of Southern ass. I wonder if he'd ask permission before he—never mind."

She stopped her sentence as my eyes and Tate's widened in sync at her friend's—openness.

"You're going back home?" I inquired as the character behind the window stamped our hands indicating we were old enough to drink.

Tate threw Carter a look that would kill small bunnies. Apparently, Carter got the drift and began to backtrack.

"Oh, um, Bridge." _Sweet baby Jesus, I'm never going to outlive that name._ "Can you get us a table while I score some drinks? You're a vodka rocks man, yeah?"

"That'll do," I said, stupefied at why Tate wouldn't want me to know that she was going home. What was that girl hiding?

I watched her and Carter at the bar. Her hips, rounded and curved, swayed back and forth causing that sexy little skirt to do the same. Carter whispered something in her ear and Tate threw her head back laughing so loud that even the singer on stage paused to listen. I loved that she had no care about who saw her and whose attention she caught.

The guy next to her inched closer, I could see his game from across the room. He had the gall to rear back and take a real long gander at her ass.

Have some couth, man. She's not bacon hung up for inspection.

I gripped the tiny circle table in front of me. This wasn't happening. Tate was just a childhood crush—a fantasy never to be realized. I'd sworn off women for good. I couldn't go through another Jesse.

Before I knew it, I found myself behind Tate, slipping between Google Eyes and her, making it clear that it wasn't okay—what he was doing wasn't okay with me—or Tate.

She was a friend, an old friend. And I was saving her from a creeper. That was it. Nothing less and certainly nothing more.

"Darlin,' you ever gonna bring me that drink?"
Chapter Six

Tate

Bridger's deep southern lilt didn't just float down my spine; it latched on with velvet and silk and caressed it, inch by so-slow inch. The shiver that rocked me to my core hit me in the same way; a sultry tingle that began at my nape and rolled over me until my toes curled and my breathing hitched.

Where had that come from?

Just hours ago, I had to blackmail him in order to get him here and now he was working on getting me to spontaneously orgasm in the middle of the stickiest, filthiest bar in Nashville.

Good lord.

I picked up his requested libation and turned equally as slowly around so that our bodies were nearly pressed chest-to-chest. God, I could feel the heat of his body wrap around me and the pure masculine strength that he pulsed with.

For the record, this was not me. I did not swoon over boys, especially boys like Bridger Wright. I wanted my men to love fun as much as I did and to smile more than they could sulk. I wanted a man that embraced life and hunted down adventure. I wanted the life of the party and the optimist in every situation.

Because, the Lord knew, I needed optimism in my life.

I did not want Bridger's constant frowns and gloomy forecast of thunderstorms. He was blotting out my perfect view of the sun and I didn't like that I felt a sudden urge to buy rain boots and turn my face to the wind.

I didn't like any of that.

That's exactly why I lifted his short tumbler of straight vodka and took a generous sip. That's exactly why I held his burning green eyes the entire time. And that's exactly why I let my hip bump into his when Carter "accidentally" brushed by me.

I couldn't help it. I could admit that on occasion, I turned into a shameless flirt. But the night was young; hell, I was _young_. My twenties were made from nights like this and Bridger had the opportune advantage of being a childhood point of immature obsession.

Why not make him suffer just a little bit?

Just as soon as these butterflies quieted down.

When my hip touched his, it met his fingers instead of the perfectly shaped bone that would be corded with muscle beneath his worn jeans. They immediately flexed inside his pocket and his eyes popped with the electrifying sensation. The touch had been simple, short and so very innocent.

So then, why did my skin feel as if he'd lit me on fire and the flames had sucked all the oxygen from the room?

"I have it right here," I finally answered him.

With stilted movements, he pulled that same hand from his pocket and took the water-beaded glass from my hand. Our fingers brushed, but I had a feeling the touch had been purely accidental. Bridger's attention focused directly on my face, but instead of the interested expression that had heated my belly and touched me in a very physical way, he now looked at me like he was a detective and I was a homicidal murderer caught with a knife plunged deeply in my latest victim.

So... not in a good way.

Grumpy Bridger had joined us this evening.

Time for a distraction.

I leaned in so that he could hear me over the raucous of the bar and the terrible bellowing from the karaoke machine. I took up my whisky and lemonade from the bartender and held it out to him. He took it, looking down at my deceptively girly drink with mild disgust.

I smiled. I couldn't help it.

I didn't want to find his bad attitude so compelling, but there was something about that little-boy pout that reminded me of the little-girl crush I'd once had on him.

"Better get that table now so you can enjoy the show!" I shouted over the music.

"What show?" His thick brows dipped over those electric eyes and the corners of his lips turned down.

I winked at him and blindly grabbed at Carter's hand behind me. I yanked her with me as she tripped in her four-inch heels and sloshed her drink on some unsuspecting patrons. Not missing a beat, she righted herself and dropped her drink off on an empty table as I hurried her toward the stage.

"I thought we weren't singing tonight!" she hollered at me.

I tossed a smirk over my shoulder and shouted back, "I'm feeling inspired!"

"God, I love it when you get all spunky and spontaneous!"

We giggled and linked elbows. Walking straight up to the pair of guys standing near the stage pretending like they could care less they were next in line. I decided to use their too-cool-for-school attitude to my advantage. The girl on stage started the last chords of her upbeat pop song and the DJ pulled out two mics to pass off on the ballers with their gold chains and exposed boxers.

Bleh, did guys really think girls still went for the slobbish-gangster look?

Not this girl.

Give me a boy in well-worn jeans and a snugly fit t-shirt every day of the week. Add in some super-sexy cowboy boots and tussled, bed-head hair and I was a goner.

Oh, shit. I'd just described Bridger!

What was wrong with me?!?

Focus, Tate.

"Hey, guys," Carter started with the guys holding the mics. They looked a little green with stage fright. That was the thing about most people and karaoke. Everyone that thought they held any degree of talent wanted to go on stage and show it to the world, but only in theory. In reality, standing in front of a room full of people, baring your soul and singing your guts out was the worst kind of torture known to man. That was a fact. A tried and true fact.

Don't argue with me.

It was at this point, just mere feet from the stage, with the hot lights melting your face and the mic a live explosive in your hands, that people started to form serious second-thoughts.

Luckily, neither Carter nor I were bound by silly things like insecurity or fear.

At least with a little liquid courage and each other to hold onto, anyway.

"Hey," they answered her in unison.

"So, see our friend over there?" I asked. "He has to leave in a few minutes and we promised to serenade him for his birthday. Do you care if we cut in line and take your song? We know it's a rude thing to ask but-"

The mics were shoved into our hands. "Take it," one of them demanded.

And then they disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance.

"Well, that was easier than I thought."

"You're going to hell for all those lies. You know that, right?" Carter laughed.

I shook my head and let my ridiculous curls fly. "Mmm-mmm, no way. Jesus' favorite people were sinners. It was all those religious guys he couldn't stand." I grinned at her and waited for her next smart-ass remark.

Before she could come up with something snarky, the stage cleared and our turn was up. I looked at the monitor that revealed our song and burst into laughter. Carter joined me when she saw the title of our song.

Oh, gosh, no wonder these guys had chickened out.

I grinned at my partner in crime and then turned my attention to Bridger as he sat alone at a small table in the middle of the room. His arms were crossed against his chest and his drink had been drained. He looked obnoxiously uncomfortable. Part of me loved that he got so easily unsettled- especially if I was the one doing the unsettling. But the other part of me hated that he seemed so itchy in his own skin.

There was something seriously going on with this boy and I decided karaoke was just step numero uno in my new crusade to save Bridger Wright from himself.

Maybe I needed a little cloud cover in my life to save me from skin cancer- or, er, all the cancers. And maybe Bridger needed some sunshine in his world.

"All right, stop," I rapped as the familiar music popped to life in the speakers all around me. "Collaborate and listen. Ice is back with my brand new invention..."

Thankfully, as Carter and I rapped our little hearts out to _Ice, Ice Baby_ by Vanilla Ice, the music drowned out our own voices. Sure, the room would be able to hear them no problem with the amplifiers and mics, but our own ears were blissfully lost in the soundtrack.

Carter and I laughed throughout the song but hit most of the lyrics. I couldn't sing any better than a stray dog howling at the moon, but my rapping skills were surprisingly skilled.

Plus, Carter and I loved to dance, so there was plenty of that on stage. By the time I shouted out, "Word to your mother!" the entire place was on their feet shouting and clapping for us.

I threw my head back and laughed at their easy praise. Talented we were not, but our entertainment value could not be beat.

We passed our mics off to the DJ and jumped off stage. Two guys headed straight for us as soon as our feet touched the ground. They were both attractive and easily eye-catching with their pretty boy looks and clean cut style. By the familiarity they eyed Carter with, I had no doubt this was Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. So I ducked under one of their arms and darted off for Bridger.

I would be courteous later, but right now I had to see Bridger's reaction to my impromptu rapping. I'd lost sight of him when everyone stood up, plus I'd been a little wrapped up in the music.

When I finally pushed through to the table I'd spotted him at earlier, he sat there with his arms still crossed and his legs stretched out. A bored expression twisted his lips downward and even though I knew he could see my red curls and vibrantly cherry-red mini skirt, not to mention my favorite pair of purple cowboy boots, out of the corner of his eye, he refused to turn to look at me.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I let out a weary sigh and plopped myself right down in Bridger's lap. When his head snapped my way out of shock and not a little bit of horror, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him on the forehead.

"You're next," I told him. "I signed you up for Celine Dion. You've got about five minutes to get ready." He sputtered and his mouth made these fish-out-of-water movements that made me laugh hysterically. "I'm completely kidding! Do not have a heart attack on me! My Granddaddy would for sure condemn me to hell if I killed you!"

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the only thing I got out of him was a mumble that sounded suspiciously like, "It's not the heart attack that's going to kill me, it's this damn skirt."

That made me exceedingly happy.

"Not a fan of bad-nineties-rap? Or were you just disappointed that you'll never rap as well as me?" I pulled back my arms because he'd started to look a little panicky and I wasn't kidding before, I really didn't want him to die on me. That would be so bad for my afterlife.

"Who are you, Tatum Halloway? And what did you do with the girl I used to know?" He looked at me with a mixture of awe and confusion and something deeper, something that looked like fear and hurt and despair. I wanted to smooth all those rough lines on his handsome face and promise him that she was still in me somewhere, that I hadn't completely lost the once-innocent-and-naïve-tomboy I used to be.

But that wasn't entirely true. I'd done everything in my power to erase that little girl's virtue from my soul and I'd replaced her with a free spirit that knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. There had been nothing wrong with that good little girl, but there had been a hell of a lot of bad in the girl in between that one and this one. And after that, there had been a hell of a lot of growing up before I'd become the girl I am today.

It wasn't that I mourned my lost innocence, but I wasn't ignorant enough to believe I could go back. Life had happened in between then and now. A lot of life. A lot of scary, eye-opening life that had forced me to mature and demanded I dig down deep and figure out exactly who I am. So I embraced this "me." I stepped into this skin and decided I never wanted to leave. Maybe I would mature, maybe I would become wiser and more experienced, but I would never give up who I was or who I wanted to be. Not ever again.

So to Bridger, I said, "Obviously, I killed her and then fed her body to the pigs." He blanched at my morbid reply and I started giggling all over again. For being such a downer, he made me laugh constantly. I swatted his chest for letting my candidness bother him. "She grew up, Bridger Wright. Same with the obnoxious little boy you used to be. Life happened and we stopped being those silly kids and started being us, who we are today."

"And you're just happy with who you are today, aren't you?" He seemed mildly amused by that fact.

And cocky because he knew he was right.

So, I decided it was time to throw him off balance again. "I'm pretty happy with who you are today, too."

He all but dumped me on the floor as he tried to jump from his seat.

"Ah!" I screamed as his body moved into standing and mine slid off his lap, which had disappeared into muscular thighs bent akimbo. I flailed and headed gracelessly toward the ground.

He caught me under the armpits right before my ass landed on probably three decades of congealed cheap beer.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he helped me to stand.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I told him as soon as we were as eye-to-eye as we could ever be. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck up to look at him.

He snorted. "You didn't scare me."

"You all but threw me off your lap! Am I just that repugnant?"

He snorted again and his eyes darted down to my little red skirt- that had ridden up higher than it should have. _Oops_. I smoothed it down and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're _not_ repugnant, Darlin,'" he said in a deeper-than-usual tone. He kept his eyes focused on mine this time, without another inappropriate glance. We stared at each other, locked in some kind of unspoken staring contest. Somehow this was more intimate than anything else that had happened tonight. This burned into me as hot as fire and flickered with some secret of his that he would never tell me. A secret so deeply buried, I wondered if I would ever find out.

This time the tremble started in my ankles and slid upward over my thighs and across my belly. I shook out my curls to hide my reaction, but the shade of red his face turned made focusing on anything but his lips extra hard.

"There you are!" Carter's happy voice shouted behind me. "You just ran off, I didn't know where you went!"

I forcefully tore my eyes from Bridger's and back to my best friend who was now flanked by those same two guys that could not have been more different from my childhood nemesis than if they were aliens and Bridger was a grizzly bear. They silently screamed of different upbringings and flashed with dissimilar impending-futures. Bridger on one cliff, Sawyer and his friend on the other. An endless gorge of contrasts and convictions kept them separated.

The thing was, it wasn't even money that separated these guys. I knew Sawyer and his friend had money just from looking at them. They were clearly well-classed and not wanting for anything. But my Grams had told me the same thing about Bridger. Stockton, Bridger's older brother, had recently expanded his father's business and the entire Wright family had benefited.

No, it wasn't money that separated them, it was something much more intrinsic, something innately them, something they couldn't separate from who they were if they tried.

Carter's guys were all refined gentlemen and clean-cut pretty boys. Bridger was salt and earth; southern gentlemen in a way that proudly wore hard work and honest labor like a badge of honor or a blue ribbon around his neck. Carter's men were gym-muscles and name brand clothing. Bridger boasted hard-earned strength and just enough rough edges to make him sharp enough to do serious damage.

Carter's guys were safe.

Bridger was the pinnacle of a precipice and the top of a mountain.

Carter's guys were bright, happy and boring.

Bridger was a dark, swirling abyss of something dangerous and forbidden.

I had given up playing it safe when I was fourteen-years-old.

And then I'd given up gambling with my life when I'd turned seventeen because I needed all the life I could get.

So why-oh-why was I ready to take a flying leap off Bridger's brink just to see if he would reach out one of those carnal, masculine hands to catch me?

"This is Jake," Carter hitched a thumb at the guy on her left. "And this is Sawyer, the guy I've been telling you about!" She winked obviously. Typical Carter. To the guys she said, "This is Tate and her friend Bridger."

Sawyer- a guy with wavy, pomade swept hair and two dimples that offset his chiseled features- reached for my hand and shook it firmly but familiarly. "Hi, Tate, I know we just met, but I feel like I already know you from how much Carter is always talking about you."

Oh, geez. _Not a pick up line._

I smiled politely and turned subtly so that Bridger could be included, too. "Don't believe a word of it," I ordered Sawyer.

Bridger leaned in and shared a conspiratorial look with Sawyer. "Believe every word of it," he told the guy. "This one's trouble."

My mouth came unhinged and I stared at Bridger. Had he really just passed me off to some random guy from Carter's Econ class?

The nerve!

I had just been dismissed. By Bridger Wright.

Again!

Sawyer laughed at Bridger's joke and then the two men reached out and shook hands.

Before I go on, it is important to note the boy-behavior in this particular scenario. They did not growl at each other, they did not gnash teeth or throw me over their shoulders like caveman or bucks fighting for the doe they both set their sights on during rooting season. They simply shook hands, made jokes at my expense and went on with their lives.

There were some men that would have acted like alpha-douchebags if presented with that awkward introduction. And there were a lot of catty girls who would have acted worse.

But the truth was that neither of these guys had any claim over me or my dating life and instead of baring their knuckles and smashing beer bottles over each other's head, they'd tucked whatever aspirations they had for me away and made an effort to be cordial with each other.

And in the end it worked.

Because not only had they been kind to each other, but they'd forced me respect the hell out of both of them!

I tuned back into their mundane conversation when Bridger announced, "Thanks for the invite, Tate, but I should get going."

"Yeah?" I asked with a hand on my hip and fingers tapping impatiently against the silk of my skirt. "You got things to do?"

"That I do," he nodded and took a step back.

I didn't believe him, but I wasn't going to make a public scene about it.

"Homework?" I pressed.

"Always."

"You're leaving this for homework?" I asked incredulously.

He shrugged a helpless shoulder and I noticed for the first time how tortured his eyes looked. Hmm...

"I'm leaving this place before you make me perform Celine Dion," he tried to joke. "Careful, Sawyer, she's been trying to make me sing female power ballads all night. Don't let her con you into it."

Sawyer laughed.

Butt out, Sawyer! Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?

"Fine, leave!" I shouted playfully. "I'll sing _It's All Coming Back to Me_ by myself!"

He had made it almost to the door when he called out. "I'm just sorry I'm going to miss it."

"Don't worry," I warned him. "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it!"

He didn't say another word. He just turned and left. But not before I caught the look of pure terror on his face after my threat.

I wanted to toss my head back and let out an evil cackle.

Oh, Bridger. We were _so_ not done with this.

Well, metaphysically I meant that.

Practically-speaking, we were definitely over. He'd already left. And I had been forced to turn back to Sawyer and have a grownup conversation that required me to refrain from making all those classic Mark Twain jokes that sat idling on the tip of my tongue.

Like I said, Sawyer was perfectly nice.

Perfectly nice just wasn't what I was looking for.

Bridger might be the darkest rain cloud on the darkest day but now that he'd removed his presence from the bar, I felt more down in the dumps than ever. Was that how this worked? Or just how Bridger worked? Did he somehow superheat his raincloud so it gave off warmth instead of chill and safety instead of paranoia and fear?

If so, that was what I missed. Not anything but that comfortable heat I felt whenever I was near him and the mostly-uncomfortable tingling he brought out of me.

"Are you really going to sing Celine Dione?" Sawyer shouted at me over the screeching background vocals.

I smiled at him and shook my head. "Not for another..." I glanced at the clock and then at my drink, "five drinks. At least."

He threw his head back and let out a big laugh. When he met my gaze again, he was smiling a very charming grin at me and seemed to be genuinely amused. "In another five or so drinks, you might be able to convince me to join you."

I laughed too just as my stomach took a sharp dip and a cold line of sweat broke out on my forehead. No... _No, no, no, no, no_! The nausea hit me so hard that I swayed forward and just barely caught myself on the edge of the table.

"Whoa, there," Sawyer, grabbed my arm to steady me. "You alright?"

Crap. This was not exactly first date material.

I looked up and tried to smile at him. "I, uh, man, that drink really caught up to me! I'm such a lightweight! I was so kidding about all that before." I pressed my lips together and swallowed like thirty times in quick succession to keep from puking all over poor Sawyer's jeans.

"Oh, no!" And to give him some points, he sounded really bummed out. "Are you sure someone didn't put something in your drink? I don't mean this in a bad way, but you look really bad."

I let out a bark of bitter laughter. I knew he was right. Going by experience, I bet I was a lovely shade of putrid yellow right about now and the sweat beading on my upper lip probably the most attractive thing he'd seen all day.

"Someone definitely put something in my drink," I mumbled. "Just not tonight." I stood up on shaky legs. It was only going to get worse from here on out. The actually being sick part of my treatment wasn't supposed to hit me so soon. I'd only just gone in. Dumb, stupid, life-saving drugs that screwed with my social life.

"You alright, T?" Carter asked from across the table.

I shook my head and pulled on my earlobe casually- our signature sign for I-have-to-leave-now-don't-try-to-stop-me. "I hit a wall. I need to get back to the dorm before I start making really bad decisions." I winked at Sawyer. He looked terrified. I didn't know if it was because clearly something was wrong with me and I was trying to play it off or if he was that disturbed by my attempt at sexy.

"Do you need help?" Carter was already standing and gathering her purse.

"No!" I all but screamed at her. The last thing I wanted was for my smoking hot, super healthy roommate to spend her Friday night trapped in a stuffy room the size of an outhouse tending to me and all my stupid needs. She was young and gorgeous and her white count was normal, she should definitely stay out and make the best of that. "I'll be fine," I promised her. "As long as I leave now."

"Tate, seriously-"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "Carter, for real, it's just a couple blocks. Stay. Have fun. Sing Celine! I'll catch up with you later, yeah?"

She nodded slowly, her resignation to my wishes the sign of a true friend. "Yeah."

Another intense wave of nausea crashed over me and I closed my eyes to fight off the dizziness. "It was really nice to meet you, Sawyer. I'm sorry I'm such a drunk lush."

"It's fine, Tate," he rushed to assure me. I heard him stand and then his big hands cupped my biceps in an effort to steady me. "I'm really glad we got to meet though. Carter has been telling me so much about you. I'm just sorry you feel so-"

My eyes popped open and I sprinted from the bar. I could not hear him say the word "sick" out loud or I really was going to be sick. As horrible as I felt, the motivation to throw up in my own toilet was enough to spur me on.

I flat out refused to puke in the bushes.

It looked like Bridger wasn't the only one going home early tonight. I had a late-night date with the porcelain bowl and my hot water bottle.
Chapter Seven

Bridger

Something is seriously wrong with that girl. Something is seriously wrong with my brother.

Everyone around me is bat shit crazy.

Every damned one of them.

I didn't go straight home. Instead, I opted for The Pit, a pool hall close by. The place was full of pompous frat boys who thought they could play pool. They'd learned by lessons from their butler or some shit and then came to college thinking that they were the Black Widow. I was happy to take Daddy's money off their hands and watch their bleach blonde hair deflate along with their smile and their pride.

And their collars.

Heavens above, who told them it was okay to wear their collars popped up?

As I entered the place, it smelled like cake and peaches which was the opposite of how a pool hall should smell. A pool hall should smell like cigar smoke and double fermented beer and mud. That was the country boy in me.

There was a reason the place smelled like a cake bakery.

A group of girls to my right was smoking those vapor electronic cigarette contraptions. I remembered in the first grade when Mrs. Barr made us play the recorder for music class. I broke mine on the second day of class. That may or may not have been an accident. But if you asked anyone in my family, it wasn't an accident and we all knew it. That's what they looked like. Like a group of grown girls, dressed like they were going clubbing but playing smoking recorders.

And as I scanned the room it just got worse. Scouring my face with my hands, I tried to wake up from this douche bag filled dream. In the corner, all holding their cue sticks as if they could all take turns at the same table, were four Ken dolls. Three of them didn't look so bad, but the other one looked like a particular Ken doll whose father didn't let him play with Daddy's very special train collection when he was little. He was smoking on one of those recorder things with such veracity, he could've given Amtrak a run for their money.

He could use the pick-up line, "Wanna take a ride on a real steam engine?"

The only reason I stayed was because I didn't want to go back to the dorms just yet. I perched myself on one of the leather stools and ordered a Scotch rocks just for show.

The steamhead approached the bar and ordered some drink that looked like a frog vomited in a glass. The bartender didn't charge him, probably because he didn't want to admit to anyone that he'd actually known how to make that drink.

Alien piss, that's what it was.

"Hey man, you play?" Steamhead was now talking to me and I could feel the money already in my pocket.

I drummed up my hillbilly accent. If these boys thought you were from anywhere that wasn't city, they automatically took me for a sucker. "Yeah, I sure did play a little when we was in them hills back home."

Okay, maybe I took it a little too far.

"Oh, well, we have a little wager going on over there. Care to join us?" He talked really slowly which only accented his very city demeanor. Then he blew some of his cotton candy steam in my face.

Ass clown.

"I could try."

Here was the thing about taking someone's money. The first game had to be botched. You wanted to really prove to them how bad you were. Then the real fun started.

"Well, come on then." He motioned me towards the pool table in the corner and I proceeded to completely fail at pool. I made pool balls fly all over the place and hit the eight ball in three times before they decided I'd lost. I gave up my twenty dollar bill with a fake smile.

"You know, maybe this time I can do a little better." My hillbilly got stronger and stronger. It was like my inner Podunk roots were rebelling against being in the presence of so much douchiness.

"Well, let's try another game."

"Okay," I dug in my pocket, "All I got is this hundred."

"Well," Ken shrugged and took another puff of his magic dragon, "Why don't we all put in hundreds. That way it's fair."

Now we're talking.

Five crisp hundreds sat on the corner of the table. Beau, the kid's name was Beau, broke first and then tried to high five me. I sneered in his direction. And ten minutes later, I was fiving myself, five hundreds in my back pocket.

"Hey!" Ken was really upset now. When he yelled at me, puffs of steam came out of his nostrils too.

"You've got a little" I touched my mouth, "Stupid on your face. Next time don't assume that just because I'm wearing cowboy boots and talk a little slower that I'm your next target. Y'all have a goodnight now, you hear?"

One of the girls stood from the miniscule circular table and approached me as I tried to leave.

"Hey, sugar, you're going home alone?"

I looked her up and down. A pink strapless dress so tight and short that if I got her home, I wouldn't be surprised at anything she had to show me. She left nothing to the imagination with a dress like that. And I was a guy who liked surprises. Her blonde hair was long and fell down to land right at the curve of her ass which she flicked in my direction in reaction to my once over.

But it was her shoes that slammed the 'no' door in my face. Not that I was interested in the first place, but when I looked down at her silvery, more sparkly than a show pony, shoes—all I could think of were purple cowboy boots.

There was nothing sexier in the world than a girl in a skirt and a pair of cowboy boots.

I bowed out of her invitation as politely as possible and went straight home and attempted but failed at falling asleep without the picture of Tate on my lap pulsing through my mind.

The next morning, my phone rang way too early and normally I would've let it go to voicemail, but the caller ID read Tate.

"Hello?"

After several clearings of the throat, she spoke, "Bridge, I need hospital."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

She sounded like a sliver of her normal, boisterous self and something about the heaviness of her breathing scared me awake and into action.

"Call an ambulance, Tate!"

"No. Money."

Which meant she couldn't afford an ambulance.

"Text me your address, now."

I grabbed the keys to my truck and took off in the direction of the parking lot. She was still stubborn I'd give her that. Who cared about the cost of an ambulance when you were in trouble? I wondered what was wrong with her. She hadn't seemed sick last night. She'd seemed the opposite of sick.

Her dorm was only a few blocks down from mine and I left the truck running while I went to her room. Her dorm wasn't co-ed like mine was, but this was an emergency. I tried my damndest to look at the floor and only up to see the numbers on the doors. Finally, I got to her door and walked right in without knocking. By then she was on the floor, looking whiter than Preacher's picket fence and her hair clung to the sides of her face and her neck with sweat as their glue. Her t-shirt and pajama pants stuck to her torso and legs like her hair and the closer I got, the more she began to shake.

Two seconds was all it took to decide that an ambulance just wasn't going to be fast enough for me. I grabbed her purse, some little leather thing with a knuckle duster on it, picked her up through a slew of pitifully pale cussing and protests, and bee-lined to my truck.

That's when the shivering started again. By the time I climbed in behind the steering wheel, the teeth chattering could be heard above the roar of the engine. I reached over and buckled her seatbelt across her lap making sure not to clothesline her in the process and cranked on the heat.

I made a mental note to keep a blanket in the back from then on.

"Cold," she tittered out, desperately grabbing for the vents.

"The heat's on. Hang on."

And that's when I went against the cardinal rule Stockton had doled out when he bought me the truck.

Don't speed.

I was sure he meant, "don't speed for the joy of speeding." Certainly he didn't mean 'don't speed when there's a sick girl in the passenger seat. Even if he did—what Stockton couldn't see wouldn't kill him.

That was West's wisdom.

Her breaths became more and more labored as I drove and it seemed like the closer I got, the worse whatever was wrong with her became.

"Talk about something else," she said with closed eyes.

I didn't want to talk about anything else. The only real thing I wanted to discuss was why she didn't call 911 as soon as she knew something was wrong. And what kind of roommate leaves her like that without taking her to the doctor.

That's what I wanted to talk about.

But I also didn't want to upset her any further.

"Um—instead of studying last night, I went to a pool hall and swindled some city boys out of Daddy's allowance." I patted my pocket. "Five hundred bucks."

"Dirty." She managed a faint smile

"It was dirty. But they deserved it. They had the collars of their Polo shirts popped up. It was too much. I couldn't help myself."

When I looked over for her response, she'd passed out.

People passing out scared me. And the really weird thing was, it made me think about my parents. I hoped to God, every time I thought of the way they died. I hoped to God they'd gone quickly.

And that's when the emergency room with all its red crosses and reassuring signs came into view.

As soon as I parked at the entrance of the emergency room and pulled her from the passenger's side, scrub-clad women barreled from the automatic doors with a slim white bed and a wheelchair. After seeing her condition, they decided on the bed.

"Don't worry, Tate, sweetheart. We're gonna take you right in."

But Tate didn't respond.

One of the nurses asked me to move my vehicle—and with robotic motions I somehow managed not to wreck it.

When I went inside, the same woman pointed me towards those horrific waiting room chairs. The emergency doors that led to the place where she was refused to tell me anything, regardless of how long I stared at them.

Wait, how did they know her name?
Chapter Eight

Tate

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

In those first moments of consciousness, I was disoriented. I knew I couldn't be in my own bed or even back at my parents. But if not there... then where?

And that's when the steady, high-pitched beeping poked through my remaining drowsiness. I groaned.

The traumatic events of last night and this morning slowly infiltrated my memories and I covered my face with my hands. I let out a long groan of frustration, remembering who I'd called to get me here.

Damn it, I was so very over this thing.

And the last person I wanted to drag into my whole medical tragedy was Bridger.

Like seriously, the _very last person_.

But I couldn't get ahold of Carter. She must have gone home with one of those preppy cowboys and by the time I realized I couldn't avoid the trip to the hospital, none of my other emergency contacts answered either. My parents lived in Ohio. Otherwise I would have called them.

They had been livid when I told them I wanted to leave home for school. They couldn't help me out financially anyway, not with all the medical bills they were already paying. And since I had to pay for it all by myself, I decided they didn't have a final say. Still, I knew they wanted me to stay close to home because they were worried about me. Even though, I'd been in remission before I left.

I'd wanted to be close to my grandparents. And if I were honest, I'd wanted to get away from mom and dad. They meant well, and I knew they loved me more than anything, but they could be a little... parental. Through junior high, I'd dealt with their constant hovering while I tried to ruin my life. And then as soon as I got my life together, sickness had hit me and they hovered even worse. I wanted some freedom. I _needed_ some freedom.

Not that their concerns weren't completely warranted, especially after what I'd been through in the last two months. But this wouldn't last forever. I knew that. I needed this breathing room.

I spread my fingers and peeked through them. Bridger sat in the hospital-style rocking chair recliner ten feet away. He'd nodded off and his chin rested on his shoulder. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Even in his sleep, he looked grumpy.

I smiled. I couldn't help it. He couldn't be more adorable and I was a little disturbed by how much his boyish charm got me all hot right now.

I watched him for a few minutes as I devised my plan. Bridger clearly had something going on in his personal life and I didn't want to add to that. I would do anything to take back my desperate call in the week hours of the morning.

Plus, we were having some difficulty just being friends again. I didn't want a friendship out of pity or good will. I wanted Bridger to be my friend because he wanted to be. I wanted him to drag his ass to karaoke because he wanted to, even if he was reluctant. I didn't want him to start showing up places because he was afraid I would die if he didn't.

Like literally die.

Because I wasn't going to. But obviously Bridger wasn't a glass-half-full kind of guy and if I started explaining my symptoms and condition and treatment... he might freak out.

And the alternative... that he cared about me so little that it wouldn't bother him at all... well that was worse. So much worse.

The nurse came in with a fierce expression on her face and I knew I was in for it. In fact, I could already hear the start of her thirty-minute lecture.

Cary and I went way back, since my freshman year. She was the nurse I had during my first check-up here, and she'd been so completely awesome that I'd asked for her during the second six-month check-up second semester of my freshman year. During the third, just two months ago, when my test results didn't come back like we'd all hoped they would, she'd been there to hold my hand. And she's been playing surrogate mother for me ever since.

I loved this lady.

I did.

But she was about to unknowingly fill Bridger in on every bit of the part of my life I wanted to keep quiet for now.

I couldn't let that happen.

So I made myself meet her angry blue eyes and I molded my expression into my own stern don't-mess-with-me face and put one finger to my lips.

She raised her eyebrows at me like, "Say what?"

And I was all, "Shh!"

Only we had that conversation silently.

I gestured at Bridger and then dragged my pointer finger across my throat.

Her eyebrows shot even higher into her graying blonde hair and she gave me a "WTF?" expression.

I let out a giggle.

"Not a word," I mouthed.

"Girl," she shot back. "You are sick!"

"I know that!" My hands moved wildly around me.

"I know you know that!" At least she could keep our conversation soundless. Bless her. But her hands and body moved as much as mine did. We looked like mimes on meth. "Who is he? He's hot, Tate!"

I snorted and then we both fell into silent giggles.

"No one," I mouthed.

She pursed her lips and waved her hand around. She was so not buying that.

"I don't want him to know," I told her instead.

She jabbed a hand at him. The gesture was obvious. How was it possible to keep it a secret now? He'd brought me to the hospital. Obviously, he knew something was going on.

"Tate!" she silently screamed at me.

"Don't!"

"Girl!"

"Cary!" I pointed two weak fingers at her as sternly as I could.

And that's how Bridger woke up to us.

He cleared his throat and we both looked over at him with guilty expressions on our faces. Then we both cut our eyes back to each other with a silent warning.

Then we both started giggling again.

"How are you doing?" Bridger asked, wisely ignoring our silent antics.

"Good," I answered too quickly. I tried to sound positive, but my voice was overly bright. I tried to sit up and show him I was fine, but my body collapsed back on the pillow. Damn it, the third day was the _worst_. I rubbed my hand over the permanent port in my chest that made my treatments so much easier. You couldn't see it, but I could feel the hardness of it beneath my skin.

"Good?" Bridger did not look convinced.

I didn't exactly blame him.

"Oh, this?" I gestured at my thin hospital gown and then grabbed for the sheets to hike them up to my chin. "This is nothing. Just a bit of food poisoning." I glanced down at my arms and noticed a rash for the first time. It covered every inch of skin I could see and mostly likely kept going to the places I couldn't see. _Damn!_ Where did that come from?

"Food poisoning?" He looked even less like he believed me. He shifted on his seat and leaned forward. His eyes flashed to Cary and demanded the answers he foolishly thought she would give to him.

That girl was on my side.

"Mmm-hmm," Cary warbled.

Okay, maybe she was on my side, but clearly she was terrible at playing it cool.

She started checking my vitals, and I got the impression it was mainly in an effort to escape Bridger's suspicious gaze. His eyes burned from across the room, and I knew, _I just knew_ , he was ready to move heaven and earth to make sure I felt better.

A small part of me crumbled and then melted into goo because of that.

Bridger wasn't just the gentleman type. Or the kind you took home to your mom. Bridger was the White Knight kind of man. He didn't just fight battles for you, he conquered, destroyed and smote the enemy to the ground.

Despite the whole surly, pissed-off-at-the-world thing he had going on, there was a really great guy hidden inside him. Or at least from what I remembered of him.

"You got food poisoning?" Bridger asked slowly.

"Yep." His green eyes narrowed on me, and then flicked up to Cary, who happened to add my next dose of anti-nausea medication to my IV at just that moment. " _Really_ bad food-poisoning."

"Are you sure, Tate? Because you were nearly passed out when I found you this morning. I don't think food poisoning-"

"I have Celiacs!" Shit! Why did I say that! I panicked. That's why. _But shit!_ I didn't really know what Celiac Disease even was! I mean, a gluten intolerance, sure. But what did that mean? Was it more than just not eating bread? Shit again! Now I was going to have to give up bread! "I accidentally ate gluten last night. My body was not happy with me." Understatement of the year. Try, my body wanted to murder me. Was _trying_ to murder me.

Plus, I loved bread.

Why did I say that? Why did I lie?

"Oh," Bridger replied. He settled back in his chair and seemed to accept my answer. "So that was an allergic reaction of sorts?"

I cleared my throat and committed to this stupid lie. "Yeah. An allergic reaction."

He looked at Cary again. She kept her back to him while she tried to stare me down. I ignored her completely. She could yell at me later.

"So does that happen often, because everyone seemed to know who you were when we got here last night."

"It does. I, uh, I have a hard time paying attention to my diet." Well, that part was true at least. I really didn't pay attention to what I ate. And maybe that would catch up with me someday, or maybe I wouldn't live long enough for it to matter. The important thing was... I loved junk food.

So.

Yep.

Bridger still looked skeptical, but I didn't think he knew what other questions to ask. And it wasn't like I was going to offer him any answers. I smiled at him.

"Okay, I'm done with you for now," Cary announced. She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed as hard as she could. "By the way," she gestured at my splotchy body, "that's from alcohol. Did you drink last night?"

I nodded meekly.

Her glare turned fierce. "I know you were warned about what would happen if you mixed alcohol with-"

"Never again!" I threw my hands up in surrender before she said something else. "I'm sober from this day forward. I promise."

"Good."

I bit back a wince and tried to glare at her discreetly. "When can I leave?"

"The doctor wants to see you before you go. And she'll want to run some... She'll want to make sure all your levels... She'll want to go through the usual routine with you."

I was too annoyed with having to see Dr. Masters later to really care about all Cary's sentence detours. And I couldn't help but be proud of her creativity. Still, it was late Saturday afternoon. Dr. Masters wouldn't be back to the hospital until tomorrow morning. I really didn't want to stay overnight.

Thankfully, my deductible had already been maxed for this year. It didn't cover ambulance costs, but this visit would be paid for.

So, really, I didn't have a reason to demand to leave. I knew Dr. Masters wouldn't make me stay unless she thought more observation was necessary. And I knew without a doubt, Cary would have fought for my release if she didn't think I needed to stay.

"So not until tomorrow?" I asked. There was always a small possibility Dr. Masters was already at the hospital, then she might stop by today yet.

Cary nodded. It had been a miniscule chance. I hadn't really expected to leave before then.

"But she ordered everything before she left this morning. You'll be good to go as soon as she checks you out."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I would make Monday morning classes then. I had been saving my absences for when treatment got really intense and scheduled each round on Thursday afternoon, so I could go through the bulk of my misery on Saturday and Sunday and then look like crap on Monday, along with the rest of the student body.

Cary finished up and patted me affectionately before saying, "I'll be back with some Jell-O."

Jell-O was my absolute fave. It didn't matter how often I had it or if the hospital only carried cherry and orange. I loved it.

"Are you really okay, Tate?" Bridger watched the door where Cary had exited, but his low tone made me certain this moment with him would stay with us for a long time.

I waited until his gaze drifted back to me. It took a while. I could tell he didn't want to face me. And who could blame him? I knew I looked like one hot mess. My red hair fell in limp, frizzy strands all around my face and the hospital gown did nothing to show off my figure. It was like the anti-flattering outfit.

When we finally locked gazes again, my stomach clenched tightly at the look on his face. He seemed... frightened. And my heart about broke into a hundred-thousand pieces. His jaw ticked with his nervousness and his hands clenched the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

I thought back to what I'd heard about his parents. They'd died in an accident. A fire maybe? Had they suffered before they died? Had they been laid up in the hospital for days on end?

Oh, god, what if I had brought him back to the one place that would resurrect more haunting memories than any other place?

I hated that. And myself. How could I have been so callous?

"I promise, I'm fine," I told him. I cleared my throat of the emotional thickness that coated it and tried again. "Bridger, really, this was so silly. I'm sorry I called you."

"It wasn't silly," he argued. "I'm glad you called me. And I'm glad you're fine. You scared the shit out of me." He ended with a shaky laugh and I joined him.

Bridger laughing was about the most beautiful sound I'd heard in a long time.

"I'm such a drama queen! Just ignore me next time!"

A small smile touched his mouth. "Like that's possible."

My stomach flipped and my heart squeezed. Was he flirting with me? I wanted to come back with something super cute and witty to say but then he looked around the room again and a cloud came over his expression.

I wanted to spend more time with him. Hell, I was half-tempted to ask him to wait out the day with me. But I didn't want to put him through anything more. And I didn't want him to be here when they started the blood tests. Those were always more scary-sounding than they actually were, especially to someone who hadn't been through them a million times.

"Hey, I'm good now," I told him. And the words actually hurt coming out of my mouth. "Why don't you head on home."

His brow furrowed and he went back to looking angry. On any other person, all that surliness would have driven me crazy! But somehow on Bridger, it just looked hot.

Part of me wanted to fix that about him. Part of me _needed_ to give him more reasons to smile. And the other part wanted to keep him angry forever, just so I could stare at him. He was like this statue of a god, chiseled, regal and bent on destruction.

The destruction of my weak heart.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to leave you alone."

I nodded because the word "yes" straight-out refused to leave my mouth. "I have to call Carter anyway and have her bring me up some clothes. She'll hang out with me." _It's the least she could do for abandoning me this morning._

"Oh, alright." Bridger stood up and shifted on his feet. He looked around the room one more time before finally finding me again. "Feel better."

It was a demand. He didn't ask me to feel better, he commanded me to. Despite the general agony I felt at the moment, a shiver skittered down my spine and butterflies punched me in the stomach.

"Okay."

"I mean it, Tate."

I smiled. "Okay."

He relaxed some. The tension in his shoulders lifted and his jaw stopped ticking finally. "Call me when you get out of here. I want to know you got back to the dorms alright."

"Okay," I repeated. Again. Did I not know any other words?

He seared me with those intense green eyes. The tension in his shoulders that had just left returned lightning fast and his entire body tightened into a coiled force of energy. Something passed between us at that moment, something sizzling hot and so powerful my knees felt shaky even while I was lying down.

And then he left. He just walked out of the room and left me alone.

Bridger Wright, what am I going to do with you?

I laid in my bed for a long time pondering that question. By the time I texted Carter and when she had shown up an hour later, I still didn't have the answer.

But by then, I'd decided whatever I did with him was going to be a whole lot of fun.
Chapter Nine

Bridger

The fun thing about hospitals was that you could leave the room and the patient thought you were gone.

What was she gonna do, get up and check?

Ok, I admitted it may also be the creepy thing about hospitals.

Reluctantly, I slipped out of the room and spotted Cary, the nurse who I knew was well-versed in all things Tate Halloway, but had a terminal case of tight lip.

"Don't look at me like that." She caught my gaze as she flitted through clipboards and used the information to erase and update the enormous whiteboard behind her, conveniently wiping away Tate's information before I could see it.

I sauntered up to the nurses' station, making sure to stay out of view of Tate's room.

"Nothing?"

She waved her finger at me, without turning around, in a negative answer.

It was worth a try.

Anyway, knowing whatever was wrong with Tate felt—intimate. It felt like something a guy in a relationship with her would know. He would know her favorite shirt. He would know what rides to take her on at a carnival. He would know why she crinkled her nose when she saw animals right before she bent down to pluck them off the ground and smother them.

I didn't know those things anymore about the girl turned woman lying physically frail, but mentally fierce in the bed not so far away.

She didn't need me in there—obviously didn't want me in there.

Nope—that's what boyfriends did.

And I am _not_ anyone's boyfriend to be used to hold their hands and hold their hearts while another held her hair while they screwed her into oblivion.

Not ever again.

I knocked twice on our dorm door, making sure it was nice and loud so that my dimwitted brother could pulls his pants up or get the girl dressed—whatever awkward state he'd gotten himself into and had no shame about sharing in the spoils.

"Who is it?" West was fumbling around probably wiping up the blood.

This was my chance to get him back for once.

Steeling my posture, I conjured my most feminine voice. "Strippergram."

It didn't come out as sultry as I would've liked.

"Strippergram? Is that where a grandma strips? Eew."

Some guys around me had become audience to our little fraternal exchange and weren't being very quiet about it.

"No, it's like a birthday song, but from a stripper."

That high pitched mimic hurt my throat.

"It's not my birthday."

Now the whole hall had come out to witness West's stupidity and my lack of thespian skills. Any other time, my brother would've thrown open the door and ravished whatever girl was at the door before she crossed the threshold.

When I wanted him to react, he gave me shit.

"It's a congratulations on your grades."

There, that should've worked. I didn't know why I was carrying on this shenanigan so long. Tired of standing there, waiting for him to answer, I slumped down onto the floor.

"Midterms are next week. Come back then."

He finally opened the door and I fell, back first, into the opening, my legs flailing into the air.

"You do a shitty girl impression. Anyway, I could see the tips of your shoes under the door."

He could figure that out, but couldn't figure out a steady way to pick his boxers up from the floor after he showered.

I swear, Mama dropped him.

"Just shut up." I pushed off the floor and walked into the room, listening to the drowning snickers from the hallway dissipate.

"Stockton called. He said he had something to talk to you about."

"I'll call him later."

West sat across from me, on his messy side of the room, wearing only jeans and a baseball cap. There were books opened everywhere.

"Were you studying?"

He scrambled to close all the books and replace the top on the highlighter. "Yeah, I study. Isn't that what we're here for?"

Wait, West knew we were here to study? That was news to me. I truly thought my little brother had come here to party and screw—those were the only things I'd ever seen him do lately.

"Yeah. It's just usually..."

"I know. Usually I'm acting like a Daniel Tosh version of a man-whore."

Actually, that was a perfect description.

"What do you know about Tate Halloway?" I tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing, toeing my shoes off and then peeling my socks down, stuffing them into the discarded shoes, all while looking anywhere but at West. The pompous jerk was going to read way too much into my question—I knew he was.

"The question is—what do you know?"

I walked into the bathroom and proceeded to brush my teeth—my mouth tasted like how hospitals smelled, like green beans soaked in bleach and encased in pungent rubber tubing. I was simultaneously ignoring his questions and thinking up an excuse for asking him about her.

"I saw her today—she's different."

He scoffed. "What, you thought at twenty she could still be wearing pink overalls and have that curly red hair out to kingdom come in frizz? What I do know is, she's fine as a mutha—got curves for days and that ass..."

I came out of the bathroom to survey his face. Sometimes you couldn't tell with West. One minute he'd be climbing up the wacky tree and the next he'd be as serious as a funeral.

This time, judging by the smirk on his face and the gyrating dance he was performing in the middle of the room, I could tell that his words were only to goad me.

"Shut up, Pest." Pest was a name Stock and I called him when he got out of hand. "I mean as a person, what do you know about her?"

He shrugged. "Nothin.' I could put my feelers out on her though."

My expression must've shown my disgust for his using feelers and referring to Tate in the same sentence. "I mean, I could ask around. See what's up with your girl."

"She's not my girl. I don't do girlfriends anymore. They can't be trusted and you know it."

That I knew, there were only three examples of girls that didn't lie and cheat. One was my mother, one was my sister and the other was Cami.

West began to gather his books into his backpack after throwing on a Hurley t-shirt. I smiled at him checking himself out in the mirror. He'd been doing that since we were kids, refusing to go anywhere without the proper grooming.

"Call Stockton. Use Tate for the spank bank. But mostly importantly, get some sleep, old man. You look like hell. I'm going to study. Tonight? Pizza and Call of Duty?"

"Yeah, see you then."

I waited for him to be long gone before calling Stockton.

"Hey, Bridger!"

Cami answered the phone instead of Stock, but I could hear him in the background, talking to Willa about something.

"Hey, how are y'all?"

She sounded like she was moving around the house. "We are fine. Oh, here, Stock is making grabby hands towards the phone."

As he took the phone, Stockton cleared his throat. "Hey, Bridger. What's up? West said he didn't know where you were."

There were two roads I could've taken at that point. One, I could've told Stockton to blow it up his ass, I was a grown man and West didn't have to know where I was every single second of the day. Or two, and that was the road I knew I'd take down deep in my heart, I could tell Stock where I was to ease his mind.

"I took Tate to the hospital."

"Who is Tate?" Cami squealed from somewhere near their phone, listening in.

"Tate Halloway, you remember her, Stockton?"

For a few minutes after that, I had to endure Stock giving Cami a very fast-talking version of what he knew of Tate, which was basically the same as everyone else. Poor girl, got picked on a lot (mostly by me), big red hair, freckles for days, and cute as a button.

She was anything but those things now. Tate was smart and sassy. She had moxie and spunk—all those energetic words. She was lively, with a hint of mischief pulling at her curls.

But the best thing for me was to keep my head down, keep on the course and leave the redhead to bounce through her life without me.

I wouldn't be able to take the heartbreak as deep as the one I knew she'd cause.

After explaining about Tate's supposed food poisoning, we talked for a few more minutes and solidified my plans to come home for Thanksgiving break, bringing my bratty brother with me. There was never really a question as to whether or not I would go home—I missed my family, what was left of it.

~~

"I know you don't dig surprises. But your brother has a tiny one for you. So act surprised—I just didn't want you to blow a gasket."

I flicked a piece of biscuit at Cami across the table. "What do you know about gaskets California Dream?" West laughed at my joke until she pinched his arm.

She flipped her hair across her shoulder. "I know they're part of a combustion engine." Well, that surprised me. "And I also know you're not gonna blow one thanks to your dear sis-in-law."

Stockton bounded into the room. "I don't know what you said, Cami, but damn if I don't hear a little country lilt growin' on you."

He bent down to kiss her as she sat at the table and she giggled in response. "Doesn't matter. Hillbilly twang or not, I'm still your Duchess."

Tate Halloway would never be able to settle down into a life like this.

She was too—vivacious for this country life.

Stockton's bass voice brought me out of that thought. "Well, thank the good Lord for that. Bridger, there's something I want to show you."

Cami gave me a drawn-out, dramatic wink as I rose from my seat and followed Stock outside. For a while, we stomped the land without a true path. Looking around, I took in all the changes he'd made—building the new barn, digging a new pond off to the side of the property, and the new ducks now swimming in it.

"You know Mama was a bit of a hoarder, right?"

I laughed. Our mom was an old mountain hoarder. She wasn't like those ladies nowadays who hoarded anything and everything. She hoarded the good stuff. Since she'd died, we'd found cases of moonshine everywhere—buried.

She'd buried it all.

"I remember a little. She made me help her."

He furrowed his brow at me. "You used to do it too. I remember you burying shit all the time."

There was no telling how much good stuff was underneath this family dirt just waiting to be discovered.

"Here." He pointed to the ground where a shallow hole lay empty, its contents had been removed. "Cami and Willa have been using metal detectors around the property. They say it's fun, but really I think they use it as an excuse to get out of chores. They claim they've found something and then dig and dig for days. Usually they don't find anything, but this time, they did."

I looked around the vicinity of the hole to see what they'd dug up, but came up short.

"What did they find?"

"I'll show you. Follow me to the workshop."

A barrel of thick smoke came from Stockton's workshop, what once had been my father's workshop. We went in and the smells and air of the place took me back to my childhood. The heat of the orange embers glowing, the way the smoke permeated my nose and took up residence for days and days after I'd leave—I could almost hear the sound of my dad's hammer striking the metal for whatever creation had been commissioned.

Stock kept it pristine and organized just like my father had—it was his homage to my dad's legacy.

"That's yours." He pointed to a new addition to the place. A bench, almost exactly replicating the one my father used to work at, was perpendicular to Stockton's with every tool specific to silversmithing hanging in regimented lines along the wall.

That was me—the silversmith.

Stockton had been taught the art of blacksmithing, but I'd been taught the art of silversmithing—both by our father. It seemed he knew what he was doing. Stockton, with his broad shoulders and brute force, was more apt to metalworking. I, on the other hand, while similar in build, was more attentive to the smaller details.

While Stockton made gates and archways—I made chainmail and candlesticks.

Stockton made knives and machetes—I made bracelets and goblets.

It was a lot more masculine than it sounded.

My trade was a little more industry specific. I'd gotten some small commissions from museums and cosplay participants, but other than that, my talent didn't have as broad of a spectrum as Stockton's.

"Thank you, Stock. I've been wanting to work."

He clapped me on the back— hard. "I know. And that over there is what Mama left for you."

I approached the big tin can he pointed to over at the corner of my new workbench. I jangled the container in my hand, listening to the sound of what Mama had thought was some kind of treasure before looking inside. The rusty can was chockablock full of—forks. Not just forks. Knives, spoons, and even a ladle were all stuffed inside that #10 food can that had probably once been used for something stupid like creamed corn or corned beef.

"It's like she knew." Stock pondered. "Now you've got some silver to work with."

"Thanks, Stock." I threw the words over my shoulder, already bombarded with ideas on what to make next.

"Yep." Was his only answer as he pulled on his gloves and apron and used the bellow to stoke the fire hotter than before.

A book of sketches I used to keep with me was standing on end near the can. Flipping through the leather-bound pages was like turning the pages of a photo album. I knew where I'd been and what I'd done at the time of each drawing.

An urn—it was drawn at my Aunt Daisy's funeral when I thought her urn was too plain.

A goblet—from the first time I'd seen Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. When they showed all those goblets, I knew I could design a better one.

A necklace—for that hussy Jesse.

That page got torn out and crumbled to fuel the fire later.

I got to work quickly, melting down the ladle first taking pride in sweating and creating things surrounded by the ghostly history of my family. Intending to make a necklace first, I'd shaped out several links when I realized I hadn't decided on a specific design.

I might as well start with page one.

But as I turned to the first page, my thick gloves getting in the way, an emotional swift kick to my gut reminded me of my first design, my first sketch, the first thing that had come into my mind when my father took me under his wing and taught me my trade.

A tiny bracelet with a plate engraved with the word: Tate.

Damn it all to hell if I couldn't get away from that woman.
Chapter Ten

Tate

"Tate, Honey, eat something."

My grandmother, the sweetest, fiercest, godliest woman I had ever known eyed me over a piece of pecan pie and I felt my stomach churn. I eyed the pie and swallowed back more vomit. I could not survive puking again. I honestly couldn't. If I puked one more time, I would die. That was just the way of it for me right now.

My Grams was also one of the most beautiful women I had ever known. She still carried her height but had filled out over the years. I wasn't one to talk. The women in my family started out shapely. It just got better with age and some sugar. I had her stormy gray eyes and curly hair. Hers had turned white years and years ago, but once upon a time we shared this unfortunate color of fire-engine red.

She was the most important woman in my life, other than my mama, and she was worried sick about me.

"Grams, I cannot eat that. I promise you. I can't even look at it without wanting to gag. Please, put it away. I'll feel better in a little bit."

Her cool hand cupped my jaw and she leaned in to plant a kiss on my forehead. "It doesn't seem fair that you should be sick, my baby girl. I just don't know what the good Lord is thinking."

I smiled at the waver in her voice. Rarely, and by that, I really meant _never_ did my grandmother question the will of God. I had never heard her complain or vent or even doubt God's sovereign will for our lives. This woman was as saintly as they came.

But, on the other hand, I didn't understand either. I didn't know why I had to get sick. Again. Or go through these awful treatments. I just wanted it to all be over. For good. But I had to finish out this round first, and then we would decide. Dr. Masters had optimistic expectations for my prognosis, which in turn gave me hope.

Last time we went through this, I hadn't been nearly as favored to pull through. But I did. And I had treated every day as a gift since then. And I would continue to treat every day as a gift until the day I actually up and died. That included all these days too.

It didn't matter if I felt like the room wouldn't stop spinning in circles, or the cold sweat I'd been rocking since I drove up here for Thanksgiving break had given me the sexiest pit stains ever.

What mattered was that I was still alive. I could still drive myself and Blue Beauty up here and spend holidays with my aging grandparents. It mattered that tomorrow I would feel good enough to eat Thanksgiving dinner- hopefully- and that I would be so full, the only pants I'd be able to fit into were my baggiest sweatpants.

Those were the most important things in life. Not my illness. And not my inability to eat pecan pie tonight.

I could have the whole damn thing tomorrow if I wanted.

"I'll be fine," I promised her. "I'll be better by tomorrow. You just wait and see. Save the whole pie for me. I'll eat every last crumb." I kissed her cheek and then added, "For breakfast."

She sat back on the creaking kitchen chair that had been in this house since before my mother had been born. My grandparents lived in the parsonage that the church my granddaddy pastored paid for. Not much had changed during his long preaching career. The peeling walls displayed cream wall-paper with pretty, faded blue flowers over in swirling patterns. The oak cabinets protested every time you opened one and the matching table had been a fixture in this room since its creation.

My grandparents' house was the perfect mixture of nostalgia and comfort. It was exactly what I needed to heal my soul and my aching body.

That and my grandmother's homemade chicken noodle soup.

"If I made you some soup? Would that make you feel better?"

I nodded. "Please." I laid my head down on my folded arms and watched my grandmother move around the kitchen. I had never felt this tired before. Actually, I hadn't known it was possible to feel this utterly exhausted. The weariness seeped into my bones and made a home in my hollowed out soul. I wasn't sure I could keep fighting this. In moments like this, I wasn't sure I was strong enough. "Thanks for helping me feel better, Grams. It's nice to be back here."

She shot me a smile over her shoulder. "It's nice to have you here. And it's about time. This is your second year at that school, you should have been back home much sooner."

"Mm." I didn't have an excuse and so I didn't give her one. The truth was that this town was a little bit hard for me to return to.

I loved my grandparents, but life here had not been easy. My parents were dirt poor growing up. Like poorer than poor. That left my family as somewhat of a charity case.

It didn't help that my granddaddy was a preacher and his congregation felt obligated to reach out to us. There were times when I felt so embarrassed of my family's lack of wealth, I could still burn from the pain. My blood sizzled beneath my skin just thinking about the pitying looks and covert whispers. And then there were times when other people's kindness is what got us through the day.

There were good people in this world. People that made living worth it. People that reminded you humanity wasn't lost. There were people out there that didn't look at you like they felt sorry for you. Instead, they met your bashful gaze and promised they understood you. They believed in you.

They cared about you.

One woman in particular stood out above everyone else. Bridger's mom. She had been so good to my family and me. She had sent help and offered support without making us feel useless. And she'd somehow made sure we had enough without making us feel lacking.

I hated that Bridger had to lose her, that any of his family had to lose her. She was beautiful inside and out. More than beautiful. She was breathtaking.

A knock at the door pulled my attention back to the present. I looked up at Grams and waited for her to announce who she was expecting. She looked just as confused as I did.

"Probably someone from church," she mumbled. She started wiping her hands on her apron and I dragged myself to standing.

"I'll get it, Grams."

"Now sit back down." I could feel her worrying over me and just her concern gave me the extra energy I needed to make my way to the front door.

"I'm not a complete invalid," I called over my shoulder. I walked through the cozy living room and to the paned-glass front door. Two blurry figures stood on the other side of the etched glass. I squinted and tried to make out whoever stood there under the bright porch light.

No such luck. I couldn't see.

I yanked hard on the heavy door and then nearly slammed it back into place.

Shoot.

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

Bridger stood on the other side of the door with one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in real life. She had long dark hair and huge green eyes. Her clothes were a little boyish for her clearly-feminine figure and her broad grin was full of confidence and natural ease.

_Damn it._ I hated her on sight.

I knew it wasn't fair to her. But I couldn't help it.

I also couldn't take my eyes off her stupidly pretty face. I wasn't usually this vindictive, but she had somehow managed to capture the white unicorn, aka Bridger Wright, and dragged him over to Preacher's house, while he had done nothing but avoid me for the last two weeks.

I'd called him just like I promised I would. I had hoped for some kind of drawn out conversation that led into coffee or dinner or a hot and heavy make out session where we both flirted with second base. Instead, he'd been polite, chivalrous and completely removed.

I thought he might call again after that. But he hadn't. I'd let myself get busy with the library job, studying for midterms and then go through an intensified round of treatment so I could take this week off and so I wouldn't have time to think of him anyway.

Okay, that was a total lie.

I'd thought about him constantly. I'd even considered coming clean about my illness, just so he'd have a freaking reason to think about me.

But nope. Nothing. He even managed to avoid the library.

During Midterms.

I wanted to hate him. But instead, I decided to hate the leggy brunette.

A throat cleared and I stopped imagining myself pushing the harlot backwards off the steep porch. I lifted my eyes and met Bridger's burning green ones.

"Hi," he said simply.

I cocked a hip and rested my shoulder against the doorjamb. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" At least he sounded as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"I thought you knew I planned to come back for Thanksgiving?"

"I did." He shot a nervous glance at the brunette who was now grinning like an idiot at me.

What was she so happy about? Was it that obvious he couldn't stand me?

Bridger didn't say anything else at first and I didn't know how to move on from this weird greeting. I glanced down and noticed he was holding a plate of something covered in foil and so was the girl.

"Okay, so if you knew I would be here, why are you acting so surprised to see me?" I should have moved out of the way so they could come inside, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to make him suffer a little bit.

Bridger cleared his throat again. "I knew you would be here, but I... I forgot you would be _here_."

"That makes absolutely no sense, you idiot." The brunette had stopped smiling and now stood glaring at Bridger.

I felt an absolutely irrational need to defend him. "Hey! You don't need to call him an idiot!" I glanced at him again. "Even if he is an idiot."

"Oh, lord," I thought I heard him mumble under his breath. "Will, go wait in the car."

I was getting seriously dysfunctional vibes from these two. If this was the kind of relationship he was looking for, maybe it was a good thing he wasn't interested in me.

"I will not wait in the car," she bit back. "I want to meet your friend." Her impossibly wide smile was back. She balanced her plate with one hand and extended her other. "Hi, I'm Will."

I took it warily. "I'm Tate."

"Tate?" She quirked her head and didn't let go of my hand. In fact, she gripped it tighter.

I nodded. "Yep. Tate."

"I've never heard of you, Tate."

Well, this couldn't get any more uncomfortable. "I, uh, I'm sorry?" Shit, did she hate me too? Did she think Bridger had been cheating on her or something?

Oh, my god, was I a home wrecker?

I hadn't even done anything wrong! At least not technically...

Sure, I'd been kind of pursuing Bridger, but he had never mentioned a girlfriend once. Not once!

"Tatum, who's out there? Invite them in already!" Gran's voice called from the doorway to the kitchen. "Oh, Willa! Hi there! Forgive my granddaughter, she's lost her manners recently."

I stepped back so Willa and Bridger could walk in the house. The name Willa sounded super familiar, but I couldn't place it and it started to drive me crazy.

"Do you remember my Tatum?" Grams asked the two visitors. Without waiting for a reply, she continued. "Tate do you remember Bridger Wright from when you used to live here? Or his sister Willa? How far apart are you two anyway? It seems you're closer to Bridger's age than Willa's."

"We go to school together," I blurted awkwardly.

Sister. She was his sister. Now the name clicked and her striking features stood out familiarly. She was definitely a Wright. The jealousy and irrational rage faded away and I could see all those obvious family attributes she wore so proudly.

"Yes, ma'am," Bridger echoed. "We go to school together."

"Well, isn't that wonderful!" Grams cooed.

"I was going to say interesting." Willa smiled at me with a hint of mischief sparkling in those bright green eyes. I wasn't sure if I should smile back or run and hide in my bedroom.

Grams finally spotted the two plates the Wright kids held out to her. "What did you bring, Bridger? Why don't you haul those into the kitchen for me and we'll see what Cami came up with this time."

The three of them shared an amused smile, but Bridger did as he was told. Willa and I stood awkwardly in the living room for a few beats before either of us braved conversation. I was usually better at small talk than this, but the drugs were still messing with my system and I just didn't feel like myself tonight.

"Are you sick?" she asked bluntly.

I shook my head quickly but couldn't bring myself to out-and-out lie. "I'm really tired. I had a big week."

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry." Her hands clenched against her stomach and she blushed bright red. "I didn't mean anything rude."

I laughed. "It's fine. Seriously. I know I look like death. You don't have to be nice about it."

She smiled at me again. "I like you."

"Thank you."

"Are you busy tomorrow?" She took a step closer to me and dropped her voice. I had the impression she didn't want Bridger to overhear.

Which made me instantly curious.

"I mean, it's Thanksgiving..."

"Yeah, but like after," she whispered. "Are you helping with the church meal?"

"Oh, of course." Like my grandparents would let me get out of that. Cancer. Typhoid Fever. Ebola would not stop them from forcing me to spend my evening with the less fortunate in their humble community.

Not that I was complaining. I was actually looking forward to serving those people.

And to being on the opposite side of the serving line this time around.

"Good." She glanced over my shoulder. "I'll be there too."

"Yay?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "My brothers are all morons. All of them. Not one of them was blessed with brains. That all fell to me. _Luckily_ they have me and I'm going to help you out."

"Oh, boy," I sighed. "I feel like maybe you're going to get us into trouble."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I am! It's going to be so much fun!"

"For me too?"

She glanced into the kitchen again and then said sincerely, "I hope so. You like him, don't you?"

I bit back a groan. I could lie to this girl, or I could carpe diem the crap out of today. I felt like utter shit. My next treatment was going to be brutal. And my parents had been dropping hints about a visit. I had no reason to be optimistic.

Except for maybe this one small thing.

"I do. Like you said, he's a moron. But I'm starting to think maybe I have a thing for morons."

"That is excellent news!" she squealed. "I'm enlisting help. I hope you don't mind."

"Good help?"

"The best."

"He's going to kill you, isn't he?"

She laughed like the evil villainess I knew she was. "It's so worth it."

"Willa, now tell Cami that she doesn't have to put herself out. I just appreciate her company. She doesn't have to bake for me too." Grams walked back into the room with Bridger at her side.

He glanced suspiciously between us and didn't relax. Willa and I took a step apart and smothered our conspiratorial grins.

Willa swallowed a laugh. "Cami loves to bake."

"Now, no lying, Sugar," Gran scolded. "But I will say, she's getting better. The crust on that pie is almost edible."

I wondered who Cami was and why she would bother baking inedible pies. Seemed like a waste of time to me, but then again, my mama had me in the kitchen with her ever since I could stand on a chair and help her knead dough. Baking wasn't something I struggled with.

"We have to get going," Bridger announced. "Stockton will be wondering what happened to us."

Willa bounced forward and wrapped me up in a quick hug. I immediately responded. God, this girl was so full of life. I loved it.

"We'll talk tomorrow," she whispered before pulling back.

Bridger walked by me with narrowed eyes. "You two are best friends now? I was gone two whole minutes."

I shrugged one shoulder and pressed my lips together. Willa walked over to the door, ignoring him completely.

"Happy Thanksgiving, ma'am," he called over his shoulder on the way out the door. "Hey, Tate."

"Hey, Bridger."

He paused in the doorway while Willa took off through the cold night for their car. Grams wandered back into the kitchen which seemed out of character for her, but I wasn't going to complain.

"Food poisoning again?" His green eyes glittered as he took in my baggy sweatpants, my frayed t-shirt and greasy hair.

"Are you saying I look like bad?" I pushed at my hair self-consciously. I knew I looked bad, but yeesh! He wasn't supposed to call me out on it. Besides, I was way better today than I was yesterday. That should mean something. I should get points for that!

His lips twitched and his eyes brightened. "That's not what I said at all."

"You think I'm ugly," I accused. I didn't really think he thought that, but I wanted to tease him.

"I don't think you're ugly."

And okay, I wanted to hear him say that too.

"I need a shower," I finally admitted.

"Maybe," he laughed. "What are you and my sister up to?"

I laughed nervously. "I have no idea." And that was the truth.

He grunted something unintelligible in reply. "Have a good Thanksgiving, alright?"

"Alright." I took a step forward and then remembered my smelliness. I couldn't remember putting deodorant on today. Probably a sign that I did not put it on today. I decided to leave him some breathing room. "You too."

"Yeah, alright," he nodded and then walked backwards out the door. "Later."

"Later," I called back.

I shut the door behind him and a slow smile spread across my face. I didn't know what Willa had planned for me or tomorrow night, but I couldn't help but be excited.

I finally had an ally in the Wright family. And I might finally make some forward progress with this confusing boy.

That was enough for me to forget my sickness for one night and prepare myself for Gram's healing soup and maybe get excited enough to eat some.

Next time I came face-to-face with Bridger, I was determined not to look like a corpse. He would have to get me in all my full-of-life-never-give-up glory. I wouldn't just smell good, I'd look good too.

My raincloud wouldn't know what hit him.
Chapter Eleven

Bridger

I smacked my palm against the steering wheel for the millionth time. It was too much to ask for her to come to Constance and keep company with a storm shelter or maybe take part in some survivalist program—far, far away in a cave—where I didn't have to see her—or think about her—or have to look her in the eye and tell her that she wasn't ugly.

As if any man in their right mind would ever think that Tate Halloway was anywhere in the same hemisphere with ugly.

Hell, she wasn't even in the same hemisphere as pretty—she was drop dead, hit your head on the floor, and sleep forever in a coma, gorgeous from head to toe. Stupid me thought it was the cowboy boots or the tight skirts. I'd made up excuses about it—imagined that if you put that outfit on any girl they would appear just as attractive.

I was a dumbass.

Willa was right—she got all the brains in the family.

Even disheveled and unshowered, the girl put the word beautiful to shame—made it cower in the corner and beg for forgiveness for even thinking it stood a chance against her.

God, I've become this internal sap.

It just added to the ridiculousness that was Bridger Wright lately.

It was embarrassing enough to have to bring Cami's inedibles to Preacher Wife's house as a gift—they were more like a punishment. Poor Cami—she tried. She tried so hard to be a normal, everyday Pioneer woman. Her pies smelled like they were freezer burnt—either that or burnt to a crisp—nothing in between.

Me? I didn't even try for some semblance of normality. Like earlier tonight, I just stood there in the doorway of that house that made me feel like a sinner at heaven's doorstep as I looked in at her, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

I couldn't even tell her goodbye. I said 'later' like I was so street. I was the very opposite of street—or gangster—whatever in the hell it was called.

Grade A bastard, that's what I was.

Someone print it on a shirt.

It was one thing for her to be at school where it was easy to avoid her—but here in this tiny town where it was breaking news every time someone farted crooked, it was almost impossible to avoid anything. I was surprised we'd made it a whole two days without running into each other.

Then again, she looked like she hadn't made it out of the house much. Tate resembled the faint green from when I'd taken her to the hospital before.

I wondered why she always looked frail. She didn't act frail.

"Tomorrow is going to be fun." Willa's head was turned toward the window. Her voice carried a tinge of mischief in it—always had. More like a whole suitcase of mischief. There was a way in which you dealt with Will Wright. If you let on that something was up and you were privy to it, she'd make the follow-through truly painful in the way that only sisters can make things painful for their brothers. Like embarrass them in the worst way possible—or have them kicked in the nuts—or belittled in front of a hot girl.

One time she took a pair of battery operated clippers to the back of my head after she saw it on Jackass at a friend's house.

Stockton banned her from that friend's house.

And I had to shave my head down to the skin.

Still, I loved the goof. And I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt her.

"Tomorrow is going to be work. We have to feed over a hundred people and then deliver meals to the ones who couldn't get to the church."

Since I was old enough to carry a basket of biscuits or a jar full of cranberry sauce, I'd spent my Thanksgivings at the church helping out. Dozens of turkeys were deep fried or baked, and everything that went with them was prepped for a day of sharing.

'Only in sharing and kindness can we truly give thanks.' That was what my dad used to say.

Lord above, please let Cami not try to bake pies for tomorrow. The church will never have another parishioner again. They will all go to hell rather than eat more of Cami's pies.

"Of course it will be work. But there's always fun to be had, especially now that I've got a new friend."

She said the word friend like most people said alliance.

Willa said friend and I heard cohort.

I refused to acknowledge the hole that the hillbilly twins, now the hillbilly trifecta could get me into.

I threw the truck into park but locked the doors with the automatic button when she tried to get out. The gleam in her eye read matchmaker. I'd seen that look before. She'd set up West on so many dates, there was no one else in town for him to date.

"Look Willa, don't go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. That girl is nothing but trouble."

Sexy as hell, makes me want to grab her up and kiss her senseless trouble—but trouble nonetheless.

Trouble like Tate Halloway comes with a side dish of scandal.

She turned on me in a blink. "What part of 'I have a new friend' has anything to do with you Bridger?"

"The part where you two were whispering about something when I came back in the room. Don't meddle, Willa. Besides, she practically threw me out of her life the last time I saw her. She doesn't want anything to do with me. Leave it be."

She didn't seem impressed with my commands. Instead, she rolled her so big they were almost cartoonish eyes at me and flicked with the door handle, demanding I let her out.

Why couldn't I just have brothers and a sister who minded their own business? It would be easy. We could just buy one of those houses that is so big you can just live your own life without ever seeing the other people. Stockton and Cami could make-out on their side, West could do all the nasty things he does on his side,Willa could meddle in outsiders' business all she wanted and I could stay in my wing, oblivious to the world and Willa's blatant disregard for my adamancy against anything that had to do with Tate Halloway.

I didn't see the issue.

We could be one of those dysfunctional families.

Those seemed nice.

I popped the locks on the truck and she jumped down. My bold sister practically ran up the steps to the house and past the open screen door. It was cooler than normal for this time of year, but not nearly cold enough to warrant heat. Cami probably had it open to waft out the gag-worthy aroma of her mincemeat pies. Whoever told that woman that people in this town liked mincemeat pies should be tarred and feathered, old-school style.

Through the lit window of the kitchen, I could see Willa and Cami, head to head, talking about something.

No, not something—someone.

Nope, I wasn't having it.

I stomped into the kitchen and gave them my best stink eye.

"What crawled up your ass and rotted?"

Leave it to West to ruin a perfectly angered moment.

"These two are conspiring against me." I pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the Wright girls. "Willa and Cami are—they're—they up to something!"

"Ooooohh..." West clapped his hands together and rubbed them maniacally. "I wanna help. Is it about Tate? I like her. She's gingerlicious. He's been a real dicktater since Tate showed up."

I canted my head in his direction as he said "dicktater." I really thought he was going to say that other word that I'd banned him from saying or talking about the action that it described.

He was also banned from potatoes in general.

West was a real sicko.

He stood. "I didn't say that word. You nearly took my left nip off the last time I said it. And I only did it that once—just as an experiment."

"What's he talking about? I didn't understand half of it." Stockton came into the room from outside smelling of embers and ash. It reminded me of my dad, who would, by the way, roll over in his grave if he heard West using words he'd found on the Urban Dictionary.

"Here let me show you." All three of them huddled around West's tablet as he showed them the Urban Dictionary online.

I tried to interrupt. "I don't think Willa should see that."

Cami slapped a hand over Willa's eyes before she could get that kind of education. At least someone listened to me once in a while.

A clap rang out as Stockton popped West on the back of the head.

"Boy, you need to go to church. Our mama would die a second death if she knew you were using that kind of language—and around our sister! That's it. You're sitting in the front pew on Sunday."

West turned off the tablet, still laughing at everyone's disgust. Sometimes, I thought West did all these things for the shock factor. He consistently came up with ways to keep us shocked. Any time we tried to talk about Mama or Dad, he'd turn into a jester.

"If I sit in the front pew, Preacher will spit on me. And if Deacon Jacobs does the praying, he's liable to cannon his dentures at me. I will vomit—right there in the church. I swear to G..."

"West!"

Cami and Willa were huddled together laughing their asses off at Stockton's glaring offense at what we already knew about West.

He was the clown of the family. His comedic tendencies had been smothered in the last few years, but college life with me had apparently awoken the beast.

Nothing was going to stop that. Not a knock on the head, not first pew in church and certainly not prayer.

Believe me, I'd tried praying for him until I was blue in the face.

"Can you at least curb your vulgar mouth through Thanksgiving?"

West rolled his eyes. "You're no fun anymore, old man."

A rage boiled in Stockton's eyes. He hated being called "old man." West had apparently pushed that button one too many times. Cami's eyes bulged out. She knew something bad was about to happen. West's antics had gone unchecked by Stock for too long.

Run, West, run!

"That's it."

Before we could stop the spiral of madness, Stockton had West by the collar and was dragging him outside with a smile on his face that only the rest of us could see. West clung to the doorframe, the railings, and then finally in a desperate attempt, grabbed the elephant ears Cami had planted by the stairs—but each time, Stockton jerked his hands-free and continued on like he was pulling a spider out of the house—deadly and vile. The three of us followed, Cami, Willa and I, not because we were concerned for West, but because it was hysterical.

Apparently 'old man' was the button to push if you wanted to crawl under Stockton's skin.

Around the side of the house, West begged in a feminine tone which he was a little _too_ practiced at. "Come on, Stock. You're not old. You're young and spry and such a big, handsome man. Look at those bulging arms, so sexy."

They were both laughing at that point, but Stockton wasn't letting up. He was wearing his overalls and you knew if Stockton was wearing overalls, he wasn't to be messed with.

It was a thing. Overalls equaled no bullshit.

"Shut up. Say you're sorry Weston Alexander Wright."

Stockton was holding the garden hose and though it wasn't as cold as usual, it was still cold enough for being sprayed with water to be a punishment. There were parts of me that shrunk up just at the thought.

West's palms were facing Stock. "Okay, okay. Shit. I'm sorry—old man."

And that was the moment we found out the real truth—the sick, ugly truth of my little brother. It was cruel for God to make him that way.

We all discovered his scream.

West Wright screamed like a cat being neutered with a red-hot spoon under no anesthesia.

It was embarrassing.

It embarrassed me to be his brother.

Stock hosed him until he was almost drowning.

Eventually, the torture stopped. Stockton and the rest of us were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. West finally got up, soaked but didn't look like the hosing fazed him at all.

"I'm sleeping with the sheep," West announced, trampling, dripping and faking anger, toward the sheep—the ones we didn't own.

"We don't own sheep, you moron," I called out.

West threw his arms up to the sky. "Can't a guy catch a break around here?"

"Alright you two. Stockton, that's enough. And West, take those wet clothes off before you come inside. Don't think I'm going to clean up that mess."

Cami had gone from giggling teenager to motherly matriarch in seconds.

"Fine. But I'm not sitting in the front with Sir spits a lot and the denture launcher."

That's when the spraying started all over again.

~~

By the time we'd started feeding the masses that came for the church's annual Thanksgiving dinner, I couldn't smell anything but turkey. The smell of sage and pepper coupled with the comforting aroma of poultry had embedded itself into my mucus membrane. I doubted I'd ever smell another thing in my life besides turkey—which wasn't a bad thing—ever.

"She keeps looking over here." Willa bumped my shoulder and some mashed potatoes from her industrial-size serving spoon flicked onto my shirt. I'm sure that was ultra-sexy—the instant mashed potato look.

Not that I cared.

Tate Halloway with her gingerlicious hair and sweet smile could just stay down there with the sweet potato pie where she belonged.

Gingerlicious—good Lord, I'm using West words.

I've lost it.

Whose bright idea was it to put my sister beside me in line?

Anyway, Tate wasn't looking over here at all. I knew because I'd been staring at her off and on for a freakin' hour.

"She's hungry. That's all."

"She's hungry all right."

"Knock—it—off."

Willa shrugged as the first person, Mrs. Miller, came to the line with three of her kids in tow. Her husband worked in the mines and times had been tough on them. One of her little girls had pigtails and a tattered dress. Wretched guilt washed over me as I realized how much she reminded me of Tate when she was little, minus the wild hair.

I was a little bastard forever making fun of her—trying to get her attention or not.

As much as I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about Tate. She distracted my every thought and turned it into something about her.

I could hear her voice, above all the others. They were all happy to see her back. Some recognized her instantly and some claimed they knew she looked familiar but couldn't place it.

"I'm tired of potatoes," Willa claimed after only twenty or so people and just left me to dole out turkey and potatoes—which was way more daunting than it sounded.

"You're gonna kill someone with that many potatoes. Death by starches."

I didn't even acknowledge her. Slanting my body backwards to look further down the line, I could see my sister and Cami—now serving the pie.

It wouldn't work. They could put Tate Halloway in my damned pocket and I still wouldn't fall for her charms. I was made of bedrock—unbreakable. She couldn't get past my walls. In fact, I'd decided that she didn't affect me at all.

"It would be a nice death."

"Is there such thing as a nice death?"

Tate didn't seem her usual vibrant self around me, so I allowed her one look. She looked better than the day before, but in the dress she was wearing, I could see she was markedly thinner than a few weeks ago and the crescents that hung below her eyes were darker and larger.

I didn't answer her question. It felt too intimate of a conversation with a girl who I firmly intended to ignore for the rest of my life—in theory.

The influx of hungry townspeople finally dwindled down hours later. Beside me was a girl who was completely worn out despite the niceties and sass she continued to serve everyone who approached her.

"It's nice to be on this side of the line." She whispered the comment. I didn't know if she meant it for my ears or not.

"It's a blessing to be on either side of this table."

She chunked her serving spoon into the mashed potatoes. "Have you ever been on the other side of the table, Bridger?"

"No. But I can imagine having a meal on Thanksgiving is a blessing."

"As long as the people serving it are gracious."

"Are you saying I'm not nice? You don't think I'm nice?"

I sounded like her the day before when she asked me if I thought she was ugly.

"You're perfectly nice, Bridger—and stoic—mostly stoic."

I wasn't stoic. Aloof maybe—standoffish, probably—but stoic?
Chapter Twelve

Tate

This boy. Did he want me to dump the entire pan of leftover mashed potatoes on his head? He had no idea.

Just like so many other things.

Bridger was nice and pretty to look at, but when he made up his mind, there was nothing to sway his stalwart opinion. Which would have been fine if he didn't have such crappy opinions!

"I'm not stoic," he laughed but it held a bite.

I swiveled to face him and plopped a hand on my popped-out hip. "And completely clueless."

He pressed his lips together like he had to force himself not to respond. His green eyes looked anywhere but at my face and he rocked back and forth on his heels as if there was just too much inside of him to hold in.

Bridger was on edge and I put him there. He was also pissing me off, so I tried really hard not to enjoy that.

Okay, I didn't try that hard.

"Come on," I goaded. "Admit it."

"Admit that I'm clueless?" His bright green eyes glittered dangerously at me. "What exactly do you think I'm clueless about?"

My fingers drummed against my hip. I had taken extra care with my appearance today and called in the industrial-strength concealer for the unsightly bags under my eyes. I had dropped weight over the last few months, which was always annoying, because I loved my curves and hated when I looked like a stick figure version of myself.

But I had a few clothes leftover from the last round of treatments. Tonight, I'd gone for some wide-leg dark denim jeans that fit like trousers but hid my weight loss. My V-neck burgundy sweater wrapped around my waist and gave the illusion that I still had that hour-glass figure I loved. My hair floated around my shoulders in wild waves and I wore my grandmother's emerald tear-drop necklace.

The necklace reminded me of a certain someone's eyes. And bonus, I was trying to get those eyes to notice the necklace. Or rather, where the necklace oh-so casually lay.

What? I wasn't above acting like a floozy to get this guy to at least acknowledge he could tolerate me.

But like... a classy floozy.

I leaned forward, and he didn't flinch away, so I took that as a good thing. "How about, what it's like to be so poor you can't wait for Thanksgiving just so you can finally have a full belly. How about, what it's like to sit at home every other night of the year, knowing your mama can't feed you and knowing that she's too proud to ask for help. How about, what it's like to endure the glowers and looks of disapproval from people who think you shouldn't be poor. Or that you're poor on purpose or something. People don't like to see the ugliness, Bridger. People don't want to have to face the hard things in life and feel a call to do something about it." I dropped my voice because I happened to be talking about a lot of the people in this room, and I was way beyond forgiveness for them. I didn't want to open old wounds or offend anyone unintentionally. When I began again, my voice was just above a whisper and Bridger had to lean in to hear me better. "People don't want to see a family that can't make ends meet or get through the month. They want to pretend that doesn't exist, so they don't have to do anything about it. If they acknowledge those in need, really, truly acknowledge their existence, then something inside us calls us to do something about it. And they don't want to be inconvenienced. My family and I were an inconvenience. My brother and me were filthy, and scrawny and looked like little street rats running around underfoot and in the way. Nobody wanted to deal with us. Hell, nobody wanted to acknowledge we existed. It's not all charity and goodwill on the other side of that line. And I know you've been through some hard times, and I would never even think of belittling what you've been through. But," and I pointed a very angry finger at the now-empty receiving line, "You've never been over there. So don't pretend like you know what it's like."

I couldn't look at Bridger anymore. I couldn't even be around him. Like the over-dramatic girl I could sometimes be, I hurried out of the church kitchen and down a back hallway.

I grew up in this church and knew all the secret places like the back of my hand. The halls and rooms were dark at the end of the night. Those that remained were busy in the kitchen, packing up the leftovers to deliver to homes. The rest of the church was eerily quiet as I moved quickly from hallway to hallway.

It was actually pretty creepy. Like the setting of a horror movie.

A secret I would keep to my dying day. Granddaddy would not tolerate those kinds of fears.

Once I made it to the sanctuary, I started to feel a little silly for running away. But I'd already committed to my escape, so I figured I might as well stick to it. Besides, now that I was in this familiar place, I wanted to search out my old hiding place and reminisce about the past.

I had realized back in the kitchen that I had some unresolved feelings about my childhood. The years we lived in Constance were very rough.

Well, the years after we lived in Constance were pretty rough too, but in a different way. Sure, we still never had money, especially after I got sick, but we had more money than we did in Constance. My dad got much better job once we moved to Cincinnati and while it kept us firmly in the lower-middle class, it actually had decent benefits. My medical expenses weren't nonexistent, but my parents managed the deductibles and still got food on the table.

That was about a thousand percent better than how we'd lived in Constance.

Even with my granddaddy as the preacher, people didn't look at us as a family in need. They looked at us like a nuisance. Maybe more so _because_ granddaddy was their spiritual leader. Maybe they expected some kind of divine intervention with our grocery bill and because there wasn't one, that reflected poorly on their Preacher.

Or maybe they just didn't want one more thing to deal with.

I didn't know. And I didn't really care.

I didn't even feel bad about our wretched state. I'd long gotten over the embarrassment of being the ugly child in second-hand clothes and shoes that didn't fit. But it was that feeling... the pity I'd seen in Bridger's eyes when I'd accused him of not knowing what it was like. It was the memories of standing on the other side of that food line and praying with all my might, with every beat of my small child's heart that they would put two scoops of potatoes on my tray and an extra slice of turkey.

It was that feeling. The feeling that I just wanted to be full for once. For once in my whole life.

I'd been through a lot in my life. I'd faced chemo treatment after chemo treatment. I'd faced doctors with grim diagnoses and endless hospital stays. But it was those moments when I was small and confused that I hated the most. It was when I didn't know any better, I didn't know that death wasn't so scary or there were worst things than going hungry. When I was little, being hungry was the worst thing in the world and I hated that all the grownups around me looked at me like it was my fault. Like I should know better than to feel anything but starving.

A knocking on the wood-paneled wall pulled my attention back to the present and I looked up from my place on the floor to find Bridger hovering over the edge of the baptismal.

"Can I come in?"

I let out a weary sigh. "I suppose." I gestured around at the white walls of my secret hiding place.

"Isn't this a little... blasphemous?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

I tried to stop the smile. I was never really mad at him and now I was mostly mad at myself for acting like such a spaz. "I used to sneak in here as a little girl. Whenever I'd get trapped at church with Grams or Grandaddy, I'd hide away in here until it was time to go."

A small smile tilted Bridger's lips and apparently against his better judgment, he crawled over the side of the enormous tub and slunk to the floor with me.

"Preacher never found you, did he?"

I laughed harder than I thought I was up for. A lightness drifted over my body and took some of the pressure off my heart. "Nope! And don't you dare tell him. He'll make me say prayers from now until Easter!"

He shifted positions trying to get comfortable in the awkward space. He turned his face away from me but then his shoulders started shaking and a chuckle forced its way out of his chest. Pretty soon we were both laughing hard and smiling at each other.

"He would make you pray until Christmas," Bridger said as soon as he settled down. "Christmas ten years from now."

I grinned at him. "It might be worth it. This place was definitely worth it when I was a child."

"Why, Tate? Because you were poor?"

I met those perceptive green eyes of his and held on for dear life. This boy could see right through me. He could see everything. With one intense, intelligent look, he saw all the pieces that made me up, the beauty, the flaws, and the places I wanted to keep hidden. He saw me.

All of me.

"Because I was poor, sure. But it was more than that. It was a weariness I wore like yoke around my neck and a hunger that never went away. I didn't get it, Bridge. I was just a kid. I didn't understand any of it. But I learned at church, at school, in this damn town, that being poor was wrong. And I learned that fast. My family came to worship and all I wanted to do was hide. And then eventually I did hide."

"Because of me?"

I had never heard such a broken man. I thought back to his obnoxious pranks and all that confusing attention. "No." I felt my cheeks heat to match my hair. "Not because of you. You and your family were some of the good people that gave me faith in a better world. Your mama meant more to me than I can express to you. And you... you were just... well, you weren't as _stoic_ back then."

"You don't have all bad memories of me then?" He'd inched closer to me on the floor of the baptismal. We faced each other but now our bent knees lined up next to each other side-by-side.

Shivers racked my arms and I forced myself to stay still. My stomach felt fizzy, like someone had shaken up a can of Coke and then opened it inside me.

"I remember you well, Bridger Wright. And there are plenty of good memories mixed in with all those bad ones."

I thought he would laugh at my dig, but instead his brows drew down and his mouth turned into a frown.

"I remember you too, Tate Halloway. I'm not the only one who's changed. You say I'm more serious now, but I have reason to be." He leaned into me and his finger trailed a line from my heart to my throat. His fingers brushed aside the emerald necklace and made a path that I would feel long after he left me. "You can pretend all you want, Tate, but something's changed inside you too. You're more carefree than you were, but there's something serious in your eyes. I might not know how it got there, but I know something bad had to happen to put it there. Did you really get food poisoning the other week?"

My heart jumped in my chest. He was too close. He was too sweet. I couldn't even think with him touching me like this and he wanted me to remember that I didn't want him to know everything about me?

I couldn't lie to him like this. I couldn't hide the truth when I'd been so honest about everything else. But I wasn't ready for him to know either.

I didn't want him to stay friends with me because he felt sorry for me. And I really didn't want him to run away from me because he was more afraid than he needed to be.

I hated the idea of Bridger giving up on me.

I hated the idea of having to see another pitying look from him or worse, a callous look that would tell me he didn't care enough to have feelings about it one way or the other.

So, instead of feeding him some bullshit I'd have to make up on the fly, I did the only other thing that happened to occupy my brain space at the moment.

I leaned in and kissed him.

He startled at first contact. I knew he didn't anticipate me making the first move and he probably would hate me for it in the morning.

He'd probably feel abused.

Sexually.

Bridger was one of those old-fashioned guys that thought men should rule the roost- I could just tell. He probably opened car doors and watched his mouth around the delicate female sex. I was positive he stood when a woman entered the room and I had no doubt he removed his hat at the dinner table.

And I loved that about him. I would love every second of being a pampered woman at the mercy of such a chivalrous male.

But I was also a freed, liberated female of the twenty-first century. I could pump my own gas and order food for myself. I managed to drive long distances while consulting a map and not get lost in the middle of nowhere. I could check the oil in my car.

Hell, I could even change a tire.

If I left everything up to this man, to this man that wanted nothing to do with relationships and was scared of anything with estrogen, our lips would never touch. He would continue to ignore me and continue to let his past haunt his future.

I, myself, had a very unforgettable past, so I felt like he could learn something from me.

Like how to let go and live a little.

Bridger had jumped, but he hadn't pulled away. I took that as a good sign.

His lips were surprisingly soft in contrast to his hard, compacted body. I had expected dryness and cracking. Instead, I found the sweetest tasting sin.

After a moment, when he still hadn't pulled away, I slanted my mouth over his and kissed him again. This time his tongue swept across my lower lip and a shudder worked its way over his body. I gasped at the contact and he immediately deepened the kiss.

I was definitely going to have to add great-kisser to the list of names I called him.

Bridger's lips moved over mine with greedy desire. I loved the feel of his roughened jaw brushing against mine and his wet lips as they worked me into a fever.

The passion of our kiss escalated into something stronger. I could barely hold back a moan as I matched kiss for kiss and tangled my tongue with his.

In fact, I might not have exactly muffled that moan.

But he tasted like nothing else ever had. And he kissed me with the same fierce seriousness he approached everything in life. Which meant it worked for me.

Soon we were clutching at each other's clothes and he had leaned back against the tub wall. I followed him, refusing to let even a breath separate our hungry lips. I knelt between his outstretched legs and even though we weren't really touching, the position was alarmingly erotic.

It took me all of four seconds to become addicted and then I was pretty sure I would never be able to leave this position again.

Unless more touching was involved.

His hands gripped the hem of my sweater and mine grasped at the neck of his t-shirt. I wanted to kiss him forever.

I wanted to taste him forever.

"Tatum," he murmured against my lips and I swear I almost lost my mind.

I loved my name rolling of his wicked tongue. Loved it way more than I should.

I let my hands trail down his chest and reached for the hem of his shirt. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to see what else he was so secretly talented at. I wanted to see all of him.

And since I didn't have the superhero skills he did, there was only one way for me to get down to the very essence of Bridger Wright.

And I planned on making that happen. Right now. Tonight. In the baptismal.

Shit.

I pulled back a couple inches. "Shit."

"What?" he panted. He looked half-dazed as he blinked at the white, sloping walls surrounding us and then back at my face.

"We're in the baptismal. We can't do this in a baptismal. Think of how many years Granddaddy would add to my sentence." I had been trying to make a joke out of our awkward situation, but it didn't exactly work with my grumpy caveman.

"Shit," he echoed.

So I'd been wrong about him watching his mouth in front of the weaker sex. I liked that.

I _really_ liked that.

"We can just-"

My suggestion to move our little makeup/make-out session was cut off when Bridger scrambled to his feet and repeated his, "Shit."

I reached for him, intending to call him back and relax his mind about everything but he'd already hopped over the wall and taken off down the hallway.

Damn.

There he went again.

I sat back on my heels and pressed a hand to my swollen lips. Sure, he'd stolen his kisses and then ran but I couldn't stop the smile from stretching across my face.

He'd kissed me back.

He'd lost his mind enough to kiss me back in a baptismal of all places.

This boy was going through something, but he hadn't shut me out completely.

Now, I just needed to force him into another cramped, enclosed place basically shrouded in complete darkness and convince him to kiss me again.

Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Chapter Thirteen

Bridger

I pounded the carpet down the right aisle of the church, in between pews that seemed to frown at me in disgust. I didn't understand pews. They weren't comfortable, they weren't comforting, and they certainly didn't make coming to church inviting. In fact, sometimes I didn't want to come to church specifically because of those pews.

I allowed myself one glance back at that place—that tub where most people find solace from their sins in a public display of their newfound second chances.

The place where people found hope.

The place where I'd lost myself in Tate.

I'd nearly lost my shirt as well.

At this point, I was pretty sure I'd won the race of raunchiness against West. Maybe I should be the one to sit in the front pew from now on.

One touch of her lips and I was gone—I'd forgotten who I was and who I was striving to be. The walls I'd so securely fashioned out of my own fear, she'd torn down while her fingers knotted in the hem of my shirt.

I'd expected a slap to crack along my face after I kissed her back. Even though she'd kissed me first, in some part of my mind she was still the preacher's granddaughter and I was definitely the sinner.

Before getting to the door, I heard a noise from that now sinful baptismal behind me. As much as Tate liked hiding inside of the space, it sounded like she was drowning in it.

When I finally got there, she was splayed out in the bottom like a damned octopus. But as soon as she looked up and saw me, she tried to strike some poised pose. "Come back for more?"

"I thought you were dying in here." I reached out a hand and she took it. Immediately, I was reminded of the affect her touch had on every cell in me.

"No," she sneered. "Not yet, anyway."

I pulled her up until she was flush with me on the top step. She faltered backwards, but my hands gripped her hips just in time to make sure she didn't fall. Every place I touched her felt like it was made just for me.

We'd barely gotten to the aisle between the pews when the brattiest voice of all made a showing.

"How much do you love _me_ , Bridger?"

At that point, I kind of loved Willa. The first reason was that she'd stopped me from potentially kissing Tate again. It was just too right, our bodies flush and her breathing still tattered from our earlier tryst. The second reason, she'd probably come looking for us before someone else could. And by someone else, I meant Preacher. I didn't really feel like having the sinny-sin-sin sermon that day.

Actually, I probably needed it.

Because kissing Tate like that felt like sin.

I liked sin.

"I love you a lot right now. What's up?"

"The three of us have been put together for deliveries."

Willa had that look on her face. I knew that look. Glancing over to Tate, she was still making a pitiful attempt to straighten herself, though, I kind of liked her a post-kissing rumpled mess.

"We've been put together or you made sure we were put together?"

Willa popped a fist up on her hip. "Same—Diff."

Couldn't my siblings just speak English?

"Well, let's go. There're people waiting." Tate had suddenly become all business beside me. She'd straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin forwards.

Damn it. She was even cute like that.

"Let's go in my truck."

"Cozy." Willa remarked as we passed her by.

After taking strict inventory of the families which we were responsible for and Tate going over everything twice, the three of us set off. We had to deliver food to five families, one of them I knew were close cousins of Tate's.

"Get in you two," I called out the open passenger door. Both of the girls were standing there at an impasse.

"Get in Tate."

"You're his sister."

"Exactly. We shared a bathroom as kids. Don't make me touch thighs with him." Willa dramatically shuddered.

"Fine." Thirty minutes ago, Tate was on me like white on milk and now she didn't even want to sit by me in the truck. Maybe the girl only got sexy in religious places. Snapshots of every church I knew flashed through my mind.

The entire way to the first home, a Mrs. Abrams, who I didn't actually know, Tate wrung her hands in her lap. She twitched so much that I thought she might bust out of the cab at every single stop sign. I was thankful that my truck was an automatic because if I had to shift a truck and touch Tate's thighs, Willa might've been left to walk.

Finally, at Mrs. Abrams house, Willa insisted on getting out alone.

"This lady is—I'd just rather go by myself."

"Sure, sure." I knew my sister. She was leaving Tate and me alone on purpose.

Willa gathered the smallest basket of food and forwent the front door in favor of the hidden side door like she was completely familiar with this house.

"She's running from her husband. He beat on her all the time." Tate whispered to me, knocking her knee against mine.

"Who?"

"The woman who lives here. She's real skittish around people. Grammy comes up on Sunday afternoons to do a bible study with her since she still won't come to church. She's too scared to get a job or anything yet. She just left him a couple of months ago."

"Men like that are scum."

I thought I'd add that just so she knew. I didn't think Tate thought I was a wife beater, but really I never knew, at any given time, what Tate Halloway was thinking.

"I'm not apologizing for earlier."

I turned in the seat, accidentally revving up the truck. Willa showed her face around the corner along with a choice finger gesture that Stock would hear about later. She thought I was hurrying her up.

What did I do here? It was too late for trying to act like she didn't affect me.

That ship had long ago sailed.

But I also wasn't ready to put all my cards on the table.

Though for better or for worse, my chance of coming away from Tate unscathed were long gone.

Against my better judgment, I gave up—a little. "I don't want you to apologize. There's no reason to apologize."

"I'm not some wanton hussy who defiles holy places all the time." Her blush was in full force, and fast journeying from her face down her neck and the beginnings of it were blooming along that very enticing v-neckline. Some of her madcap red hair was resting on my shoulder. It looked like it was soothing me, patting the young fellow who didn't know up from down with this girl.

"I never thought you were."

"What did you think, Bridger? When I was a kid, we didn't have a TV. We played a lot of board games. The only thing I learned from them was that I sucked at board games. I suck at all games. Hell, from what I remember, you suck at games too. One minute you're pissy and the next you're showing up to bring me to the hospital when I need you. Then, you ignore me for a week. Next thing I know you're trying to wax philosophical with me over turkey of all things which leads to making out where my granddaddy stands in his white robe trying to lead people to heaven. So which one is it? What move are you going to make next because my luck sucks and you can't pass go."

By the time she finished her spiel, I was hefting deep breaths in and out, trying to keep up with her argument and decipher where exactly I should begin.

I did suck at games and I was kind of tired of playing. It would be so easy. Giving up and giving in to whatever Tate had in store for me would be so simple.

Simple is what got most men's balls busted.

It got mine busted plenty of times.

By the time Willa got in the car, I'd not made any progress toward a clear answer. Instead of wringing her hands, Tate had crossed her arms as if the motion put a halt on our conversation, like a pause button.

I wasn't anywhere near ready to press play.

"Next is the Halloway's."

Tate's cousins. She tensed at the very mention of their name. Her cousins on her father's side of the family were from the wrong side of the tracks. Really, they lived on the other side of the railroad tracks—and metaphorically they weren't the most upstanding of people. I knew that Tate didn't especially like being connected to them, but they were family all the same.

"Hey," I let one hand go of the steering wheel and weaved my hand into her tangle of angry arms. I grabbed her hand and squeezed. "It's gonna be fine. A quick drop off and then we're gone." Her posture softened while she nodded, agreeing with me.

A few minutes later, my truck was taking a beating, bouncing left and right down the dilapidated used to be a gravel driveway which was now mostly dirt. Driving to these Halloway's was like taking a field trip through a junk yard. Bathtubs, halves of cars, and old rusted signs not only littered the woods leading up to the house, but overpowered the trees. Some of them even had to bow against the weight of heavier objects. A broken down shack came into view first, the main house, then as we grew closer, the littler, more outhouse looking buildings came into view.

These Halloway's were a mother and a father who had seven sons—seven. None of them had married and all of them still lived on the land, the older ones in the makeshift abodes.

It wasn't just their living situation that defined them. It was their reputation. The older sons were troublemakers. They were banned from the town bar. The sheriffs knew who they were and had arrested them more times than they could count.

These Halloway's were true trouble—the criminal kind.

Tate Halloway was the good kind of trouble.

But in the spirit of Christian kindness and sharing, there we were, hoping they didn't bite the hand that fed them.

"You don't have to go in. Both of you stay in the truck."

I'd heard rumors about these people that couldn't be repeated in front of ladies. Most of them made even the brutish of men quiver. So, I didn't hesitate in demanding they keep their distance.

Tate scoffed and shoved on my shoulder. "Okay, we are doing something good here. Have some faith, Bridger."

I searched the grounds, looking for signs of mayhem before I relented, keeping the door only slightly ajar so they couldn't get out until I was ready. Not seeing any, I got out and waved to the girls to follow me. Each of us grabbed a huge basket, after all, it would take mountains of food to feed a couple and their seven children. Not children—more like spawn.

I knocked on the door, making sure it wasn't too loud or offensive. The last thing I needed was a shotgun in my face.

"Oh, lookey here. It's the nice Christian folks coming to bring us heathens the Thanksgiving spirit."

The woman had a woolen looking dress on with an apron that had seen more dirt than clean.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Tate had mustered some cheer between the truck and the door. It didn't matter where we were, that girl seemed to have a well of spirit that she pulled from whenever necessary. I wondered what fueled it.

"My, my, my..." A man in overalls, only one side buttoned because his dome-shaped belly wouldn't let him button the other one, came to the screen door and shoved it open, causing the three of us to step back. "Ain't you girls purty."

What was he, the spokesperson for hillbilly pride? He even said purty more hillbilly than Stockton.

"Here's your food. Happy Thanksgiving." Willa shoved her basket at the woman. She took it and disappeared into the house with a wayward glance in her son's direction.

When your momma thinks you're no good, then you truly are no good.

Tate put her basket on a chair by the door and I followed suit.

"Now wait just a minute. Ain't you Tate Halloway? I'd rekkonize a cousin anywhere."

He was full of shit. Tate didn't look anything like them in stature, complexion or anything else. She was quite the opposite. His balding head showed sprouts of brown next to her red.

And not to be rude, but the mom of the bunch wasn't a catch—never had been.

"I am Tate Halloway." She said in complete disgust.

"You sure have grown up." As he spewed the sentence, a dribble of tobacco juice escaped his mouth and came out the side of his mouth. He didn't say it very cousinly either. Those words were just as vile as his swishing his first and second toe back and forth as he stood there, probably trying to itch some kind of coal miner's athlete's foot.

"Well, it's been ten years. So yes, I grew. Goodbye."

"Now wait here just a minute." He stepped outside and made some kind of holler noise, the kind my dad used to use when he was calling us all in for supper.

Then I realized it, he was calling in for the rest of the family.

"We need to go now."

Without permission, I turned both girls, of which I was now equally scared for, and pushed them to the truck. I wasn't generally in favor of shoving women, but it was either that or watch them become a weird version of sister wives right there on the front porch of the seven dwarves—or the seven giants.

"Go, Bridger, go," Willa yelled at me and as I bob-tailed around so that I was in a position to leave, I saw why. At least three men were now on the porch—all with shotguns.

Without a care for my truck or my poor suspension, I high-tailed it out of there. It wasn't until we'd gotten a good ways down the road that Tate finally let out her breath. Her arms were crossed over her chest again and I knew she was pissed about me and the way I'd acted.

She could be mad all she wanted—I wouldn't let anything happen to my girls.

Nothing.

I realized the protection mode then. I wanted to protect Tate like I did my mother and my sister and Cami. Sometime in all this, I'd lumped her in with the rest of the females in my life.

The instinct to keep my family secure had voluntarily umbrella-ed itself over Tate.

It changed everything.

I'd never felt that way about Jesse. She'd made it clear in the beginning that she was a free spirit. She decided when we went out, how we went out and for how long. I'd thought it all normal. She was my first girlfriend and on that front I'd failed to listen to my more basic instincts screaming at me that something was off.

When I shut up and shut off my brain, nothing like that drummed up for Tate.

The only thing I knew with Tate was that I didn't want anything bad to happen to her and I had a newfound love of church.
Chapter Fourteen

Tate

"We're going where?" I slammed a hand on my hip and tried to read through the lines. Only these words were written in a different language and upside down.

"Cami and Stockton invited us over for dinner, Tatum. We're going to the Wright's house." My Grams could have been the poster-child for preacher's wives everywhere, but she didn't fool me. I saw real fear in her eyes.

"Cami invited us?" There was more to this story than had been given to me. I needed a decoder ring to decipher exactly what and who was behind all this. And I would bet a hundred bucks it wasn't the person I wanted it to be.

"Willa was the one that called I believe." She pushed her shoulders back and glanced at the kitchen. "Maybe I should bring something along."

"We have to leave in thirty minutes," I reminded her. "What can you make in thirty minutes?"

She pressed her lips together and stared at the ceiling for a long time. When her gaze finally fell back to mine, she looked practically terrified. "Almost anything."

I suppressed my giggles, because she happened to be completely serious. Grams didn't talk bad about anybody. And I knew she didn't mean anything bad by Cami, she just couldn't help herself. She also couldn't lie to herself. I hadn't been brave enough to try the mincemeat Cami had sent over a couple days before. In fact, nobody had... not even the dogs.

Grams had said a prayer over it and tossed it out. If that were the kind of meal I had to look forward to tonight, I should be as anxious as my grandparents.

"Get cleaned up," she told me, "I'm going to make your granddaddy a sandwich."

"You'll spoil his dinner!" I yelled after her.

She waved me away and got busy in the kitchen. I thought about asking her to make me one too, but decided I needed as much of my appetite as I could keep. I had just started to feel good again after this last round of treatment, but my stomach was still a fickle beast. If Cami served anything like the pie she'd made for Thanksgiving, I was going to need some of the herbal supplements my doctor was always trying to push on me.

I shut myself in my room and stared at the clothes I brought with me. Other than the nice outfit I'd packed for Thanksgiving, the rest of my weekend wardrobe consisted mostly of sweats and t-shirts. I had anticipated a lot of time on the sofa, curled up with a good book and a puke bucket.

I sighed. Now I was headed over to Bridger's house to meet the family.

The back of my neck itched at the thought. I had known most of them my whole life, but Stockton's wife would be new. And I knew they were different people now anyway. Same as me.

Dinner at the Wright house should be as simple as it always was. Except nothing was simple before.

I'd had a crush on Bridger these past few weeks. A massive, toe-curling, heart-pounding, blissfully-fun crush. But then we'd kissed. And it had been epic and earth-shattering and all the things a first kiss was supposed to be.

I loved that kiss. I loved thinking about that kiss and replaying it in my head. I loved the feel of his lips against mine, the pressure of his hands on my body and the taste of his mouth. I loved that he threw himself into that moment like I hadn't seen him do since we were kids. And what I loved most was that he didn't run from it. Well, maybe he did at first. But then he'd been nice. And sweet. And kept up all that sweetness for the rest of the night.

He'd held my hand!

My heart had nearly beaten out of my chest at the feel of his rough fingertips against my soft skin. My skin still tingled from every place I'd had contact with him.

But that scared me too.

I was supposed to be the girl that embraced life and lived every day with a _carpe diem_ attitude. I was the girl that jumped off bridges and planned skydiving trips because this very day could be my last and I wanted to live as much of it to the fullest as I could.

But Bridger wasn't bungee jumping or tackling my fear of heights. Bridger was something permanent and lasting. And the more time I spent with him, the more invested my heart became.

Yesterday was a full-body shove toward feelings I didn't know I could have for somebody. It was like I had been standing at a very safe distance from the edge of a cliff and somebody had come up and pushed me as hard as they could. I'd gone rushing and stumbling forward, catching myself just before I dove right off the ledge. And now my feet were there, kicking rocks down an endless drop-off, feeling the gusts of wind as they assaulted me from the cavern below.

What was down there?

How far did it go?

If I fell, would I survive the fall?

If I survived the fall, would I survive the rest?

I let out a steady breath and mentally shook myself. My feelings for Bridger had developed quicker than I ever thought they could, but I could adjust. I could _carpe diem_ this too.

I picked up the jeans I wore yesterday and a black sweatshirt that was more trendy than sloppy. I paired it with some black boots and pulled my hair into a low, side ponytail. I applied some soft makeup and slipped in silver studs. Then called it good. Not my best effort, but I looked better than death.

I met my grandparents by the garage door and we walked out to my Granddaddy's beastly Lincoln together. The drive over was animated as usual. My Granddaddy pointed out all the places that had changed since I'd been up here last and my Grams passed along any news she thought I would be interested in.

Most of the news had to do with the woman we were on our way to see. Cami had apparently been sent here by neglectful parents after she'd had a rough time of it in California. Her uncle and aunt, whom I knew well, were rather hard on her at first but apparently all was well now. She'd met Stockton through work he'd done for her uncle and they'd fallen in love as she found a sort of redemption here.

I was completely sucked into the fairytale romance and by the time we pulled up the driveway at the Wright's house, I couldn't wait to meet her. She sounded... amazing.

I loved that she had this whole reformation thing going on. I could easily relate to that. Plus, she knew how to catch a Wright boy and keep him. I could probably pick up a few things from her.

A new flood of nerves fizzed through my belly.

My grandparents looked just as nervous as I did.

"Come on y'all, it's not going to be that bad."

They turned around in their seats and stared at me. I snorted a laugh at the matching looks of incredulity on their faces.

"Think of it as servicing the community?"

My granddaddy grunted his thought on that one but opened his door. Grams and I followed suit and just as we'd all stepped out of the car, the screen door slammed open and Willa came bounding down the steps.

I had just enough time to brace myself for her hug as her skinny body slammed into mine. "Hiya, Preacher!" She greeted happily. "Preacher's wife!" She squeezed me tightly and then pulled back. "Hi, friend."

I laughed at her bubbling happiness. "Hi, friend."

She looked back over her shoulder at where my grandparents had disappeared inside the house and then back at me. "You didn't happen to bring anything extra with you, did ya?"

"Extra?"

She lowered her voice. "Like a side dish? Or dessert?"

I laughed again. "Nope. Sorry."

"Well, darn." She linked arms with me and started tugging me inside. "I should be used to it by now, but I... Well, you'll see. It's not something anyone can get used to. I don't even think Cami can get used to it."

"Cami can get used to what?"

I looked up to see a gorgeous blonde standing in the doorway with two hands on her hips. She looked suspicious and welcoming all at the same time. I hoped the welcome was for me and the suspicion for Willa.

"Cam, have you met Tate yet?" Willa deflected like a pro.

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure."

"You hear that hick accent?" Willa elbowed me in the side. "She's picking it up fast."

Cami shook her head incredulously. "I don't have an accent," she said. Then she looked at me. "I don't. They're lying. All of them are lying."

I pressed my lips together. "Have you started with the 'y'alls' yet? Once those filter in, there's no going back."

I look of absolute horror passed over her face before she shook her head out again and offered me a sly smile. "They won't get to me," she promised. "I will not become a hillbilly."

"It's not so bad!" Willa took a step away from me so she could cross her arms over her chest.

"I'm a former hillbilly," I told her. "I can help you recover. It's not easy, but it can be done."

"Thank, God!" Cami exclaimed at the same time Willa said, "Hey!"

"What are y'all doing out there? Let the girl inside already!" A deep voice called from the house. I didn't recognize the voice right away but whoever it was had the same kind of thick cadence Bridger had. Since I'd met and talked to West before, I had to assume the voice belonged to Stockton.

Cami and Willa flanked me on either side as we walked into the house. A smell wafted from the kitchen that made me want to turn right around and wait in the car, but I pulled from all my stores of polite society and forced my feet to stay in place. It was just food, just one meal. I could survive this.

We could all survive this.

"You must be Tatum," Stockton stretched out his massive hand and I nearly shied away from it. I stared at Stockton's arms and tried to make sense of the disproportion. His right arm was almost double the size of his left. Both were very muscled, but his right side was almost freakishly so. I vaguely remembered something about smithing. Blacksmithing? Wasn't that with a hammer?

"Tate," I corrected him. "You're... Stockton?"

"I am. Welcome," he smiled at me and for a second I saw a window into Cami's world. This smile was why she gave up California and her west coast life of glam and privilege. That's all it took, I was sure of it.

Bridger appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He had dressed up a little tonight in a white oxford with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms and faded jeans. His short hair had been combed, but his feet were left bare.

I couldn't take my eyes off those darn feet. Couldn't he put socks on or something? They were very distracting. And adorable. And my heart thumped heavily in my chest and my mouth grew dry.

I stretched my own toes in my boots and fought the urge to lick my lips.

I shared one kiss with him and a hand-holding session and now his feet were causing me to stare lustfully and unabashedly. What was wrong with me? Since when did I have a foot fetish?

A throat cleared and I realized it was his. I dragged my gaze up his distracting body and met those sparkling green eyes of his... those highly amused, sparkling green eyes of his.

"Hey," I squeaked.

"Hey," he said all smoothly and manly back. "Dinner's not ready yet. Want to go for a walk?"

"Yep."

I walked toward him in a daze. I could feel the eyes of everybody in the room on us, but I couldn't find it in me to care. He stepped aside and led me through the kitchen, out the back door and onto a pretty porch area that overlooked his backyard.

I sucked in an amazed breath and found myself at the railing, leaning over a breathtaking view of the Tennessee Mountains and quaint Wright property.

Fall-toned trees stood tall and century-like, their long, laden branches stretching over the browning grass and outbuildings. A newer looking barn had been built fifty yards away. It was a beautiful building that made me feel warm and squishy inside. I loved the idea of Cami and Stockton working hard to build it, to paint it, to keep it nice. It spoke of a home made from people that loved each other and dreamed of a future together.

Twinkle lights blinked at me from all the lower branches. They crisscrossed over the whole backyard and in the soft light from the setting sight turned an already extraordinary place into one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever seen.

"This is incredible," I whispered.

"I'm starting to think so too," Bridger murmured.

I looked over at him to find his eyes already on me. A shiver raced down my spine and my hands started to tremble.

"My mama hung the lights," he explained in a tender voice. "She used to make my daddy dance with her back here."

I knew what happened to his parents, but this was the first time he'd spoken about them. I had never lost someone I loved like this, but I knew what it was like to grieve. I knew what it was like to have expectations and a perception of the world and then have all your hopes and ideals smashed to pieces while you watched helplessly on. I knew what it was like to believe in something you thought could never change and then have it crumble to ash in front of you. I knew what it was like to hurt in your bones and ache in your chest every moment of every day.

I put my hand in Bridger's and squeezed without saying a word.

We stood there for a long time, just holding hands and staring out at the beauty of his backyard.

I realized I wanted this. I wanted a yard like this. I wanted a place that represented love and hope in a future and a man that cared enough about me to invest his time and energy into giving me something like this.

I also realized that I hadn't wanted something like this in a long time. I lived for the now, for each and every day I got to live and breathe. But I rarely let myself think about the future. The future for me was too uncertain. I couldn't even imagine getting through my next treatment session, let alone beyond that. And I really couldn't imagine building a home and starting a family, when that might never be a possibility for me.

But standing here with Bridger, with the cool autumn air brushing over our skin and the faint scent of dying leaves and campfire in the air, I wanted it. I wanted it all.

And maybe I even wanted it with him.

"I'm sorry I kissed you yesterday," I told him.

"I thought you weren't going to apologize for that?" His eyes twinkled with mischief and I saw a glimpse of the troublemaker I used to know.

I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from giggling. "I wasn't going to."

"Then why'd you do it?" He leaned in an inch closer.

"I started to feel guilty. I don't want to take advantage of you or anything."

He chuckled. "Advantage of me? You think I'd let you do that, huh?"

"You're just so innocent and naïve," I teased. "I realized later that it was probably your first experience with a woman."

He practically choked on his tongue. "My first experience with a woman?"

I grinned at him. "Yep!"

He whirled me around so that my back pressed against the waist-high railing and he caged me in with his two hands. "I have plenty experience with women."

"Now don't go bragging about it," I teased him. "That's not very gentlemanly."

"Woman, you are impossible!"

My heart hammered in my chest and his mouth dropped a few inches closer to mine. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

"I wouldn't," he agreed.

Those fizzy feelings rippled through my body. I felt like someone had plugged me into the wall and I had this live current streaming through my body on the absolute highest voltage.

"Good." My voice was a breathy whisper. He probably had no idea how much I treasured that admission from him.

"I accept your apology," he went on. "But only because the next time we kiss, I will be the one kissing you."

I closed my eyes and waited for it. I could feel the heat of his breath and smell him so close. His hands drifted from the wood railing to grip my waist on either side. My breathing sped up and I couldn't have opened my eyes if I wanted to.

With the first brush of his lips against mine, I jerked from the intense contact. He seemed ready for my violent reaction and caught me by wrapping both arms around my waist.

His lips brushed mine again and then pressed more firmly. I sighed at the sweet intensity of the contact. His tongue swept over my bottom lip, asking me to open my mouth to him.

I was just about to oblige, because what else could I do? Thinking about anything else was obviously out of the question. But then the screen door screeched open and possibly the most obnoxious sound I had ever heard ruined our moment forever.

"Good news everybody! Bridger found Tate's tongue! Call off the search party!"

Bridger pulled back immediately and dipped his head. His breaths came in heavy pants and I could feel him vibrating with anger and frustration.

"West, I swear on all that is holy, you better run. And run fast."

The screen door slammed shut and faster than I thought possible, we were alone again.

"Sorry about my idiot brother," he grumbled. His face had reddened to the color of a tomato and I could feel his frustration like it was a palpable thing.

I laughed. "It's not a big deal."

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of my mouth. "Go ahead and sit down to eat. I'll meet you there in a sec."

"Where are you going?" I felt a little putout that I would have to walk in there alone, especially after the entire town knew what Bridger and I had been up to after West's deafening announcement.

"To kill my brother," Bridger said. "It shouldn't take long."

Chapter Fifteen

Bridger

The walk of shame in the movies was nothing compared to what I was about to endure. With West's loud and proud announcement, I would now have to face my entire family, red-faced and humiliated beyond reprieve.

"Where is he?" I demanded with a growl, entering the kitchen.

"We have comp'ny, Bridger." Stockton drawled.

"Didn't a good hanging used to serve as entertainment around here? It's gonna be dinner and a show tonight because I'm gonna hang him up by his..."

"Kill your brother after dinner please. At least have the decency to wait until the preacher is gone." Cami giggled.

Preacher grumbled from his seat at the table. "If he makes it through the meal." That earned him an arm pinch by his wife who smiled graciously throughout all the family drama. Cami bustled in the kitchen humming to herself, so proud of whatever noxious concoction she'd prepared.

We needed a chef in the family.

"Wash up you two." Willa pulled something from the oven and motioned toward me and someone behind me. I knew the touch as soon as I felt it. Tate's lissome fingers danced along the inside of my palm for an instant, clueing me into her presence behind me. At the kitchen sink, she bumped my hip more than once trying to get me to loosen up. For her sake, I did.

We all took seats at the table when Stockton called out, "Come on West. I took Bridger's knife. He's gonna let you have one last supper."

West crept out slowly from the broom closet and made Willa move over so he could sit as far away from me as possible. That wouldn't help him one bit because as soon as he sat down I pictured myself vaulting over the table and taking him down with my hands around his throat. Then I'd feed him to the pigs.

Not really. I loved my brother.

Mostly.

Anyway, I wouldn't kill him until the preacher was gone.

Stockton cleared his throat and filled the silence. "Preacher, won't you bless the meal?"

We all stifled a chuckle at Preacher's uncharacteristic shudder. Of course, as a minister, he'd never shied away from praying, but he looked particularly wary of praying over the dishes that Cami was placing on the table.

"Lord in heaven. We pray that the talk around the table be a blessing to our souls and the meal—um—sit well in our stomachs. In Jesus' name. Amen." We all resounded a unified Amen.

Poor Cami. She doled out the food with such pride. Her main dish looked like it was supposed to be chicken pot pie, but the crust was tougher than road pavement and the middle was cold.

"Enjoy everybody!" She cheerfully clapped her hands and dug in.

I watched Stockton's face as he was the second to take a bite, but soon realized I couldn't trust him when it came to Cami's cooking. I didn't know if he looked over the flaw to keep the peace or because he was in so deep that he didn't see it at all.

We all managed to pull off fake eating by shoving the food around the plate, making a hole in the middle so that it looked like we'd eaten a dent in it.

I'd only taken two bites and it was green beans.

But Cami's cooking wasn't the only reason I was having trouble eating. I could easily blame it on Tate's proximity—easy. She was sitting right next to me and not so accidentally bumping my leg with hers every five seconds.

West was to blame and Willa was now his accomplice. They were both making kissy lips every time I looked up and once West, when no one else was looking, began to make motions with his tongue so crude that I was sure Preacher Wife would fall victim to a stroke if she looked up.

West Wright was going straight to hell.

Sooner than normal, everyone was done. West and Willa were made to do the dishes, on order from Stockton. Maybe I wasn't the only witness to their shenanigans.

"We should get going. Thank you for the meal, Cami."

Everyone hugged and Preacher Wife insisted they come over for dinner the next week. West, Tate, and I would be back to school by then.

"You wanna stay a little longer? I'll bring you home." I whispered to Tate.

I heard West whisper. "Mmmhmm, he'll bring you all the way home."

Pervert.

"I think you need your rest, don't you dear?" I'd never seen Preacher Wife so micro-managy. Usually she was a bit of a live and let live kind of person.

Cami paled at her grandmother's suggestion.

"I'll be fine, Grammy. Bridger won't bring me home too late."

"Before midnight, I promise."

Midnight was protocol, right?

"That will be fine." Preacher patted his wife on the shoulder giving her a private signal. As soon as they left, I grabbed Tate's hand and tugged her out the back door. I thought about sitting under the lights, but I knew that spot was now Stockton and Cami's spot and no one wants to make-out in the same spot where their brother had.

"Where are you taking me?" She sounded a little out of breath and I realized that maybe I was walking a bit fast for her.

"Out to my spot."

She giggled and I smiled in response. "Your spot where you take all the girls?"

As much as I hated to admit it, the twang of jealousy in her voice kind of pumped me up. She didn't want me anywhere with other girls as much as I didn't want that Austin kid to touch her with a twenty foot pole.

I knew that the Bible said love wasn't jealous, but I liked Tate a little jealous.

Sue me.

"There haven't been other girls in a long time, Tate. Actually, I'm not sure there ever was any other girl."

A jerk of my hand stopped me to find Tate with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Really? I seem to recall a girl named Jesse occupying a lot of your time."

Looking out at the mountains in the distance, I knew she was right. Jesse had been a big part of my life. But it wasn't until Tate came along that I realized that it was nothing more than just that—an occupation of my time and a decent outlet for my very teen, very male hormones. Then again, I wasn't the only outlet Jesse plugged into.

Not being able to stop myself, I drew Tate to me. I didn't expect her to react right away, but she did, looping her arms around my neck and stepping in willingly. "There's a big difference in between spending time with someone and really caring about them."

She tilted her head upward and looked back and forth from one eye to the other. "Bridger, are you saying you care about me? Don't get sappy on me now."

"Tate, you make me wanna be sappy."

I couldn't believe I just said that.

"No, what I mean is, you can't get sappy on me when you haven't taken me far enough out for me to kiss you. I can still hear your brother and his nonsense. Don't tell me that right here in the middle of your backyard is your spot."

"Come on. I don't even think Stockton knows about this. Well, he has to, but he doesn't go there."

I led her North, into the woods that we basically left to themselves. When we were kids, it was always assumed that Stockton would inherit the house, whether he wanted it or not. One day when I was a kid, I asked my dad why Stockton got to live on the family land and I didn't. I thought that I really offended him. It sounded ungrateful and demanding. I was completely ashamed of myself afterwards. But my dad, never missing a beat, told me to pick a spot and it would be mine for building a house when I got older. I knew it by heart. It was the spot of the property, the only place on the property, where black walnut trees grew. Even as a child, I knew that black walnuts and their oil would be money in the bank.

"This is it." I pointed to the expanse of land that I'd chosen.

"It's just trees, babe."

That did things to me.

"It's a lot more than that. Come step right here in the middle." My hands on her hips, I made her stand in the center of where I'd always imagined my home. I didn't know why I was showing her this now, but I trusted her with this part of me. She was breathing heavily still and I was too. The weight of what I was about to share pushed down on my chest.

And I hadn't trusted anyone in a long, long time.

"This part of the property is in Stockton's name until I get married. After that, it becomes mine."

Tate turned around in a circle, taking her very own tour of the place. Her hand was over her mouth and I couldn't tell whether I'd given away too much.

Oh well, I was about to give it all away.

"There's some things buried on this land."

She squealed a little and jumped up to balance on her tip toes.

"No, not bodies. Jeez. Like, I buried some stuff here."

Reaching her hand out to me, her posture changed like she needed something to hold onto. "What is it?"

I barely heard her. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest that I could feel it in my earlobes. This was why it never felt right with Jesse. I could blame it on the cheating or the mistrust. But really, she just wasn't for me. I knew it. I'd known it since I was a bratty kid that this wild, breathtaking woman in front of me was the only one who would ever fit.

"My mom used to keep old, empty wine bottles. She was a bit of a hoarder. Anyway, I used to take those bottles, write notes and put them in the bottles, and then bury them here, under my piece of land."

Tate's entire face brightened with a smile I'd never seen. The apples of her cheeks blushed pink as if she already knew what secret I was about to reveal.

"What did they say?"

Lord, please, let her not be freaked out.

I should've brought a shovel.

"Here. I'll let you read it." The first one was buried under a tree and I'd marked it with my initials. Feeling like a complete idiot, I dug into the earth with my bare hands. I'd only been ten the first time I wrote one, so the hole was shallow and a few seconds into moving dirt, I'd found the bottle.

After shaking the bottle, the note came to the top and I finagled it out.

I unraveled it before handing it to her, making sure of what I already knew. Ten-year-old Bridger was already very much in love with Tate. He was just unsure and too caught up in being a boy to know what to do with such a huge honor.

That's what it would be to love Tate Halloway. It would be an honor and a privilege. A girl—now a woman with that much life to share and that much will to keep me on my toes.

Younger Bridger was a fool.

Older Bridger wasn't that much smarter.

Thank God there was time to change my ways.

I handed it over and then quickly took it back.

"Come on Bridger. How bad can it be?"

It could be Tate running away from me like I was an axe murderer, bad.

She snatched it from my hand and I couldn't even look at her face while she read it. That note was the bold, raw truth that only a child could deliver. Thrusting my hands into my pockets to keep myself from grabbing the note and burning it, I paced around the place. I finally stopped a ways out where she would feel safe in the event that she realized what a freak I was.

I hung my head. In all my efforts, I'd fallen again.

It was too much too soon.

We'd just kissed for the first time the day before.

Just when I'd given up hope, her arms wrapped around my middle and she pressed against my back. I could feel her breaths between my shoulder blades. Her hands were trembling, one fisted in my shirt and the other clinging to the letter for dear life.

"Are there more?" She asked, her voice muffled in my shirt.

I hesitated, but then realized the feeling of freedom that came with vulnerability of telling Tate everything.

"There has to be hundreds." I pulled her shaking hand up to my mouth and kissed her palm and then pulled her arms around me tighter, not quite ready to face her. My hands still had dirt on them, but I didn't care.

"Why did you bury them here?"

Her questions were so pointed, it was like she knew the answers beforehand.

"Because even stupid little Bridger knew that one day our house would be built here."

Gathering my courage, I finally faced her. In the distance, I could see that someone had turned off the twinkly lights behind the house. Tears rivered down her face. My hands were dirty, so I pulled off my shirt and dried them. Tate moved her hands to splay over my stomach and we both gasped at the feeling. Walking her fingers upward, I lost my breath.

Feeling absolutely foolish but unabashedly brazen at the same time, I wrapped my t-shirt around her back, not wanting to get dirt on her, and used the edges to close the distance between us.

"You don't know what tomorrow will hold, Bridger. Don't plan your life around me."

"I know what the future holds for me. But right now, all I'm worried about is holding you."

I didn't let her protest any longer. Dirt be damned, I framed her face with my hands and leaned down to show her. Our mouths moved with a built up fury. I couldn't get close enough to her. My hands flattened against her back making sure that air couldn't even flow between her body and mine. Her lips were colder than I'd expected but soon enough were in balance with mine, warm and needy. She pulled away a lot faster than I'd hoped.

"What's wrong?"

Something had to be wrong for her to want to stop that heaven.

Her knees buckled and I caught her just before she faltered. "I'm just tired all of a sudden."

Though it was cold outside, Tate's brow was laced with sweat and she looked like she might pass out at any time.

"Let's get you back to the house."

I hunched over and picked her up. She let me and as much as I enjoyed carrying her around, it worried me that she hadn't rebelled against it. Tate Halloway felt light in my arms and while I should've been grateful, the fact distressed me. Someone her height shouldn't be this light. On the way back to the house, she closed her eyes and grew limp in my arms. I took a shortcut through the woods. Something inside fueled me on, making me walk faster than I ever had.

Something was wrong with my girl. I had to fix it.

"Stock!" I called, arriving at the house. Cami came out instead and immediately ripped me a new one for getting my handprints on the back of Tate's shirt.

"You can't leave evidence like this, Bridger. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. She said she was really sleepy and then just passed out on my way here."

Tate moaned while we moved into the house.

"Get her on the couch. We'll call Preacher."
Chapter Sixteen

Tate

I blinked up at the ceiling to Bridger's family's house and decided right this second would be a very convenient time to die.

I wanted to die. For real.

I'd rather die than face Bridger and explain what happened. Or Cami and confess that I hadn't been able to stomach a single bite of her... of her whatever it was she'd served for dinner.

Cami's blonde head came into view first and I sucked in a sharp breath, deciding this was better of the two options.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a low voice.

My head spun, hot chills raced over my body and my stomach threatened to heave any second. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," she pointed out.

"But I am. I just... I'm really tired and I didn't eat much today."

"You're tired and hungry? So you passed out in the woods with my brother-in-law?" Her blue eyes narrowed sharply on me.

Oh, geez. Did I look sketchy? Did she think I was trying to play Bridger?

I might not have been completely honest with him about... about my sickness, but I was so not trying to trap him by being all damsel-in-distress-y.

In fact, I was trying to do the opposite. I didn't want him to feel stuck with me just because I was ill. But how to convey that to Cami without asking her to lie for me?

I threw that thought out immediately. I would never ask her to lie for me. My grandparents covered up for me, but because they were as weary about spreading the news as I was. Not because they didn't want other people to know, but because I felt stressed out about other people knowing and they didn't want to add anything to my recovery.

If you could call this recovery.

"I am... I'm... What I'm trying to say is that..."

"Is this about your food allergy again?" Bridger came into view sporting clean hands and a new t-shirt. The lines of his face were pinched and his eyes hard and protective with concern.

Momentarily, I felt a little distracted by his glorious, possessive, I-am-all-that-is-man face. "My food allergy?" I asked in a small voice.

"Gluten or whatever."

I gasped. "Yes!" This was a two birds with one stone kind of lie. "Yes, my allergy! I'm gluten intolerant. I have Celiacs."

Cami's eyebrows scrunched down over her cute nose. "Celiacs?"

"I, er, can't eat gluten-based foods. Your pot pie, the crust, I mean, is a gluten-based food. Sorry, I didn't eat much of it. I'm just hungry and really tired."

Those two reasons weren't even lies. I was hungry and I was more than exhausted. I should have gone home with Grams like she'd wanted. She could probably see the impending breakdown written all over my face.

"Oh, my gosh!" Cami squealed. "I had no idea! And Bridger didn't say anything!" She used the back of her hand to hit him across the chest. He didn't even flinch.

He did politely push her out of the way though and sit down on the couch next to me. His large body pushed hotly into my side and he settled his hand over my waist.

I wanted to melt.

But I was afraid I was going to throw up first.

"Can I get you something?" he asked gently.

"A can of coke, if you have it? Pretty please?"

"What kind?" he asked in all his southern-adorableness.

"Coke," I clarified. "I really need Coke. The um, calories and carbonation will help." Down South, all pop was referred to as Coke and then you had to clarify from there. It was rather inconvenient if you wanted an actual Coke. I'd had similar conversations to this one ever since I moved back down here for school.

He turned pleading eyes on Cami and she disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear her moving around and opening cupboards before she returned a minute later with a Coke over ice and a straw to make sipping easy.

She might not be able to cook worth anything, but she could sure deliver the fizzy beverages like a boss.

"Thank you." I took the glass from her and struggled to sit up. Bridger helped me until I was at a good angle. I sipped slowly and tried to avoid both of their worried stares. Every once in a while, Cami would turn her concerned gaze on Bridger and it made my heart squeeze.

"I'll take you home when you're up for it," Bridger offered. He hadn't moved from his place by me. I loved the feeling of him next to me. I savored these sweet moments that he'd given me completely.

I had been afraid to tell Bridger I was sick before, but now I was downright terrified. I hadn't wanted to make him feel an obligation before. And now that I knew he didn't, the lies I'd been feeding him settled in my stomach like bitter rocks. I felt heavy and dirty from them.

But I couldn't tell him.

I couldn't.

Admitting to Bridger that I was sick, felt like damning whatever future I hoped to have with him. Which might have sounded silly and probably backwards. But Bridger had been weighed down with something himself when we'd first reconnected. I'd watched a heaviness lift from his shoulders over the last couple weeks and it physically hurt me to imagine chaining him to something else.

I didn't know if his pain came from the loss of his parents or something else, but I had seen clearly that he hurt from something.

I didn't want to make him hurt anymore.

I wanted to keep him from pain for the rest of his life.

If things took a turn for the worse for me, I promised myself I would open up to him. But this round of treatment was almost through and if my Dr. Masters was right with her estimation, I would be cancer free and healthy by the New Year.

I could wait that long. I could hide it from Bridger for just a little longer.

I just needed to get through the holiday season.

And it wasn't like we were serious or anything. We'd shared two kisses. That was it.

Granted, they were rather earth-shattering, soul-shaking, life-altering kind of kisses. But there had only been two of them. He hadn't even asked me to be his girlfriend yet.

Did guys still do that? Especially in college?

I didn't know. I hadn't dated anyone since I'd gotten sick the first time. That left my experience with this sort of thing seriously lacking.

Bridger leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

It was decided. Between this moment right here and the note that he'd shared from his childhood, I was well on my way to loving this man.

There was no turning back now.

Holy hell.

Bridger Wright, what have you done to me?

"Ready to go home?" he asked in a gentle voice.

I found it hard to speak through my new revelation, so I simply nodded and mumbled some kind of positive sound.

Bridger didn't hesitate to scoop me up and wrap a blanket around me. I clung to his neck and marveled at how tiny I felt in his arms.

He waited for Cami to open the door for us before walking with a purpose down to his truck.

"Thank you for dinner, Cami!" I called out to her. "Sorry, I blacked out on you! I'm not usually this boring."

She cracked a smile and some of the suspicion in her pretty blue eyes diffused. "Not a problem! You'll just have to come back and try again. I'll cook something, er, gluten-free this time. Do you like sushi?"

Oh, my gosh. Was she serious? She wasn't really going to attempt sushi, right?

No.

No way.

"I hate fish!" I called back just as Bridger let me slide to my feet so he could open the door for me.

"You hate fish?" he murmured. He held an arm around my waist to steady me and then helped me, or rather, did most of the work to get me up into the cab of his truck.

"Bridge," I grumbled, "would you eat raw fish that she prepared?"

He gave me a wide-eyed look while he tried to hide his laughter. "Would you?" I pressed.

"She's my sister-in-law," he argued. "I love her."

I snorted. "Great! But would you let her feed you sushi?"

He threw his head back and barked out a loud laugh. His shoulders shook the entire time he walked around the front of the car and climbed into the driver's seat. He waved to Cami and flashed his headlights at her.

"Where are your brothers and sister?"

"Stockton and Willa were trying to stay out of the way. And I suspect West went into hiding."

I smiled but didn't have anything to add. It was probably best that West was hiding. I was worried about the poor kid. Bridger was going to murder him.

He drove carefully through the dark winding roads of the Tennessee Mountains. I didn't know if he was on the lookout for wayward wildlife, he was afraid I would puke all over his nice truck or because he was reluctant to let me go.

I chose option number three, just because I wanted to.

"Are you sure you're alright, Tate?" he asked in a low voice. "Maybe you should see a doctor or something. This just doesn't seem right."

I nodded sleepily and fought a yawn. "Maybe I will." Hell, I knew I would. I had an appointment scheduled for Monday.

"Really?" He cut a glance to me, hopeful and concerned all at once.

"I just don't want to feel like this anymore," I told him. _Understatement of the year._ "I'll call someone when I get back to school."

"Thank you."

He didn't look at me when he said that. He stared straight ahead and kept his grip firmly on the steering wheel. I realized then, with his distance, just how much my little fainting spell affected him. It was more than polite concern that made him want me to see someone. This man cared for me.

Deeply.

I read the note from his childhood and knew he cared about me back then. His chicken-scratched words were maybe the most precious thing I'd ever seen. But until this moment I hadn't dared let myself believe that he cared about me still. At least not that much.

I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face.

"I'm not doing it for you, you know. I'm going to the doctor for me."

He smirked. I could see it all the way from here. And it drove me crazy... in the best way possible.

"Sure you are," he chuckled.

"I am!"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Bridger Wright, I have no idea who else I would be doing it for."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So you're not trying to make me happy? You're not trying to appease all my fears and anxieties? You couldn't possibly be doing this because I want you to?"

"You're obviously full of yourself. And delusional. You poor, poor man."

He reached over and slid his hand from my kneecap up the length of my thigh. I shivered against his seductive touch and his smirk grew into a grin.

"Alright, I'll let you have this one. You're going to the doctor for you. But I'm only giving it to you because I care about you too."

A small gasp left my lips in a rush. "You do?" I whispered.

He pulled up in front of my grandparents' house and shut off the engine. He turned to fully face me and took both my hands in his. "Tate, what I knew then, what I wrote in that note is still true today. You're the prettiest girl in the whole wide world." He leaned in and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And I will always want to take away the sadness in your eyes."

My heart thumped in my chest so loudly I thought he would definitely be able to hear it. I couldn't stop myself from leaning right back into him and kissing him for as long as he would let me.

The cancer had depleted my energy and my treatments had drained me of whatever else there was left. But Bridger, being with him and the emotion he poured into me, filled me back up. He gave me something I couldn't find on my own. He cradled me and held me and comforted me, even when he didn't know what was going on.

Bridger was a good man. I had never completely understood how good until just now. And I wanted to keep him. Forever. And keep his goodness with me. Forever.

I was definitely falling in love with this man- hard and fast.

His lips had begun moving against mine in that perfect rhythm of lust and emotion. I suddenly had stores of strength to pull from. I leaned forward and clutched at his t-shirt. He leaned right back into me until his hands were hot against my back and beneath my sweatshirt. I gasped at the feel of those rough fingertips against my bare skin. They felt like sandpaper and desire and I wanted to feel them everywhere.

I had just decided that I could die kissing him and I would never be happier when the porch light flipped on and the front door swung open.

Ah!

My Granddaddy was going to _kill_ him! And then me.

So it looked like we were both going to die thanks to kissing.

Ugh, self-fulfilling-prophecy! Why???

Both of us flew apart faster than the speed of light. We adjusted our clothes as discreetly as possible and I tugged on my hair in an attempt to smooth it out.

We gave each other sidelong glances and then burst into a fit of giggles. We were adults now, well on our way to being grownups. But there was something comforting in the fact that both of us were still deathly afraid of my Granddaddy's wrath!

"If I walk you to the door, is Preacher going to shoot me?" Bridger asked out of the side of his mouth.

"Maybe," I giggled.

He let out a long sigh and opened his door, saying, "He'll shoot me if I don't walk you to the door, too."

I was still laughing by the time he'd rushed around to my door and opened it for me. "Like I'd make you walk up there alone." He grinned at me and then held his arms out so he could pick me up again.

"I can walk now."

"I'm not taking chances," he murmured in my hair.

"You just want to grab my ass again."

I thought he would drop me for saying that so close to my granddaddy, but instead, he leaned closer and whispered, "Damn straight."

I felt the blush heat my entire face and spread over every inch of me. Oh, my goodness.

"What's wrong?" Grams asked as soon as she saw Bridger carrying me. "Tatum, what happened?"

Crap. How was I going to get out of this one? "Nothing, Grams. I'm fine. I just need to eat something. I'm tired and I've barely eaten anything today."

She frowned at me and looked like she wanted to say more but Granddaddy interrupted her. "Son, I'd like to have a word with you. Do you think you could set my granddaughter down long enough to do that?"

I watched Bridger's face go completely white and I tried not to laugh again. Tried being the operative word.

"Yes, sir," he said politely. He set me down on the living room sofa and walked outside with Preacher.

I raised my eyebrows at Grams, but she just waved me off. "Now, don't start. If he's going to chase after Preacher's most beloved granddaughter, he better be able to stand up for himself and his intentions. He ought to have known that from the first moment he decided to pursue you."

I beamed at Grams. How did she always know the right thing to say? "Most beloved?"

"Shush, child. Vanity does not become you."

I settled down. She was right, and she'd also been exaggerating the truth. My granddaddy loved all of us equally. And he spoiled us all rotten. He might be giving Bridger a harsh speech right now, but it was one I would never receive. Not as long as I minded my manners and stayed in line.

He might not have always been this happy with me.

In fact, there were plenty of years where I was his biggest disappointment.

I might still be if it weren't for the cancer. Kudos to the sympathy card.

"You can't hide this from him forever, Tatum." Grams interrupted my thoughts and leveled me with one of her stern glares.

"I don't plan to," I promised.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Of course you don't plan to. These things just happen because we never plan them. Find a way to tell him. It's not fair to him. He deserves to know. What are you afraid of? Do you think he'd leave you?"

"No," I told her through a voice thick with unwanted emotion. "I'm afraid he'll do the opposite. I'm afraid he'll stay with me even when he doesn't want to be."

She clucked a sound of disapproval. "Do you honestly believe you can get Bridger Wright to do anything he doesn't want to do? He is not a pushover, Sugar. You should at least know that by now."

I did. Oh, boy did I know that.

"You need to tell him, Tatum. Sooner rather than later. Give him the opportunity to show you what kind of a man he is. I have a feeling you won't be disappointed."

"I will," I mumbled half-heartedly. I wanted to mean it. I really did.

I just didn't want to do it today. Or lose this beautiful thing we were creating or poison it by infusing our relationship with cancer.

I just wanted today. And tomorrow.

I just wanted Bridger for as long and often as I could have him.

It did not pass my notice that I had stopped looking at the big picture again and resigned myself to the here and now.

I knew I should do something about it. I should look ahead and consider the future.

But I couldn't. At least not right this second.

I waved goodbye to Bridger after my Granddaddy came in and watched him leave. Things were perfect right now. I wanted to keep my sickness out of it.

I just hoped eventually he would understand.
Chapter Seventeen

Bridger

I didn't see much of Tate the weekend after Thanksgiving. Every time I called, she was resting and then she went back to school one day earlier than me. She didn't explain why, just called one morning and said she'd decided to leave. I stayed in the workshop, determined to get finished with another design before I left. My decision to leave school after the semester was over was on shaky ground. Just like Tate had made her decision to go to the doctor, based in part on my encouragement, my decision to stay in school was now tethered to Tate.

My latest design was a charm bracelet for Tate for Christmas. It would be a surprise. I'd made it out of silver, but the charms themselves would be made out of a different metal each. Christmas was special at our house. Our Mama had made it special.

Like Thanksgiving, Tate's Christmases had been more about being grateful for a roof over her head and food in her mouth. All that would change if I had any say so.

I loved the heat of the workshop. Stockton had kept it just like our dad did and it reminded me of him every minute. When I heard the stroke of Stockton's hammer on metal, it was like he was with us.

"What did Preacher have to say to you the other night when you took Tate home?" Stockton stopped his hammering and pointed the question at me. It was weird for Stockton to ask me such a thing, usually he minded his own business. He was a hands-off kind of parental figure, at least for me. He had to watch West like a clock.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know what a good talkin' to sounds like to get prepped for Willa dating."

I threw down my own tool and whipped my head around. "Well, shit fire and save the matches, Stock. You're not gonna let her date, are you? Not until she's at least thirty."

Apparently, all it took was one week back home and my words went from semi-country to full on hillbilly.

He shrugged. "I guess I have to. The shotgun hasn't had much use lately. It needs something to do. She and Cami are always fixin' their damned hair and putting shit on their eyes. It was better when Willa was just climbing trees and beating up boys. Now she's talking on the phone and asking me for a cell phone. I just want to beat down any boy who calls the house. Make a list for a week or so, and then just make a day of it."

We both laughed, mostly. The truth was that if anyone hurt Willa, there were plenty of mountains and caves where bodies were never found.

I thought back to that night, when Preacher took me outside. I was scared to death. It was bad enough he was her grandfather, but he was the preacher. He baptized me and her. By the time he was finished though, I was just happy to walk away with his blessing.

"He asked me if I was just playing around or if I really cared about her. Then he told me how him and Preacher wife courted and didn't even kiss until their wedding day. He reminded me that some things are best left until marriage. And then he threatened parts of me that I never thought I'd hear Preacher mention."

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't say anything, just stood there, nodding like a damned fool. What did you think I was gonna do, admit that I'd kissed her in the baptismal?"

He chucked his hammer on the floor.

"Bridger! You didn't! Please tell me you didn't. That sounds like some West trouble."

Silence was the only answer my brother got.

Admit nothing—that was the best policy.

Stockton started hammering again before long and then I heard the fizzle of the hot metal as it was plunged into the barrel of water. He got a smaller hammer from the wall, one used for more specialized shaping. "When Willa starts dating, I'm just gonna make you and West come home for the weekend. West should be able to scare them off with his weirdness and you and I can be the brutes who make sure they stay away."

"Deal. Anyway, I might be home by then."

"I'd rather you stayed in school."

"We'll see."

~~

Since we'd gotten back to school, I hadn't seen her once. I'd talked to her on the phone and texted, but she was always busy, busier than before the holidays.

By Thursday of the next week, I was fed up of her avoiding me, and I wanted to know why. I knew I'd told her too much. That's the way I was—slow to warm up to someone and then just juggernauted my way through the rest. I'd exposed myself and now she was scared.

"Should I go over there? Just surprise her?"

"You gotta bring shit," West answered, waving me off. His nose was buried in a book. Since we'd gotten back home, the boy was all about studying. I thought maybe all of Stockton's hosing him down had straightened him out, like a dog getting his balls clipped. But with that latest statement, he'd apparently grown them back.

"I have to bring shit?" West needed his own translator. I'd spent half of my life asking him what he meant.

"Ugh," he twirled around in his desk chair. "I didn't mean like an actual pile. I meant bring her something if you're going to stop by. Not flowers or candy. Gag. Bring her a cake. Hell, bring her a roasted chicken. God knows you owe her something decent to eat after exposing her to Cami's cooking. I've still got the runs from that spaghetti."

Ignoring his antics, I focused on what made sense. Cake. "She's like gluten intolerant or something. I can't bring cake."

That really fouled West up. He scrunched his face all up like he was really perplexed about it. He growled like my presence just aggravated him.

"Hold on."

West popped his laptop open and began typing. I swore to myself if he came up with something disgusting I would drive him back to Stockton that night.

"There's a gluten-free bakery on North Jackson Street. They close in forty minutes. Don't get one shaped like a—just go for the cupcakes. Thank me later."

I changed my mind. I loved my brother. He was a genius. Throwing my shoes on as quickly as I could, I called out to him. "Text me the address."

"You are so damned needy. Hurry!"

I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed out the door. Girls liked cake, right? But Tate wasn't a regular girl. Two kisses and some declarations on my part hadn't afforded me any details about her. I could tell when she was upset. I knew her angry blush from her desirous one. And I could tell you anything you wanted to know about her as a kid.

Whether or not she liked cake was still a mystery.

That was the reason I needed more time with her. I wanted to know every facet of Tate.

If she'd ever let me see her.

It was tearing me up not to hold her. It was like giving me a taste of the best ice cream I'd ever had and then telling me that I couldn't have anymore for a year. I craved time with her.

I just craved Tate.

Now that I'd finally gotten her back, after forgetting how much I once wanted her, it was torturous to be away.

At the bakery, I grabbed one of everything. The place smelled like it was built out of wedding cakes and frosting. I felt like such an ass when the girl behind the counter asked me what my girlfriend's favorite flavor cake was. I had no clue. Hell, I didn't even know if Tate considered herself my girlfriend.

There was a chance I'd taken the trophy for dumbest Wright sibling away from West.

That was a hard feat.

Finally, with a dozen cupcakes in a box, I drove over to her dorm. I walked up two flights of stairs. I couldn't deny the nervousness in my stomach as I got closer and closer to her room. The last time I was there, she'd asked me to come.

Now, I couldn't tell if she wanted me around at all.

I knocked on her door and heard shuffling around inside. Whispering voices bantered back and forth. A few seconds later, the door inside her room closed.

Carter opened the door, but only a small crack. "Hey Bridge."

It was hard to hide my disappointment.

"Hey, Carter. Is Tate here?"

Carter looked back into the room like she had no idea where Tate was.

"She's here, but she just got in the shower."

I smiled, trying hard not to vent my frustration out on her. It wasn't her fault and I certainly didn't want her telling Tate that I was rude. "That's fine. I'll wait out here."

She shut the door a little bit more so that there was only room for her face to fit through. "Well, she's pretty tired. Maybe it would be best if you just called her tomorrow. She worked all day and then busted her butt studying."

I cleared my throat, giving myself a chance to work up a smile. "Sure. Tell her I'll call her tomorrow. Oh..." I held up the box and she opened the door a little wider to take it. I tried to make the opportunity count and look into the room, but I didn't see Tate. I don't know why I expected to, but I did. "I didn't know what kind she liked, so I bought one of each. Goodnight, Carter."

Her friend just stared at the box. "Goodnight, Bridger."

I hated the nickname Bridge, but somehow Carter calling me by my real name worried me even more.

I drove around the city for a while. The quantity of building fascinated me. When I first came here for college, I was alone. West was still a senior in high school. Stockton said I'd have trouble sleeping, all the noise and none of the darkness. It was quiet until West got there with me, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I'd always wanted to come to the city, sure that the grass was greener here. But the thing about the city was—the only grass was the kind that was planted by the landscapers.

But going back home had renewed my love for the country life. As stupid as it sounded, I missed feeding the chickens and working on my own schedule. West was here, but I wanted to be home with my whole family. I wanted to be around when Will started dating and I wanted to be there when Stockton and Cami had kids.

Working in an office floated further and further away on my list.

I wasn't sure it was ever on my list.

Nearing midnight, I was still driving around when I got a call. It was Tate.

I made my voice sound normal when really I was happier than happy to see her name pop up on the phone.

"Hello."

"Hey!" She attempted to sound excited, but it didn't carry. Whatever was going on with her, I wished she would just tell me. I thought we had at least progressed to trusting each other.

"I thought you were tired."

"Oh, I am. I just wanted to thank you for the cupcakes. I love them."

"I hope they're good. West found the bakery. They make everything gluten-free. I know that makes you sick."

She exhaled heavily into the phone. "You didn't go to too much trouble, did you?"

Of course, I did. If she called me and requested I drive all the way back to Constance to get Preacher Wife's peach cobbler, I'd do that too. I'd do just about anything she asked me to.

"It was worth it. I was just trying to see you."

I couldn't have sounded any more pathetic.

"How about tomorrow? I'm off work and I don't have a class until noon."

As stupid as it sounded, I didn't answer right away. This whole scenario was vaguely familiar, like I was begging for time with her. I'd begged for time with Jesse too. Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I focused on Tate. I knew Tate. She wasn't Jesse and I was doing her and me an injustice by constantly reverting back to that relationship.

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"If you could, that would be great. This medicine for my stomach—I'm not supposed to drive. It makes me kind of loopy sometimes."

"Call me when you get up. Carter said you needed some rest. And if you don't feel like going tomorrow, I understand. I've been worried about you."

Though I knew better, I swore I heard her cuss under her breath.

"Thanks. Could you do me a favor?"

"Anything for you."

"This is going to sound stupid, but could you pray for me?"

"Of course, Tate. I already do."

"Goodnight, Bridger." She hung up first. I hoped she wasn't overextending herself by trying to see me the next day.

To my surprise, a text came in early from Tate. She wanted to know if I'd pick her up in an hour.

_I'll be there._ I texted back and sat straight up in bed.

Looking over at West, lying face down on his bed, his head under the pillow, I felt revenge coming on. You had to be constantly on watch for revenge opportunities when West was your brother. I knew the thing that frightened West the most—thunder. I devised my plan fast, needing to get a shower and be dressed soon to pick up Tate. I found the track I needed on my iPod and then cranked up the speakers near his bed all the way up.

Come on Nature Sounds, do your thing.

With the remote in my hand, I stood at the door of the bathroom, ready to bolt inside whenever he came to. I opened the door quietly and then pressed play. It started out innocently enough, just a few drops of rain and splashing could be heard. West stirred a little but didn't move.

A boom crashed through the rain on the soundtrack and faster than I thought imaginable, West sprang from his bed to the top of his desk. He started doing some knees up, head down dance that I was sure was a fertility dance in another country or another century. His arms were frozen stiff in the most awkward, painful position—even his toes were clenched.

His girly scream could be heard over everything else.

He probably had just made a mating call to every nearby cat and didn't know it.

I didn't even have time to laugh, it all happened so fast. I stood there in shock.

The next crash came before he could really wake up and then he changed from dancing to holding onto the broad, commercial plastic blinds like they were a life raft. Sounds of plastic bending and breaking split through the sounds of thunder. I was sure we would be paying for those at the end of the semester.

So worth it.

The mating dance began again soon after. I didn't know my brother was so nimble—or so flexible. He looked like a marionette on crack. We should've invested in gymnastics with that one.

Finally waking up, he realized what was going on and with one jerky movement, he kicked the iPod off the desk and across the room.

And as soon as it stopped, he whipped his head toward me. His cheeks were puffing out in anxiety.

Shit, I should've recorded it.

No words were exchanged. My brother knew revenge when it was dished on him.

Even still, when I saw his face morph from scared to pissed, I ran into the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind me.

My revenge was two-fold.

When West was scared, he peed. The boy had a bladder the size of a paintball.

There would be no peeing if I were locked in the bathroom.

He really should be nicer.

I heard nothing. No threats. No promises of retribution. Finally, I gave up and showered as fast as I could. I didn't hear anything through the door, but I still proceeded out quietly. Towel wrapped around my waist, I came out. West was dressed and wordlessly went into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and began to brush his teeth after peeing and washing his hands. He sat on his bed and looked directly at me, just brushing like he had nothing else to do.

"What?" I said, pulling on some pants and looking for a shirt.

"Nothing. I hope you charged your phone."

My shoulders slumped at the mention of my phone. He wouldn't. Yes, he would.

"I charged it. Anyway, you don't know the passcode."

He walked slowly into the bathroom, spit into the sink, and turned back to me. "Please. Like your birthday was so hard to figure out."

"You didn't."

I checked everything—my outgoing calls—my messages—nothing.

"Whatever." I shucked it onto the bed and continued getting ready.

West and I left at the same time.

I'd gotten him so good.

Tate wasn't outside when I got to her building, so I parked and walked up to her room. The door was open, but I knocked on the door anyway.

"Bridger?" Her voice was back to normal.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I'm a little slow today. I know I said we could go out, but would you mind terribly if we just hung out here?"

If at all possible she looked worse than she had that faithful night where I'd spilled my guts to her. Her hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head. A hoodie that must've been three sizes too big swallowed her whole and nearly covered every stitch of her pajama pants featuring lemons and lollipops.

My heart dropped at the sight of her like this, like the vibrancy had been funneled out of her ounce by ounce. I wanted to grab her up, bring her to the hospital, and demand every doctor in the place to find out what was wrong.

"What can I do? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

She slid on slippers to her side of the room and flopped down on it. "I just need some rest, but I wanted to see you. If you're hungry or whatever, you don't have to stay. Don't stop your life for me."

Wherever that last statement came from, I didn't like it one bit.

"Actually, I came prepared for Tate duty, whatever that may be. So, are you a chest to chest kind of girl or do you prefer spooning." I smiled, hoping to prove that I was joking but not joking at the same time.

"Well," she shivered and pulled the hood over her head. "I've been told you're into a lot more than spooning. In fact, Carter gasped when she found out how kinky my boy was. I mean that kind of talk so early in the morning? Bridger, you naughty boy."

My face must've given everything away.

"I hope you don't text those things to all the girls."

"What did he do?"

She laughed a little but sobered herself up quickly, like it hurt to laugh. "West, huh? I knew they weren't from you. They were funny, though I would've preferred your sweetness."

I walked over to her, desperate to give her any kind of comfort I could.

"Let's not spend our time talking about West anymore."
Chapter Eighteen

Tate

I hadn't felt this good in weeks, months maybe.

Maybe my whole life.

I lay on the small dorm bed, wrapped in Bridger's arms and even though I felt like dying, I figured this was a great way to go.

_This boy_. This boy and his gluten-free cupcakes.

My heart ached right along with the rest of my body. I wanted to be honest with him. I wanted to tell him all about my sickness and that I might not make it. I wanted to stop him from getting in too deep with me and wasting his time on someone who might not have any time left.

But I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth.

For a long time, all I wanted to do was live each day to its fullest. I wanted to forget my rough childhood and my even rougher adolescence. I wanted to forget that I was sick and might not graduate college. I wanted to forget that this degree I worked for would be completely useless to a corpse.

I gave each day everything I had because it might be all I had left.

And then Bridger came along and now I wanted to dream about the future and a life with this man that had stolen my heart and made dreams on a piece of property where he'd buried notes about _me_.

My heart ached and my soul soared. My body succumbed further to the drugs and treatment each week, and the illness that worked so hard to kill me, but my mind reeled with possibilities of a future with Bridger and building our home on his family's land.

He stirred next to me. First he seemed to jerk in his sleep as if he couldn't figure out where he was. Then, he sank deeper into my tiny bed and pulled me closer. His arms tightened around my waist, and his hands splayed out against my body. One gripped at my hip, the other rested hotly on my stomach.

"Mmm," he growled against the back of my neck through all my crazy hair. "I could get used to waking up like this."

My throat and mouth dried up as I tried not to hyperventilate. He couldn't just let me sit at the edge of love, he had to come barreling in and knock me right over the edge.

"Me too," I rasped. My voice was still hoarse and rough from sleep, even though I'd barely slept while he held me like this. "This is very nice."

"Very nice," he echoed in a whisper. "I've missed you."

My heart thudded in my chest and I hated the lies that tumbled over my tongue. Carter had disappeared an hour ago and the silence after his confession thundered through the room. I had missed him too. After all the time with him in Constance, and now the time apart, I realized how spoiled I'd been.

During the worst of my treatment and the low points where I sometimes wondered if death would be better, easier than going through all this, I thought of him. Those stolen kisses, seeing him open up and lose his cranky defenses, reading his message in a bottle... Those had changed me. They'd reached down into me and evolved my spirit.

But if I told him, if I brought him into this world of mine, things would change between us. He wouldn't continue to open up, he'd shut down again. His moods would be shaped by worry and concern. Our relationship would continue out of obligation and sympathy. I didn't want those things.

I just wanted Bridger. Just like this. For as long as I could have him.

But that didn't mean I wanted to lie either.

So instead, I decided on the truth. The embarrassing truth. "I've never had this before." I rolled to my other side and he settled on his back to accommodate my new position. I snuggled into the nook of his arm and breathed him in.

God, I didn't want this to end. Not ever.

"What? Such strong, sexy arms wrapped around you?" His tone dropped to an exaggerated octave and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Actually, no. I haven't. I haven't really, um, dated much before. Not like this anyway."

He stilled beneath me. His entire body stopped moving and his muscles went rigid. His arms banded around my waist and held me there against him. I let him. This moment seemed important to him and I hoped that was a good thing.

He could so easily have realized my secret-loser status. It was okay to be free-spirited and adventurous. But was it really okay not to have dated?

Ever?

"You've never dated anyone before?"

I cleared my throat and tried to push away my awkwardness. I hadn't realized how uncomfortable this would make me feel. "I mean, I've been on dates. It's just never gone very far. I was kind of a wild child in my youth and incapable of taking anything seriously."

"What about high school?" His words were concentrated and picked carefully. I wished I could read his mind because I couldn't tell if he cared either way.

"Nope, not high school either. Do you think I'm a loser?" I bit my bottom lip nervously. My stomach flipped over and over while waiting for his response.

"I'm in awe, Tatum Halloway. In absolute awe."

And he sounded like it. But I couldn't just let that go! I needed more adjectives. I needed all the adjectives! "Like... good awe? Or bad awe?"

He chuckled at my obvious freak-out. The low sound vibrated through my body as his chest rumbled beneath me. "Good awe. Very good awe. I just... I don't feel worthy of this, Tate." He nudged me with his shoulder and I lifted my head to look at him. He cupped my jaw with his rough hand and held me so tenderly my chest ached with more emotion than I knew what to do with. "How did I get so lucky with you?"

My cheeks burned with an emotional blush. I felt the same way; I just didn't know how to tell him that without sounding cheesy. "I'm not sure I would call this lucky."

His eyebrows dipped down and made an angry slash. "I would," he argued vehemently. "I would call this lucky, or blessed or divine providence. To find you again after all these years, to be lucky enough to get to hold you, to get to kiss you. And you haven't done this with anyone else. You've saved this for me. Maybe not intentionally. And maybe you didn't ever think I'd be the one you would give this gift to, but you did. And I couldn't be more grateful."

It was unfortunate that I felt like complete shit. Otherwise I would have attacked his entire body with kisses. Instead, I leaned down and pressed a slow one on his full lips. I let my mouth linger on his until I felt dangerously short of breath and wobbly.

His expression saddened when I pulled away and I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. "You're welcome."

He laughed again, but it didn't wipe away the melancholy frown. I pressed my thumb into the space between his eyebrows and smoothed out the grumpy lines.

"What's wrong?" I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

"This is a gift, Tate. You're giving me a gift and I want more than anything to be able to give it back to you. But I can't. I have dated. All the wrong women."

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Bridger sounded absolutely miserable as he confessed that he hadn't waited all twenty-one years of his life for me. As if I expected him to. Silly boy.

"Bridger, I would never have expected you to wait for me. Neither one of us could have predicted we would find each other again. Or that we'd come to... care for each other. You couldn't know that I would be waiting for you. And believe me, it wasn't always by choice. I had... sometimes my life seemed as though I'd never have time for someone else. It wasn't necessarily something I enjoyed doing or would ever think would pay off. But it did. And I'm really happy it did."

He finally let out a long, resigned sigh and nodded. "It did work out. I'm happy it did too."

I settled back onto his chest and started making a pattern across his t-shirt covered chest with my pointer finger. "Is that why you were a little relationally resistant? Because of all those wrong women?" My stomach clenched with nerves again, warring against the ever-present nausea.

A growly, frustrated sound came out of his throat and I had just decided to tell him he didn't need to answer when he said, "Yeah. I was definitely relationally-resistant. I dated... well, I don't even know how to say it. I dated a girl for a long time and she just didn't turn out to be who I thought she was."

"What do you mean?"

"She cheated on me."

I popped back off his chest again and my fist clenched unconsciously in his t-shirt. I wanted to know who this horrible skanky shrew was so I could destroy her! I wanted to take her picture and make Herpes ads out of it and then tape them up all over campus. I wanted to duct tape her to a chair and make her watch Bridger take me on a date just so I could rub it in her face how much she'd given up!

Who was this idiot?

And did she not have a common sense thought in her head?

"I hate this girl," I told him.

He laughed at my honest anger. "I might hate her too. Not so much now though as a few months ago." His finger ran over the curve of my jaw. "She wasn't right for me. Even without the cheating. I think I was always trying to be someone I wasn't, trying to be the guy I thought she wanted me to be."

"But why? This guy is so much better. This guy is so much hotter!"

He smiled affectionately at me and his eyes warmed with liquid heat. They glittered like bright emeralds in the low light of my room.

"I think you're right," he told me. We did some deep, soul-sharing staring for long, endless moments before he said, "But she messed me up for a while. Maybe I'm still a little messed up. It's hard for me to trust other people after she betrayed me like that."

"I don't blame you." The words were a forced whisper from a mouth that didn't want to admit them. Guilt and shame punched me in my weak stomach. In my sickened state, tears pricked at my eyes and I felt the weight of my sins electrify through me. Gosh, why did he have to have trust issues? He was going to hate me.

Now I couldn't tell him.

I mean, I knew I had to... But I couldn't.

I physically couldn't.

My heart felt too heavy and my lies sunk to the bottom of my soul like a concrete block to the depths of the ocean.

"I thought I would never find another woman worth spending my time and energy on," he continued. "I never expected someone like you."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"That's the best thing."

"I'm human, Bridger. I'm... I'm fallible. I'm going to make mistakes. I'm going to let you down and break your trust."

His eyes narrowed and I saw the thick pain flash behind his careful mask. "Are you saying you might cheat on me?"

"Never!" I gasped. "But that doesn't mean there aren't other ways to break your trust. I can let you down in other ways."

"You're too hard on yourself." His thumb rubbed my bottom lip as if to take away the warning I'd given him. "And I know you're not perfect, Tate. Neither am I. But as long as we stay faithful to each other, I think we can work through all the other stuff."

"You have a lot of faith in me. Maybe more than I deserve."

My words were true, but I wished I could take them back. I hated the look of paranoia he now wore. I hated that I'd sparked suspicion in him when he'd been so trusting with me. So open.

But my lies were too heavy to keep hidden and too horrible to confess. I had trapped myself in this place. Dug my own grave. And now I had to find a way out. I had to figure out a way to tell him the truth or he would hate me forever.

"I trust you, Tate. And you trust me. This seems like a good place to start. Let's go from here and take it one day at a time."

Tears wet my bottom lashes, but I refused to let them spill. "I would like that. I like taking it one day at a time."

"Good." He smiled at me gently and I breathed easier at the way his tension seemed to melt away. "You don't need to be nervous. I promise we can work anything out."

I gulped, but kept my mouth shut this time. "Okay."

"Okay."

He leaned up on his elbow and looked at my bedside clock. "Do you need to get ready for class?"

I glanced over my shoulder and groaned. _Damn class_. If I had known I was going to go through all this crap, I would have postponed this semester. Or maybe not. It was a pain in the ass to stop and then start again. I didn't necessarily have the energy now for it, but I wouldn't have the energy right away at the end of my treatment either. One semester would have turned into a whole year off and then I would have been really far behind.

And there was always the fear that I would never come back.

No, I would juggle school and chemo and cancer. And Bridger.

To hell with everything else.

I only got this one life and I was bound and determined to make it count for something. Even if that meant going to General Psych 101 when all I wanted to do was cuddle with Bridger from this moment until the end of time.

I groaned out an annoyed, "Yes."

He chuckled at my lack of enthusiasm and shifted on the bed so we could both get up. He helped me to my feet and then placed the sweetest kiss against my lips. "This was by far, my most favorite morning of classes yet."

I smiled up at him. "I'm sorry I have to kick you out now. I'd much rather stay here with you than battle textbooks and pretentious professors."

Laughter brightened his already sparkling eyes. "What about later? After all your higher education wars? You busy?"

"I have to work tonight." I stuck out my bottom lip and pouted.

"Tomorrow then?"

I held back a cry of frustration. Tomorrow was the start of another treatment. I had three left to go and this one was definitely going to be brutal. I planned to be out of it for the rest of the week.

My mom and little sister were headed up too. They had called, begging to come see me and I hadn't been able to say no. Weakened by drugs and lacking willpower to stay away from my mama, I'd reluctantly agreed to spend the weekend with them and let them help me recover.

"I can't tomorrow either. In fact, I'm busy the whole weekend."

His expression fell and he took a step back. I hated the distance. I hated disappointing him. And I really hated keeping something from him. "The whole weekend?"

I nodded. "My mom's coming to town with my little sister. I told her she could have all my time and attention."

"Oh," he said. But he didn't sound convinced. "Well, family's important."

"Right." I didn't sound like I believed him though. I did, I knew my family was important. But I wanted Bridger more than anyone right now. I wanted to follow this attraction and let our souls wrap up in each other while we got to know each other on deeper levels. I wanted this... whatever it was to become a real, solid, secure relationship. I wanted to be his. And I wanted him to be mine.

"Why don't you just call me when you have time for me?"

"Bridger, it's not that-"

He pressed his fingers to my lips. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that. Just... just call me, yeah?"

I nodded and then watched him leave as quietly as he could. My heart sank to my toes and my skin itched with frustration. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn't we just meet and fall in love and be healthy like normal people?

Ugh!

Freaking cancer!

Three more treatments to go. Just three more. I would be done the first of the year and then all of this would be over.

Or... at least this part.

I supposed it could only be beginning if the treatment didn't work.

No. I couldn't think like that. I couldn't get bogged down with negative thoughts or predictions. For my health, I needed to keep my mind and feelings positive.

So, _when_ I got healthy, _when_ treatment ended and I went back into remission, I _would_ be able to enjoy all the perfection of a relationship with Bridger. It would be like my reward for surviving cancer.

Twice.

I could be with him and be as honest and happy as I liked.

And I had a feeling Bridger Wright would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be.

As long as he stuck with me through three more treatments.
Chapter Nineteen

Bridger

My head was always in the clouds after seeing Tate. She burst into my life like a giggle in the middle of a prayer meeting—unexpected, but a welcome retreat.

I never thought I'd get a second chance with her.

I thought my shot at loving Tate had been buried with those messages in bottles.

That Thursday morning had been amazing and I'd let it carry me through the moments of the day.

I could feel the heat of her hands on my face and against my chest. The subtle lull of her breathing still rocked me to sleep nights after. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the contours of her body as they fit right into the concaves of mine.

Like she was made to be held by me.

Like I could hold her forever.

I could still smell her on my hoodie, vanilla and honey. It reminded me of the honeysuckles that grew on the hills.

As stupid as it sounded, Tate Halloway tasted like the finest honeysuckle jelly that my mom used to make in the summer.

I felt open and alive.

Maybe for the first time.

She'd cracked through my core.

I would spend the rest of our lives thanking her for not giving up on me.

I missed her even before I left her.

Thursday and Friday I hit the books, for no other reason than boredom. The room was actually quiet now that West had bob-tailed his quest to be the rowdiest student on campus into the most studious. It was eerily quiet.

I was probably too worried about West. He'd probably just grown up and realized that it was now or never with college. Stockton wasn't going to pay for him to fart around forever.

By Saturday afternoon, I was reeling for something to do and some fresh air.

I intended to make my way onto the field and people watch. It was a perfect day for it. Sometimes, I felt like I knew people well just by watching them. The way they looked at others, the way others looked at them. How people act and the words they say when others aren't watching often reflects their true character.

That's when something hard and sharp hit me in the jaw.

"Sorry, man." A guy yelled after me.

"That's okay."

I picked up the object of my demise, a Frisbee, and pathetically tossed it back to him.

"Wanna join in before the serious players get here?"

The guy was dressed like an athlete, built like an athlete, but talked like he was straight out of a comic book.

"There are serious Frisbee—ers?"

"Yeah, man. Ultimate Frisbee."

The only ultimate thing I liked was an ultimate cheeseburger.

"No thanks."

Deciding that the field was more dangerous than I thought, I went to the student union instead. A postcard in my mailbox told me I'd received a package from Cami.

"You have to sign for it." The girl behind the counter pointed to a line with an X.

I didn't want to sign for it. If I signed for the package, then Cami would know I received it. And if she knew I received it, I would have to lie about how good the contained baked goods were.

"You know," the blonde girl whispered as she leaned over the corner exposing a lot more than her knowledge of postal codes. "The policy changed. They only allow pre-packaged food now. No homemade treats."

I jerked at her statement.

"How did you know?"

She blushed and took her place again on the other side. "I've seen you here before. You open the box and throw out the food—cookies mostly."

"I do that."

"Open it. I bet there's nothing that didn't come from a store."

Graciously, she handed over a box cutter and I sliced through the layers of tape. Cami might not be able to cook for shit, but she could duct tape a box like nobody's business.

Looking inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. No burnt bricks, only store bought cookies, chips and candy. And Stockton, because he's an ass, sent the bracelet I was working on. The charms were almost done. The only one left was a rose gold Christmas tree I intended to put on the bracelet at our first Christmas together.

Christmas needed to be special for her—for me.

I don't know why he felt the need to send that.

Because he was Stockton and he was nosey.

On my way back to the dorms, my path back was blocked by the university police. They'd blocked off the sidewalk and the common area for tailgaters.

A smile took shape on my face. I knew that the way I had to go back home rounded the corner by Tate's dorm.

My chest warmed as I thought about sleeping next to her again. It wasn't something I wanted—or knew I wanted.

I did. I wanted all of Tate—always. For once, with a girl, I could speak my mind and not be chastised for being too sappy or too clingy. My heart could open up and let loose all the things I felt for her—without fear of her stomping on them later.

"Hey!"

West rounded a corner with a backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. I didn't know West owned a backpack. Yes, I did. That was a lie. But the only reason he owned one was because Cami brought him back to school shopping like he was entering the third grade.

He drew the line at the lunchbox.

"Cami sent us cookies."

"Why did you accept it? Throw the damned things away before someone hurts themselves."

Some passerby students chuckled at our exchange.

"They came from the store this time. No harm."

"Where are you headed?"

"Back to the dorm. They've got everything blocked off for the game."

"Me too. Give me the chips."

West went after the chips like he hadn't eaten in weeks. People fluttered all around campus with their school colors on, faces painted, and war cries ready. I could smell the telltale bar-b-que fare all the way from the stadium. We had never been a football family. We spent Saturdays working. My dad had always said that the Lord gave us six good working days and only guaranteed us one day of rest.

Plus, football would require cable.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized we weren't really a sports family at all.

The way around was a long one. We had to walk all the way around the girls' dorms, as well as the art museum, awkwardly sitting on the side of campus.

"Oh, so convenient that this path takes us right past your girl's dorm." He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively.

"It is convenient. I didn't do this on purpose. She's spending the weekend with her mom anyway. It's not like I can even see her."

"Her mom?"

West asking questions seemed off. He was never this inquisitive unless it had to do with him directly.

"Yeah, her mom and her sister too, I think."

In one swift movement, West jumped in front of me and got so close to my face that I could smell all forty-seven seasonings on his cool ranch chips. Most of said seasonings were stuck in his teeth. "Let's go to the union. I need something to drink.

I pushed him out of my way. "Shut up. Get a drink from the machine in the dorm."

"No, I hate drinking from a can. Let's go back to the union. You're pissing me off. You just want to walk past her dorm so you can yell at her window like a love struck fool."

Love struck fool? There was a fool all right, but it wasn't me.

"Fine." I turned around and he threw his arm over my shoulder like we were seven and six again and he'd put a dead toad in my pocket.

That's when I heard it.

It wasn't her voice—it was her laugh. I could pick her laugh out of a crowd at a comedy club. It came from deep down inside her. She had no shallow one. There was her true laugh or none at all.

I turned around, desperate for the sound to reach my ears again and my eyes scouring the grounds around me for one glance. I was in that deep. One glance would satiate me for a while. A glimpse. That's all I needed to quench the ever growing thirst for Tate.

A bass sound, resounding and unnerving, replaced her laugh in my ears when I saw her. It blocked out all the noise around me and cut off my other senses.

She was wrapped in a blanket and my legs' and arms' first instincts were to run to her. Then I saw two hands, one curled around her dainty waist—the other encasing both of her legs. Someone was holding her. The dead grip of the bass pounded harder and soon evolved into a piercing beep.

I could barely contain the shaking that wracked my chest as realization poured its icy knowledge down my back.

It was a man holding her—the way I had.

It was a man whose words had caused the laugh I'd so selfishly claimed she only gifted me.

It didn't matter—he was holding her and I wasn't.

Because she said she couldn't see me.

Because she said she would be with her family.

The bastard was my age, his hair shaved so close to his head. I could only tell that it was light in color. He smiled down on her like she was the sun. She was the sun. She was the planets and the stars and the galaxy itself.

He stumbled, almost dropping her and she slapped his shoulder with the same hand that had, not two days before, laid on my chest while I promised her that we could get through anything.

Anything.

I promised her we would work through anything.

Her laugh rang true. It was the only thing I could hear clearly.

He dumped her into the passenger seat of a worn pickup truck. It was the most beat up truck I'd ever seen, worse than Stockton's old piece of crap. She rolled her eyes while he put on her seatbelt and kissed her cheek. With great care, he swiped a piece of untamable hair from her face.

Maybe no part of Tate was tamable.

Didn't he know that?

"It's not what you think. Back up and walk away." West was growling in my ear. I could barely comprehend his words over the constant drumming.

My gaze couldn't be torn from her if my life depended on it. Her feet were bare, the boots she loved to wear dangling from his hands. That may have been the greatest betrayal of all, those boots in his hands. Only a piece of her red hair could be seen from beneath that same sweatshirt she'd worn before that now rested against the stranger.

My doubts wrangled in my chest. She wouldn't. There's been a mistake.

"She..." I couldn't have coaxed my throat to form another word if I wanted it to. Every emotion held my words in place.

"Come on before you come unglued. Trust me, it's not what you think." It was the second time he'd spoke those words, but they wouldn't resonate for a while yet. West took me by the shoulders and jerked me backwards until I complied, giving up on the scene for sanity's sake.

Before I knew it, West had taken us on an unknown path behind buildings and around dumpsters, we were back at the dorms.

I didn't even know if I had breathed since I'd seen Tate.

Maybe I hadn't.

Maybe I would never breathe again.

I sat down on my bed, even it protested against my plopping down in distress.

"I'm going home." I breathed to no one in particular.

"Cool off Bridger. Let her explain. This is bigger than some petty jealousy. All of this."

I was burning from the inside out. My heart was wrestling with my mind. It was winning.

"I'm going to take a shower."

Pushing past an all of the sudden attentive brother, I barely shucked my clothes off before turning on the shower and yelling at the rapid temperature change. Our dorm showers had two temperatures, boiling and iceberg. I needed iceberg. I needed the dousing of freezing forgiveness.

West was right. Damn him to hell, he was right. There had to be a reason. She wouldn't do that. She swore it to me and unlike any other person in my life, I believed her.

But more than that, I promised.

I promised her we would work through anything.

I'd taken and broken her trust too many times in my life not to give her the benefit of the doubt now.

In order to love Tate like she deserved to be loved, I had to rid myself of the constant doubt that plagued me.

I had to love her with the fury of ten year old Bridger and the depth of twenty-one-year-old Bridger.

And give it all the room it needed to grow every day.

That I could do.

A rabid laugh broke free from my chest and reverberated around me in the tiny shower. It echoed and anyone in hearing distance would think a lunatic had taken up residence in the hall. It was a simple thing to do. So much easier than creating a story out of what could be nothing.

Loving Tate was easy.

It just meant letting go.

"Bridger, don't make me come in there. You sound like that stabby clown guy."

West watched too many horror films.

"I'm fine," I shouted and turned off the water. I grabbed a towel and walked out feeling like nothing could hurt me. I loved her with every pulse of blood in my veins.

She wouldn't do that to me.

She wouldn't.

What was that called?

Trust.

I trusted Tate, which might just be more important than these first sprigs of love.

"She's fine, Bridger."

"I know, West. She's fine."

"Just a few more weeks and you'll see, she'll be back to normal."

He faltered in his pacing which he'd taken up when we got to the dorm.

"She's normal now, West. You're the one who's not normal."

He didn't laugh. Usually, not only would West laugh, but he would value being not normal as a compliment. He made a habit of showing off his non-normalcy daily.

"I'll never be normal, Bridger. But you will and she will."

I kicked his chair and then dug around in my dresser for boxers and a pair of jeans.

"What is up with you? I swear, ever since we got back from home, you've been acting strange."

He got out a stack of books as if to prove my point. "Acting strange? Really? We are in school Bridger. What, I'm not the screw-up brother anymore? You don't know how to act unless you're playing father figure to the dumbass sibling?"

That came from left field.

"You're ridiculous. Don't act like you've been a model student all this time."

He turned around and got into my face. "Have you seen my grades? Or do you just assume I'm a dumbass?"

"You're not stupid, West. You just cut up too much."

"Maybe I'm done with cutting up. Maybe I realize how short life is, and I'm ready to grow up a little. Maybe you should too. Tate has never done anything to earn your mistrust."

I squinted. "I know. I overreacted. I'm over it now. Don't think your turncoat life all of the sudden gives you the right to get in my shit."

He swiveled around on his heel and looked out the window. "I have to tell you something, Bubba."

West hadn't called me Bubba since we were in overalls at the creek. It wasn't uncommon for siblings in the south to call their older brother Bubba. It had been a long time. We never called Stock the term of endearment, but West and Willa had always called me that until they got too big for their britches.

"West?"

"You'd better sit down."
Chapter Twenty

Tate

"So is it serious? Why can't we meet him? Where is he? If it's serious, why isn't he here to meet your mama?"

"Mom!" I dropped my face into my hands and let out an aggravated groan. My family had been here for all of two days and I was so ready for them to go home. "Everything's new! We're just figuring this out. I don't want to freak him out."

"But you met his family?" She sounded so pissed. No, not pissed. She was disappointed in me. And that was infinitely worse than anger. I wanted to crawl under my covers and never come out again.

I pressed my lips together and gave my brother and sister pleading looks. They both hid smiles and tried not to laugh.

Bastards.

Both of them.

"I met his family because of Granddaddy and Grams. Not because he invited me over there in some kind of formal introduction ceremony. Granddaddy is their preacher. That's all."

"That's not what my mama told me." My mother's ice blue eyes cut away from me, and my heart clenched in agony. Why did she have to do this to me? Why now? Why on the same morning I'd woken up to half my hair on my pillow and my skin the lovely color of sickly yellow? Couldn't she just let me avoid Bridger until my hair grew back, and my nails were strong enough to grow past my fingertips? My hair hadn't fallen out last time and I had high hopes it wouldn't this time. But my treatments were stronger this time around and it looked to be inevitable. "Grams told me how that boy is smitten over you. How Granddaddy had a talk with him about your virtue and a future with you. That boy is in love with you Tatum Mackenzie. It's time he met your mother."

"Colson, say something! Defend me!" I beseeched my brother, but he just shrugged.

Colson was a year and a half older than me and my sister, Macey, was a year and a half younger than me. We grew up thicker than thieves and practically drove my mother crazy. Mom probably hated having her kids so close together when we were young, but we had always loved it. Now more than ever.

"I want to meet him too, T. Dad's not here. If this kid plans to date my little sister, then he needs some family approval." Colson crossed his arms and dipped his chin- his best I-mean-business look.

Oh, brother.

"Mace? Anything?"

She smiled at me. "You should know I'm dying to see this guy! Is he as cute as I remember?"

"You remember him as a kid! I hope he looks at least a little bit different than what you remember!"

My mother pushed her phone across the Waffle House table and smiled sweetly at me. "Don't cause me no more stress, Tatum. Get on the phone and get that boy to meet us for dinner."

I glared at her. "You better think of a better place than Waffle House then. I will not let you meet him in one of these." I gestured around at the dilapidated establishment and the sticky floor.

Uh, no.

In fact, I would never be setting foot in one of these again. Clearly, my visiting family didn't think the chemo, radiation and cancer was doing a quick enough job of killing me.

My mom tipped her head back and laughed. I admired her pretty profile as she did so and melted a little bit. I had caused her a lot of stress in life.

I didn't necessarily want to give into her greedy demands, but I wasn't completely heartless either.

My mom straightened up, and her graying hair tumbled over her shoulders. Macey and I had inherited our red hair from her. The tumultuous curls as well. Now hers was painted mostly gray from a lifetime of poverty and a sick child. But she was still beautiful in my opinion and her sapphire eyes still bright and sharp.

I pulled out my own cellphone and waved it in defeat. "Alright, Mama. This is how much I love you. But only on one condition."

"And what's that, middle child?" My mama only called me that when I was difficult. It was her way of reminding me that I had put most of those gray hairs on her head.

"No speaking of my sickness. Or referencing it. Or reminding me about it. No asking if I'm okay or if I need something. No babying me. No watching me. No nothing. We're going to pretend like I'm completely healthy, and there is no issue with my health."

My mother's intelligent eyes found me, and I struggled not to squirm. "You haven't told him yet?" Her voice and tone were dangerously soft.

I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat. "I didn't want him to feel obligated to date me."

My mother sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head in disapproval. "What man in his right mind would feel _obligated_ to date _you_?"

"Mama, I have cancer! Most sane men would run as fast as they could from my issues. I would be worried about him if he didn't feel obligated!"

"You do not see yourself, baby girl. You never have."

"Colson, would you date a girl with cancer?"

He cut his eyes away from me and I knew my answer. My mom must have picked up on it too because she punched him in the arm.

"You would get to know the woman first, Colson Lee. And then you would decide. You're a better man than that. And you," she pointed a stern finger at me, "are a beautiful young woman that has drive, purpose and depth. Don't you tell me cancer would scare this boy away. If that's true, then he doesn't deserve you. Plain and simple."

I smiled affectionately at this incredible woman that loved me so completely. "You're right, Mama. And I will tell him. Just not tonight. In front of y'all. Let me do it in my own time."

"He's going to notice the bald spots," Macey put in.

"Real helpful, Mace." Cole threw a packet of sugar at her. Then his piercing gaze turned to me and he asked, "How bad is it? How are treatments going?"

Colson favored our father over mom's side. He had light brown hair, same as dad. Both of the men in my family kept it short and easy to manage. He had dad's naturally tanned complexion too, whereas my mama, Mace and I all had skin as white as milk. The only difference between my father and oldest brother was their build. Daddy was shorter but built for hard labor. He was thick and strong. And I remembered days of my childhood where he would pick me up and throw me in the air as if I weighed nothing. Cole was taller and lankier. He still had decent muscle build, but they stretched over long limbs and a tall torso.

"It's fine," I told him in answer to his question. "It's almost over."

My family fell silent as unspoken fears and concerns spun between us. I didn't want to them to see how miserable I felt, but I feared I couldn't hide it from them. They saw too much. They recognized all of this from before.

"You need to eat, baby girl. You've lost too much weight." My mom's quiet voice tugged at my chest. I knew she was right. I just couldn't make myself force food down. "That boy's not going to want you anymore if you're all skin and bones."

My mind flashed back to my dorm room and being wrapped in Bridger's strong arms. No, I thought. He will want me until I'm a shriveled up pile of bones and even beyond that.

My mom tsked. "You shouldn't be in school. I don't know why I let you stay here."

I exhaled a heavy sigh and reached for my phone again. I quickly pulled up Bridger's number and pushed send. I waved it at her to show her what I'd done before I pulled it back to my ear.

"I know what you're up to," she scolded me. "You can change the subject, but I'm your mama. I'll just bring it up again and again until I get my way."

I rolled my eyes at her and then we both started giggling. She could be ridiculous sometimes, but I loved her more than anything.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I greeted Bridger as soon as he picked up. "What are you doing?"

He hesitated for a few moments before saying, "Not much. Talking to West."

"Oh, boy," I teased. "Be careful with that one. He's trouble."

"Any other day of my life I would agree with that," Bridger said softly. "But not today."

He sounded sad or depressed or something. I hated the melancholy tone to his voice. It did horrible things to my heart and made me want to run from my family and straight into his arms.

"Is everything okay?" I asked in a quiet voice. I could barely hear my heart as I tensed to wait for his reply.

"Is everything okay with you?" he deflected.

I cleared my throat, not sure what to make of his answer. "I'm just hanging with my fam. We were talking about you."

"Oh, yeah?" He perked up a little bit and I took that as a good sign. "And what were you talking about exactly?"

"Well, my mom, brother and sister would like to meet you. Are you free for supper tonight?"

"Your _brother_?"

"Yes. And my mother and sister, too."

He let out a shaky laugh and then mumbled, "Well, that solves one mystery."

"Hmm?" He was acting weird today. I didn't know what to make of it.

He cleared his throat nervously. "I think I can swing dinner. What time and where?"

I told him to meet us at my favorite Mexican restaurant near campus at seven. He seemed surprised that I'd requested Mexican and so did my mom when I'd hung up the phone.

"You can't eat pancakes? But you can eat a burrito?" Colson asked skeptically.

I looked down at the plate of pancakes and eggs that I'd shoved around my plate to make it look like I'd consumed something. My stomach roiled at the thought of putting something in it.

"I'm hoping my favorite restaurant will help me get something I eat to stay inside me. Not only is this place too delicious to puke up, it will burn like hell if it decides to make a reappearance. I'm giving my body a severe warning to keep this meal down."

"You need to tell him, Tate," Mama said softly. "This boy cares about you. He deserves to know."

Guilt and loss rippled through me. I knew I'd lost Bridger and I hadn't even told him yet.

Once I did though... It was only a matter of time. He had hang-ups on trust and loyalty and I'd been lying to him from the get go.

Sure, I might have restrained from cheating on him, but that was pretty easy to do seeing as I was head over heels for him.

I'd lied about other things. Like my health. And my future as a living, breathing human being.

I couldn't even say anything to my mom. I just let her words hang over me. She was right. I had known that for a while... I just didn't know where to even start.

"Do I really have bald spots?" I asked instead.

She gave me a sharp once over and then with an amused twinkle in her eyes said, "Only if you know where to look."

My sister and she started laughing loudly while I took the opportunity to slink down in the booth and die.

Kill me now.

Colson winked at me which made me feel a little better, but not much. I had a strong feeling, Bridger and I would have to have this conversation soon. I highly doubted hair loss was another symptom of Celiacs.

Bridger beat us to the restaurant and I knew it pleased my mama that he wasn't just on time, he was early.

He looked especially hot tonight in a navy blue oxford with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and gray dress pants. My heartbeat sped up in my chest and my stomach flipped at the sight of him waiting by the front door.

He gave a shy wave and I just wanted to lick him from head to toe.

See? I still had my appetite, it just wasn't for food.

"Hey," he said quietly as we approached.

I couldn't suppress my happy smile. "Hey." My mom moved next to me, so I started with the introductions. "Bridger, this is my mama, Karyn Halloway. My older brother, Colson and my little sister, Macey. Everybody, this is Bridger."

He shook all their hands and gave them pleasant smiles. My heart soared at this polite, respecting version of him.

Not that I ever thought he would be rude to my family, or really anyone. But his grumpy, standoffish personality seemed to have disappeared for good. I couldn't believe how happy that made me.

Of course, he still hurt over the deaths of his parents. And who could blame him? But he wore that pain well. And he was open about that. He could talk to me about how much it hurt and how much he missed them.

It had been the pain of his past relationships that had turned him bitter. But he seemed to be letting that go these days.

I could only hope it had something to do with me.

Bridger opened the door for us, and I led the way to the hostess stand. They took us to our table and set us up with drinks and menus before anyone spoke. We were squeezed into the booth, and I took the opportunity to lean my exhausted body against Bridger's firm muscles. It felt so good to rest on him, to soak up his strength and comfort.

We made silly small talk while we picked out our meals and then ordered. I got my usual, chicken chimichanga and a Coke. Conversation continued through chips and salsa and then the main meal came out.

"So what are your plans for the future, Bridger?" I cringed at my mom's eagerness to get deeper with Bridger.

Although, I knew she was already charmed by him. I could see it in her eyes.

He gave me a cute sideways glance and then said, "My family's in the smithing business. My brother is a blacksmith. He inherited the business from my dad, but he's really taken it to the next level. I'm working on a degree in business so I can help Stockton out."

"So you'll run the paperwork side of the business?" my mom smiled softly at him as if she felt a little sorry for him.

And honestly, if I didn't know Bridger and that he would do absolutely anything for his family, I would have felt bad for him too. He just wasn't the kind of guy that should be strapped with paperwork his whole life. There was too much ruggedness too him.

"Paperwork and more. I'm trained in silversmithing. I work with mostly jewelry pieces and other, more detailed metal work."

My entire family gave an "Oooh" and an "Awww." I beamed next to him, just proud that he was so ambitious and that he was mine.

Ever the big brother, Colson asked, "Is there a lot of work in that? Or is it more of a dying trade?"

"Lots of work," Bridger assured him. "In fact, Stockton can hardly keep up with it all. He has some major contracts with higher end manufacturers. Frankly, he can't wait until I go back home and help him out."

"So other than moving back to Constance, what else have you got planned for the future? What about my daughter?" I looked around for the nearest hole to crawl into. Bridger put a strong hand on my knee and squeezed reassuringly. He opened his mouth to give my mom a response, but she beat him to it by asking more questions in a rather embarrassingly tearful way. "Because you know, my daughter has a future. A long, long future ahead of her. But she needs someone to take care of her. If you're serious about her, you can't just plan your whole life without thinking about her."

"Mom!"

Bridger slid his hand up to my thigh in a way that stalled my outrage. "I understand, Ma'am. I have no intention of excluding Tate from my future plans. Nor will I think of her future as anything other than long."

That warmed me in a way I hadn't expected. I didn't really want Bridger to commit to marriage or a future with me until he knew the whole story, but I loved that he wanted to. I loved that he used the words "long" and "future" in the same sentence when talking about me.

I was definitely keeping this guy. Whether he hated me for lying to him or not.

Conversation became easy again after that. We laughed a lot during dinner and by the end of it, I could barely keep my eyes open. I wasn't anywhere near full-strength yet and the mere act of eating had exhausted me. Throw in all the times I couldn't stop laughing and I felt practically comatose.

My mom insisted on paying at the end of the meal and while she dealt with the check, Colson and Macey slipped out to go to the bathroom. I slumped against Bridger and laid my head down on his shoulder. I yawned and fought sleep, even though I knew the second I got in my mom's car to go back to the dorms, I would crash.

Bridger nudged me before I could pass out on him. "Are you okay?"

"Just sleepy," I said around a yawn.

He opened his arm up for me and I scooted into the nook of his body. He laid a super-sweet kiss on my forehead and I fought another yawn.

"You'll let me know if I need to take you to the hospital, won't you, Tate? You'll tell me if you need anything?"

I struggled to find the will to look up at him. Did he already know? No, it wasn't possible. "Why would I need to go to the hospital?"

His eyes were hard gemstones and made his expression fiercely intimidating. I tried to steady out my breathing, but it was hard to even catch it once he started staring at me like that.

He lifted a hand to run a finger over my jaw but gestured to the plate of food I'd barely touched since we got here.

"For your Celiacs or whatever. I was worried about the fried tortilla."

I shifted uncomfortably and looked around for some sign of help. There wasn't any. I had to come up with this one on my own.

"Thank you for thinking of me," I whispered through a thick voice. I _was_ thankful. I was so thankful for so many things about him.

"I'll always think of you," he swore.

"And I'll always think of you."

We waited a few more minutes for my sister and brother to come back to the table. During that time, I must have fallen asleep because I woke to Colson carrying me up the stairs to my bedroom instead of Bridger. I mumbled my complaint, but I was too tired to really put up a fight. Which was a good thing, because as soon as Colson plopped me on my bed, I thought I might slip into a coma and never wake up again.

I waved a sleepy goodbye to my family, who I would see the next day and then turned over and fell right to sleep. I promised myself I would have the talk with Bridger about my sickness first thing tomorrow. I just needed some rest first.
Chapter Twenty-One

Bridger

Despite the constant gnawing in my gut, I didn't call or text Tate for the rest of the weekend. It killed me to hand her over to the man I'd seen before, carrying her to his truck—brother or not. I didn't want to let her go. The only person who should be tucking her into bed at night was me.

It was selfish to feel that way. I knew that. I wanted to be selfish with Tate.

Keep her all to myself and let her sickness just float away around us.

I would take it from her if I could. I would take her place if I could, endure the treatments and the needles and everything that plagued her.

If only life were fair, she wouldn't be sick in the first place.

I laid in bed, listening to West get ready for church. After the recent revelations, I was more than ready to get back to that ritual.

I had to go to church to pray for my girl.

West hated telling me. Not one joke was cracked. Not one perverted comment left his mouth.

He hated telling me almost as much as I loathed hearing it.

Tate deserved everything life could offer. She deserved the right to live that life—a long and happy life. She deserved to grow old and watch as her red hair slowly turned gray. She deserved grandchildren and porches.

And I wanted to be on that porch right next to her, my chair rocking in time with hers—with her frail, wrinkled hand tangled in mine.

Mostly, I was angry. I was angry at the world and angry at God for giving such a creature such a plague. I was angry at cancer itself.

Tate needed my prayers. That was the only reason I was still lying there, debating to church or not to church at all.

Not that I necessarily needed to be in a church to pray, but it always seemed to be more significant when I was. Churches, to me, were like portals. The closer you were to the portal, the more easily you were heard.

Which didn't speak too wisely of our baptismal make-out session.

Or the way I'd thought about having a repeat session.

Every day.

"We're gonna be late. Get up." Even West's demeanor had changed to a more melancholy version of himself since letting me in on his secret. He hadn't told a soul and had been carrying around Tate's condition for months. I didn't even think Tate knew that West was aware.

"I'm up." My tone matched his. Slipping into the bathroom, I showered and brushed my teeth. I picked out a blue button down shirt and some black slacks. I'd noticed West was wearing a tie, and not wanting him to outdo me, I picked out a black tie with blue stripes, courtesy of Cami.

"Do we have time for coffee?" I prompted West. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. The truth of the matter was, I no longer knew how to treat Tate. I knew how to love her, but the love in me wanted to scoop her up and take her far away from everything until she was better.

West said this was her last week of treatment—the information gotten from his secret source. I had to make sure to be extra careful with her this week. She'd be sick and nauseated.

That was my problem. How was I supposed to take care of her properly and pretend I didn't know she was sick at the same time?

It felt like the ultimate betrayal. Like I was the biggest hypocrite on the face of the planet.

How could I pretend not to know her secret?

How could I pretend not to care?

The guilt, above all, was eating me from the inside out.

I was no better than Jesse.

My phone began to vibrate as soon as I put it in my pocket. I held a finger up to West. "It's Stock."

"Hello?"

"Hey, I wanted to tell you something. Why aren't you at church?"

I laughed. "If you thought I was at church, why did you call? Anyway, why aren't you at church?"

"Cami was feeling a little dizzy today. I called to leave you a message. I wasn't even going to tell you, actually."

"What's up?" Stock always told it straight. And the fact that he wasn't now was kind of scaring me.

"That place—the movie set or whatever. They want you to make all the chain mail and jewelry for that new movie—the Viking one. Sent you a big check for the travel expenses and everything."

"Holy shit! Are you serious?"

"Yeah. They want you over there in February."

My excitement slowly fizzled away. Everything had changed since Stockton had sent in my designs and recommendation for me—everything. Now I wasn't so sure. Hell, I wasn't sure at all. What if I went all the way to Holland and Tate got sick again?

I'd rather give up on smithing altogether than to leave her here to fight this battle alone.

"I need to think about it, Stock."

"Let me know, soon. These people don't wait."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Go to church. Drag West with you."

"I will."

We got to church earlier than I thought. Walking in, I'd hoped to sit in the back and just have a good talking to with God. That's what I needed a heart to heart with the Big Guy. But just my luck, the back pews were already filled with people who had the same idea. Just as I'd picked an innocent spot in the middle, West pointed to the front.

The sight of her took my breath right from my lungs. Every time I saw her, I wanted her more and more. I wanted her more than just today or tomorrow. I wanted Tate Halloway for always.

She laughed at something her brother said, a few seats down from her, and I had to still myself.

How could God create such a beauty just to wreck her with disease?

Of course, I knew there was a good chance she would be here. And most of me was elated to be able to see her earlier than I thought.

Then that little part reminded me that I was a big old liar.

I looked down to make sure my pants were still there and not a charred mess on the floor.

Tate was a little liar too.

Weren't we a pair?

"She caught you," West said under his breath. Tate was turned around in her chair staring at me.

I'd never get tired of her staring at me when I didn't know it.

"Let's go."

Her family was still with her—all of them. As I approached, I saw that she was wearing a long white skirt and a sweater with a jacket on top. She was usually cold, but this was a side effect of the meds. She was always cold now.

I knew just the man to warm her up.

"Ma'am." I tipped my head at her mom and said hello to Macey and Colson. "Hey, Tate."

"I've been missing you." She said as she kissed my cheek. Even her lips were cold.

"Not as much as me," I whispered back, with a kiss to her temple. She shivered as the first hymn started up and scooted closer. I didn't hesitate in pulling her under my arm and in turn, she snuggled against my chest.

Throughout the service, her mom continued to lean forward a little and look at the both of us. Sometimes, she'd look between us and wink or smile. But twice, she looked at my arm over Tate's shoulder and her chin quivered, like she was about to cry.

She was worried about Tate just like I was—probably more.

No, not possible. I couldn't imagine anyone being more worried than me, mother or not.

Before the service was over, the pastor asked that we pray for the sick. That's when Tate's mom lost it. She tried to hide her crying, but there was no use. Even the woman behind her was patting her back throughout the prayer session.

Our dad told us when we were little that the Bible said not to beg in our prayers.

He would've been disappointed in me.

Because that morning, sitting there as close to heaven as I thought we could get, I begged God to save her.

I begged Him to save her, not for me, but for her.

She could make it without me, I wasn't foolish enough to think otherwise.

But I didn't know if I could live in a world that didn't carry Tate's light.

"Dude," West said, pointing to my face. I got up and went to the bathroom before she could see me. Ugh, I never cried—not since my parents died.

Just saying the word "died," even to myself, made me want to throw something.

I came out of the bathroom and Tate and her mom were talking to the pastor. Tate was trying, by pulling on her mom's dress, to make whatever conversation was happening stop. She looked like a toddler begging her mom to leave.

"Tate," I called to her. She looked relieved to be dismissed from the conversation.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Oh, you know, I had to use the bathroom."

"We are having lunch and then they're leaving. Can—can I see you later? I kind of wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure. Just text me when you're ready. I mean, I don't know if you take a nap or if you're going to be tired. And if you decide you don't want to—just text me."

I sounded perfectly insane.

And her expression proved that I sounded like it too.

"What am I eighty? I don't usually take naps, Bridger."

"Yeah, of course not. I didn't get much sleep."

"Maybe you need a nap, old man."

I laughed, but it came out sounding like a goat. "I do. Just text me." Kissing her chastely on the lips, I left with West on my heels.

"Real smooth, Ex-Lax."

I was sure West had outgrown that phrase. I'd been wrong.

"I'm all messed up, West. I don't know how to act around her."

"Well, acting like a meth-head was a strike out. I can tell you that much. Do better, man. Do better for her."

Tate texted me after four. I asked her what her favorite takeout was and she replied that she hadn't had Thai food in months.

Me and my damned gluten-free cupcakes.

She must've had a good laugh about that one or at the very least thought I was a grade-A moron.

I'd kept the button down, but changed into jeans and chucks to go see her.

She answered the door right away. She was back in that damned hoodie which meant she was freezing. I took in her form as she waited for me to say something.

Tate Halloway was everything that made my life good. We smiled at the same time and I hoped a part of her wanted me to be her everything too.

She shivered again and rubbed her arms.

Good thing I'd come with provisions.

"I brought two heating pads."

She looked at the bag I carried and laughed. "Two heating pads? You are an old man."

"Or I'm the big brother of West, who once thought he could impress some girls at a party by lifting a couch like a bench press. His back was in pretty bad shape the next day."

"Oh, nice. I am always cold. Those should help. Thank you."

"I know. So these are for when I'm not here." I began taking out containers of Thai food. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

She squirmed. "Later. It's nothing important."

Shrugging, I handed her the coconut shrimp despite my fear that it would make her sick. "Let's watch a movie."

Tate moved to get up, but I circumvented her, reaching the TV and the movies before her. "I got this. What do you want to watch?"

"Whatever. But nothing sappy. I need laughter."

We went with the Hangover. After we had eaten, I sat on her bed and she sat between my legs with her back against my chest. She felt so right against me, like she belonged there all along. I hated to admit it, but everything I did with her had become an assessment. I hadn't watched one single second of the movie. I laughed when she did, but only to cover up my inspection. When my arms went around her waist, I gauged how much weight she had lost. When her breath hitched, my heart stopped. When she shivered, I pulled another blanket on top of us.

When she closed her eyes and fell asleep, I kissed her neck both for the joy of the act and to check that her pulse was steady.

Not that I didn't enjoy having her in my arms again—I did.

I was a mess.

I even counted her breaths as a soothing reminder that she was very much alive.

If she didn't tell me tonight that she was sick and that she'd been hiding it from me, I was going to do it for her.

The Thai food rumbled in my stomach as agreement.

She woke up sometime later and got up to go to the bathroom. I thought maybe she needed some water or something else, so I offered. "What do you need? What can I get you?"

I knew my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Come on, Bridger. You can't pee for me. You've been doting on me all night."

She closed the door and I cleaned up our dinner mess while she was gone. I heard her throwing up soon after, but the door was locked.

Pacing the floor, I listened to heave after heave of her getting sick. I needed to be in there, holding her hair or wiping her face—anything not to be out here useless as a tit on a boar hog.

Finally, I heard the toilet flush for the last time. She came out a few minutes later looking like she was going to pass out any second.

"Let me help you to bed."

She looked up at me with the hellfire of a thousand demons. Her eyes were squinted and angry. The tears that rolled down her face—I couldn't tell if it was from the throwing up or whatever had her looking at me like the devil himself.

"Who told you, huh? Who was it? At least if I'm going to be betrayed and lied to, I deserve to know who ratted me out!"

I took a step back.

"Oh, now you want to back off? All night you've been harping on my every move and now that we are both in the clear you want to give me some space? Bullshit. Just tell me, Bridger!"

Her yelling was fierce, but her body denied the anger and the energy it took to exert it. Reaching for anything to help hold her up, she grabbed the foot rail of her bed and used it to guide her to a sitting position. I reached out to catch her, but she slapped my hand away.

"Oh, no. No more helping little Ms. Sick. I've handled everything myself so far Bridger. What makes you think I want your help now? Some kisses in the woods and some lame ass messages in a bottle and you think I want you as my twenty-four-hour pity nurse? Wrong!"

She paled a little more with each word. Her blatant anger stung, but it passed through me faster than I thought possible. The room grew warmer and she responded by throwing that damned hoodie on the floor beside her. Her cheeks pinked and I curtailed a smile. Pink cheeks signaled life to me.

Even if it was in rage, I knew that she still had the fight in her and that was enough.

I was wordless and defenseless against her anger. I deserved it all and more.

But at the same time, I felt an equal loss of trust. I mourned the loss of a true connection I thought we shared. Why hadn't she told me? Trust was a two-way street and if she couldn't trust me, then how could I trust her?

"I found out from West. But that's not really the issue here."

I knelt in front of her, though she jerked her hands away when I tried to hold them. My voice remained completely calm just like I wanted it to. She needed calm and collected even though my insides were nothing even close to that.

"Oh yeah? Please, Bridger, tell me what the real issue is."

Her feisty attitude did nothing to deter my hurt.

"The real issue, Tate, is that you didn't tell me first. You've lied to me for months. I fell in love with you again—hell, maybe I've been in love with you my whole life—and you couldn't let me in. Have I ever given you a reason to think that I wouldn't do anything but stand by you for whatever came our way—good or bad?"

Her defenses fell and that may have hurt more than her lies. I didn't like any part of her to falter, not even her anger. Her gaze went to the floor. Reaching for her hands once again, she let me hold them this time, I gave her a choice. That was what she wanted to retain in all this—her right to make choices about who she told and who she didn't.

"Now that I know and you know that I know, I'm gonna leave the choice with you. I'm going to go home and wait for you to call. If you want to be with me still, then tell me. If you don't want me around while you finish up your treatments, then I will be there when you do want me. If you never want to see me again, then that's fine too. Just know that I'm standing firm, loving you, one way or the other. I just need to hear it from you."
Chapter Twenty-Two

Tate

"Is there anyone I can call?" Cary asked from my bedside. I could hear the hope in her voice, the curiosity. "Maybe... a boy?"

I snorted. "Mind your own damn business."

"Not a chance, Tatum Halloway. Not a chance."

I peeled my eyes open and tried to glare at my favorite nurse. I found myself smiling instead. Damn her. I wanted to hang onto my anger, hold it tight and let it feed me enough fire and brimstone to get me through this weekend.

I'd been admitted yesterday when I went to see Dr. Masters because I had been feeling worse than usual. I hadn't even been in the office long enough to check in before I blacked out.

There had been a male nurse standing next to the circulation desk and he managed to catch me before I did any real damage to my body or brain. I was thankful that I didn't also have a concussion, but I was frustrated with my weakness.

I had a dumb infection and not enough white blood cells to fight it off. My body was in a dangerous place and they admitted me right away. This infection had the power to kill me if they didn't get it under control.

I couldn't have talked Dr. Masters into letting me go home even if I had wanted to. And frankly, I was too tired to care anyway. It would have been different if I had a home to wait this out in, but the thought of suffering through the next couple days in my dorm room sounded like something out of the bottomless pits of hell.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I'd called Carter earlier this evening to let her know my plans had changed for this weekend. She promised to come up later and bring a deck of cards and ginger ale.

"What happened to the boy, Tatum?" Cary hovered over me with raised brows and a pinched face.

I pulled the blankets over my face. "If I would have known you were going to harass me all weekend, I would have gone home." My voice sounded muffled beneath the blankets. My breath puffed in hot clouds around my face and I yanked them down, gasping for breath.

"How many times have I told you that you can't suffocate that way?" She did not look amused.

I sucked in another fortifying breath of pure oxygen. "I don't believe you," I gasped. "I hate that feeling."

"It's your own air!" She looked completely exasperated with me.

"But it's used! It's like when hair falls out. I'm fine with touching my own hair until it comes out of my head. Then it's the most disgusting thing on the planet. I know you feel the same way. I saw you use tweezers to pick off Katrina's hair on the back of her sweater the last time I was here."

She rolled her eyes. "Have you seen Katrina's hair? She might be my supervisor, but she needs a better conditioner."

I gave a weak laugh, the best I could do. "Don't be a mean girl."

"Don't hold gossip back from me then. It makes me mean."

"I'm cold. And hungry. And I have other needs you should be attending. Why are you all up in my grill over one dumb boy?"

"Grill? Those meds went straight to your brain. And you're not hungry. And there's nothing I can do for you if you're cold. You already have three blankets on you. I can't steal anymore."

I let out an exasperated sigh and tried not to shiver. My bald head was wrapped in a scarf and it did nothing to hold in any body heat. Plus, this hospital set there temperature at freezer settings or something. I hadn't stopped shaking since I arrived. "You're a terrible nurse."

She started laughing like she couldn't believe I just said that. She swatted my leg with her chart and then sunk down next to me. I enjoyed the warmth of her legs pressed against mine and the comfort she so freely gave me.

The truth was she could have been a terrible nurse, or a cranky one, or one that didn't care about me at all. But she wasn't those things. In fact, I rarely met a nurse that didn't make me feel completely comfortable and taken care of. Cary just went above and beyond her call of duty.

If I didn't have her during the last few months, I probably would have gone crazy.

It was hard enough to get treated away from home and away from family. But with all the treatments, I hardly had any time to make friends either.

I had Carter.

And I had Cary.

And for a little while I had Bridger.

I sniffled and wiped at my nose with the palm of my hand.

"Tell me what happened with that boy. The cute, buff one. Did y'all break up? Did he break your heart? I need to know."

"There's not much of a story there."

Her eyebrows scrunched together over her eyes. "If he hurt you, Tatum, there are ways to get revenge. You know all the right people." She hooked a thumb at herself and her eyes danced with mischief.

I laughed unexpectedly again. "Revenge!" I was quickly out of breath from laughing so hard. I tried to steady out my giggles and asked, "Just out of curiosity, how are _you_ the right people?"

She waved me off like I was crazy. "All people in the medical field are the right people. For instance, you could send him to Dr. Masters for a prostate exam. If he hurt you, I'm fairly confident we could enlist her help. She wouldn't want to set back your treatment because of a broken heart, you know. Or we could fudge the results on some mandatory tests after his yearly physical and send him in for multiple colonoscopies. He's not allergic to anything, is he?"

I couldn't stop laughing. She was so crazy. And I loved her to pieces. "At least you didn't suggest murder."

"Do I look like a murderer to you?"

"No! But I'm not as creative with my revenge. Remind me never to piss you off!"

She smiled a shit-eating-grin, like she'd just won the lottery by cheating, but knew she could get away with it. "I'm supposed to remind you not to piss me off. So tell me about the boy."

I groaned. She got me. The trickster. "You sneaky biotch."

"Hey! Watch the language. If I had known you were going to be this grumpy, I would have sent Katrina in to shed all over you."

"You're so full of it tonight!" She narrowed her eyes on me and I knew I was trapped. "Fine. He knows. He knows all about this." I gestured down at my body with my IV-ed hand. "Someone told him I was sick. I think he knew for days before he said something."

"He went for days? So that means he wasn't mad at you for lying to him for months?" She sounded completely shocked. And I didn't blame her. I was still shocked over that too.

Through the course of my treatment, I'd been keeping her updated on all things Bridger-related. Except for today of course, she'd gotten a complete rundown of all things exciting and romantic in my life.

Each time I'd seen her, she had encouraged me to be honest with him, to tell him everything. Each week, I'd put her off and ignored her pleas for honesty.

I'd been stupid not to listen to her. And even dumber not to tell Bridger.

I could see that now.

"I don't get it. He's not mad at me. I mean, maybe a little bit. But I think he's more hurt than anything. And I understand that. I would be hurt if I were in his position."

"So, you apologized and he didn't want to hear it?"

I squirmed in the bed and avoided her piercing eyes. "Um, not exactly."

"Tatum M. Halloway! You haven't apologized?"

"Makenzie. The M stands for Makenzie."

She waved me off again. "I knew that. I just couldn't remember." She sucked in a deep breath and then railed at me. "You owe that boy an apology. Even if he decides not to stick with you, you still owe him an apology. You lied, Tate! A lot of times! And you led him on without giving him a chance to decide if this was something he could deal with or not!"

"That's the whole point! I lied because I didn't want him to have to decide! I didn't want him to look at me here or after a treatment and decide to stay with me just because he felt sorry for me. I didn't want a pitying relationship or a fake one. You don't know him, Cary! When we first reconnected, he was like this shell of a person. He wasn't himself. He was someone... someone empty and sad and just, it just broke me to see him like that. And I knew that if I forced him to be in a relationship with me, whether intentionally or not, he would be that person again. And I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand the idea of turning him into that! I just could not be the cause of that version of him."

"That was his choice to become that person before, Tate. And it was his choice to come out of it. It sounds like he maybe went through something before?"

I nodded. "He, uh, his parents died when he was still in high school. They got caught in a fire. And then his serious girlfriend cheated on him last year."

She gasped at the trauma Bridger went through. Hot tears stung at my own eyes. Silently, in my head, I added, and then I lied to him and kept my serious illness from him.

I hated what happened to his parents. I hated what Jesse did to him.

And I hated what I did to him.

How could I have been so short-sighted? How could I have been so horrible?

Part of me still stuck by my original decision to keep all this from him. But part of me had peeled away all that stubbornness and could see how unfair I had been. How selfish.

When he had been nothing but amazing to me.

"Tate," she bemoaned.

"I know. I'm the worst."

"Give me your reasons again," she prompted.

At first, I thought she just wanted to rub them in my face for being such a moron. But I saw real compassion in her expression. And I knew she was ignoring other patients to hang out with me. She cared about me, which made this a little bit easier to share.

"I didn't want him to stay with me just because I was sick. And he had been through so much, I didn't want him to, I don't know, feel like he always got the short straw. Basically, I didn't want to _be_ the short straw. You know? And he was so against the whole idea of us in the beginning. I honestly didn't know if we would become anything. And then we did. We became a big something. But I was so deep in this lie, I didn't know how to dig myself back out. I didn't know how to bring up the truth, even when it was so obvious there was something wrong with me."

She listened patiently with a comforting hand on my knee. "Those are great reasons to keep the truth from him. I mean it. You justified it to yourself enough ways, that you almost sound like you were doing him a favor."

Her words added to the guilt and I could only nod. She seemed to know what she was doing and gave my knee another squeeze.

"Now give me a reason to tell him the truth."

Her words hit me like a punch in the chest. The wind knocked out of me and I felt the burn of guilt and remorse start anew in my stomach and bubble up my throat to my mouth.

"I love him," I whispered as tears stung my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.

She brushed them away and gave me a triumphant look. "You love him. And he loves you, right?" I nodded. "He doesn't feel trapped anymore, Tate. He feels at home. Here" She used her pointer finger to tap her chest. "And believe me when I say, you are not the short straw. You are life and exuberance. You take this world and everything it gives you and ride it by the horns all the way through the gate. It is impossible to feel the short straw with you. Everybody knows that. He, especially, knows that. He still deserves the truth from you. Even if he thinks he knows it, he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know it from you. Will he listen to you, if you want to talk?"

"Yes," I told her with a shaky voice. "He told me he'd be waiting for me whenever I called."

"Then you better call him, girl. He's too good of a man to push away because you're stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn," I grumbled stubbornly.

She smiled at me again. "You, child, are the most stubborn of them all. And thank God for that. Otherwise, this evil disease would have taken you a long, long time ago." She stood up and placed a kiss on my forehead.

The tears streaked down my cheeks in faster streams. How had I gotten lucky with all these people in my life? I might not have had a bunch of friends, but the people that I called _friend_ were worthy and wonderful.

And knew exactly what to say to get my ass in gear.

"I got other patients to check on, Tate. But I'll be back later."

She moved to the door and I couldn't help but call after her. "Are you going to make them all cry?"

She shot me a look over her shoulder. "What kind of professional would I be if I don't get all my charges into hysterics before my shift ends in forty-five minutes?"

I laughed through my tears. "You really are an evil woman."

She winked at me. "You love me anyway."

After she had left the room and me to my thoughts, I lay there for a long time digesting our conversation. Bridger did deserve to hear my side of the story. He deserved all of the truth from me, about this and about anything else.

I'd been horrible to him. And being sick was not an excuse. In fact, I didn't have any excuses to stand on. I'd messed up and I was just thankful he still wanted to put up with me.

Or I hoped he did anyway.

I should probably talk to him before I assumed that.

I didn't call him right away though. I wanted to think everything through and come to terms with my side of it.

I knew Bridger had trust issues. And who could blame him? But I started to see that maybe I had trouble trusting him too.

I had to trust that he would pick me because of me and not because of the sickness. I had to trust that if we were bad for each other that he would see that and walk away before we got any more serious. Or that if we got into rough patches, he would stay and see it out. Especially after marriage.

This little upset of ours was just a sneak peek at the tough times that plagued all relationships. There was no such thing as perfect compatibility.

I knew that. My mama had hammered that into my head long before I'd ever gone on my first date. But it was different now that I was living it. That it was a real relationship and I could put all her wisdom into practice.

We weren't going to do everything right. Hell, we'd probably do more wrong than we'd ever do right. But we had to stick to this. Stick to each other.

I had to stop worrying about him staying with me just because I was sick and start working to keep him with me long after I got healthy.

I loved this man. With all of me. With everything in me. And it was time to tell him that. And then show him that.

I didn't want to lie anymore and I seriously didn't want to pretend to have Celiacs any longer.

One frustrating illness was enough for me. At least let me eat gluten whenever I wanted. Yeesh!

I pulled my cell phone off the nightstand next to me and scrolled through my contacts. I hadn't talked to Bridger since he left me in my room days ago.

I couldn't wait to talk to him. I couldn't wait to hear the low timber of his voice. I really couldn't wait to see him.

I'd been deprived of him for way too long. I wanted to just stare at all his muscled frame with those sharp cheekbones and masculine lips. I wanted to stare into his forest green eyes and get lost there for hours.

But first, I needed to apologize.

I changed my mind at the last minute. I needed to enlist help with this. Especially because I didn't want him to panic about my hospital stay or simply forgive me because I looked pathetic in a hospital gown and no makeup.

I pressed send for the one person I knew I could count on to help me with this. He would be the perfect person to bring Bridger to me.

And then I would fix this mess I made.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bridger

"Where did you get them?" I needled West, who was less than forthcoming about my moving boxes. How he'd managed to get ten boxes that all smelled like drunken cantaloupes was beyond me. It was like he purposely did things to get a rise out of me.

"The store." He shot me a smile that was nothing short of wicked.

"Where in the store?"

He shrugged. "By the dumpster."

West got kicked dead in the shin for that one. Could nothing be simple with him?

"Take them outside. It's making our room smell like we're making Apple Jack."

"You're just pissed because Tate hasn't called. Maybe some moonshine is just what you need, dicktater."

The other shin. Twice. Just for saying that word again.

"Damn it, Bridger! I wish you'd just get some already. You're so violent when you're—tense."

Dragging a suitcase from the closet, I quipped back. "I'm not tense. I'm—shit. I don't know what I am."

"I'm taking these boxes down to the dumpster. When I get back, you and I are going out."

He didn't wait for my answer, mostly because he knew what it was already and it didn't go along with his plans. I didn't want to go out or stay in. I didn't want to study or work.

In fact, there was nothing I wanted to do more than sit there by my phone and wait for her to call.

Not that pathetic, right?

I shouldn't have left her like that. I shouldn't have left the decision making up to her. God knew she was the most stubborn person on the face of the Earth and if left to her own devices, she would cross her arms over her chest and flip the world off.

She'd never admit that she needed me or she wanted me.

Maybe there was nothing to admit. I'd bared my love and my soul to her, but not once had she opened up to me. Tate couldn't even bring herself to tell me that she was sick. What made me think she could tell me anything else that pained or pleased her?

Nothing was right without the promise of seeing Tate again. Nothing. I'd made the move to text her over a dozen times, at least. Just like in the beginning when I couldn't do anything on campus without seeing her, I couldn't even go to class without hoping to run into her. She'd quit her job at the library. I'd asked the woman at the check-out counter about her and she said that she'd taken a leave of absence. But I didn't know if she'd done that before or after me.

I saw her face in wake and in sleep.

Didn't she understand that I wanted to be there? I wanted to hold her hand when they pricked her with needles. I wanted to gather her up next to me under hundreds of blankets to try and keep her warm. I'd keep her hair back as she threw up. I'd hold her while she trembled.

That's what love was.

When she was sick, I was sick.

When she was cold, I was cold.

When she ached, I ached.

When she was done with life, I needed to be there to remind her that she was life.

She was _my_ life.

There I went, acting like an idiot—again.

At least this time I didn't feel like such a fool.

The truth of the matter was—I loved Tate and I'd promised to wait for her answer. I'd promised I'd wait for her to find me.

But I didn't tell her I'd wait here.

Without Tate and I being together, there was nothing holding me in school. After waiting a week for her to tell me something—anything—the sliver of pride I had left told me it was time to give up—not on Tate—I would never give up on Tate or the hope I had that one day she'd decide I wasn't scared off by her sickness.

I hadn't gone to church that morning. I didn't want to seem completely desperate or that I was pushing the issue. She obviously needed space and that was just what I was going to give her.

Every single move I made was getting doubly analyzed.

By me.

"Okay. I did away with the boxes. What are we packing first?" He swiped his hands together.

"Try to be a little less enthusiastic about me leaving—please."

"What? I get this room all to myself for the rest of the semester. I'm stoked. Anyway, you're probably going to get halfway home, start crying like the puss you are and then come blazing back."

Stockton should do a DNA test on West. I knew my dad would never cheat on my mom, but damn, maybe he was switched at birth or something.

"Shut up. Just for that, I'm not packing anything until tomorrow."

"Let's go get some dinner then. Stock wants me to talk to you, anyway."

"About what?"

"Come on."

We grabbed our wallets and phones and headed for the local Philly cheesesteak place. The place was full of rowdy teens and freshman intent on gaining the freshman fifty. It was loud.

I swiped my hand down my face at my own thoughts.

Inside me, there was an old man growling and muttering 'damned loud assed kids.' I thought maybe I'd always been a little older than my physical age.

For instance, what eight-year-old thinks he's in love with the awkward red-haired girl down the road?

Me.

We ordered after waiting in line for the longest time. West picked a semi-sticky table in the back away from the pool tables and ice hockey tables. He had some sense after all.

"So, Stock wanted me to talk to you about Holland."

Stockton was like a mob leader. He could stay right there in his workshop, but his tentacles of knowledge and business minding were always poking around in my business—in all of our business. When our dad died, Stockton became the Godfather. Most of the time it was fine—comforting almost. We always had someone to rely on and if something happened to us, we knew we would be taken care of. I couldn't count on my two hands the number of times he'd kept me out of trouble after our parents died.

I expected this all to be a bullshit ruse. Stockton would tell West to talk to me. He would say a sentence or two about it and then we would agree to let it go. That way he could tell Stock that we really did talk about it.

No such luck.

West was my best friend.

And my best friend was looking awfully serious.

"Look, I know I screw around a lot, but make this the one night of the year that I'm serious. Are you sure about this? Holland? That's a long way away for a man who insists on going home for every single holiday."

It was true. No matter how far I strayed from home, my sights were still set on that little piece of land under the black walnut trees.

"Don't they say absence make the heart grow fonder?"

I laughed at the phrase. It seemed to be right for so many facets of my life.

"But what about school? It's all you and Stock wanted when we were kids. I feel like we're all turning key here. I never wanted to go to school, and now I'm finally buckling down. You and Stock dreamed of school and big business and both of you are now wanting to go back to the small life."

The small life was the meaningful life. I hadn't realized that when I was a kid, but I realized it now. Only in the silence of our land could the important things be heard.

"I'm sure, West. I haven't wanted to go to school since last semester, but Stock made me promise to stick with it a little more just to make sure."

He seemed satisfied with my answers. Crisis averted. When the waitress brought our food, he dug in with such a fury that I knew our serious conversation was over in a matter of minutes.

I knew what I wanted.

Now more than ever.

I wanted a career in silversmithing. I was damned good at it and it would let me travel if I let it. I wanted my log cabin in the woods where I could step outside on the porch and see the mountains in front of me and nothing but trees around me. I wanted to work with my brother in a shop built by our father during the day and go home to Tate at night.

All of my dreams were certain except for her.

Didn't she know she was breaking me minute by minute with her silence?

Even if she refused to let me stick around that a negative answer couldn't be more painful than this.

Not that I would allow it.

Tate hadn't allowed me to deny her.

If I didn't get an answer soon, I would just have to try harder.

She deserved someone who was willing to fight for her as much as she fights that cancer.

"And Tate?" He grumbled half chewing and half talking.

"What about Tate?"

"Have you changed your mind about her like you have about school?"

It was frowned upon to clock your brother in a restaurant, right?

"I'll never change my mind about Tate. I fouled up when I was a kid. I should've waited for her. I should've trusted my heart instead of my—I won't give up on her."

"Finish eating."

The only thing he had to say was to tell me to finish eating while he checked his phone every three seconds.

Prick.

We finished our food and West made a big display stacking our plates.

"You remember that time we were supposed to be helping Preacher with his crops and we ducked out early to go to the creek? You lost your brand new shoes Dad had bought you. Who covered for you?"

"You did."

"And what did you tell me that day?"

He was not pulling an I.O.U. from fifteen years ago.

"I told you that I owed you one."

Yes, he was.

"I'm calling it in. What I tell you next has to be done without question as a favor to me."

There was just no telling what West would ask me to do. But I was a man of my word, so I shook my head yes.

He'd probably make me streak through town or wear a hot dog suit to church.

I, unfortunately, knew how his mind worked.

"Good." He slammed his hands on the table. "We are going to see someone."

I didn't like the glint in his eye one single bit as we drove across town and finally parked in front of the hospital. That was the hospital where Tate had first lied to me.

"What are we doing here?"

"You are paying up. Come on."

West led me up to the third floor, checking his phone for something the entire way. We rounded a corner and he stopped dead.

"You might want to take a minute here." West had paled in the few minutes we'd been there and something deep down inside me wished that my instincts were wrong. "Tate is in room 347. She hasn't been doing well with her treatments. She texted me when I was bringing the boxes down, but I wanted to talk to you first. I—um—I'm not much of a sap, but don't let this slip through your fingers. Don't keep score. That girl is something else and you deserve to be happy. But she needs you to be strong for her. She's gonna need to borrow some of your strength to get through this. I have a feeling hers is running thin."

One clap on the shoulder and he was gone.

Just like that.

I stood there for what seemed like an hour. That dumbass brother of mine was right. I loved her and someone had to protect her from herself and her own bullheadedness. And if anyone knew bullheadedness, it was me.

I stared down the hallway looking at the dreary colors. One woman sat outside her room in a wheelchair with no one to talk to, just holding a book. A scarf was wrapped around her head. I wondered where her family was—where her husband was.

That could've been Tate. She might be sitting alone in her hospital room reading all alone.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I went down to room 347. The door was cracked open a little, but I didn't hear anyone inside. I peeked around the door slowly, not wanting to catch sight of anything I shouldn't see—anything she didn't want me to see—yet.

What I saw next broke me. I was broken already, Tate having shred my heart into pieces. But the sight of her like this, completely broke me down to a whisper of a man.

I didn't think it was possible for her cheeks to become anymore concave, but I was wrong. An IV protruded from on weak arm. She slept with both arms palms up by her side in a posture that looked like she was done and surrendering to it all.

I'd arrived right on time.

I'd be damned if she surrendered without a fight.

The room smelled stale and a little sour. People always smelled a little sour to me when they were sick. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it just was.

No beeping came from the heart monitor beside her—she'd probably made them turn it down.

Looking at her, so helpless like that, made me ache.

Long gone were her gorgeous flaming tresses and in their place was a scarf of all colors.

Her hair was gone, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty—nothing.

A shiver rolled over her and I wondered why no one was taking care of it. Selfishly, I thought every nurse on staff should be at her beck and call.

Tiptoeing out of the room, I ran down to the nurse's station and requested two warm blankets. I'd seen a nurse give Willa one when she broke her leg years ago and was freaking out. The nurse smiled at me and handed them over. Maybe I needed to invest in a blanket warmer.

Going back in, I found that she was now awake. Her arms were still in surrender and the TV was now blaring.

"They have this thing at the nurse's station that looks like a double-stacked oven, it keeps the blankets warm for the snow-women on the floor." It would be a miracle if I got through this without constantly saying asinine things. I just stood there, staring at her while she stared back at me. All the things I wanted to say just stood stagnant in my throat, protesting their own existence.

She shivered again and it set me to action. I covered her, helpless arms and all. She followed every movement with her eyes but never moved. It was almost more than I could take.

Betting that the right words would come later, I acted.

"Can you move over?" I croaked out. She didn't answer, just moved over and draped the closest arm to me over her stomach. At that moment, I didn't care who came in or what they thought about it. All I knew was that Tate was there, frail, cold, and alone—and I could fix it.

After toeing off my shoes, I climbed in beside her as gently as I could. I didn't want to bustle or unhook anything.

I lay on my side, facing the delicate woman that wanted to be anything but. She began to say something, but the tears welling up in her eyes interrupted them. Her chin quivered a little with an emotion.

"Don't say anything yet, Tate. Just let me hold you. Whatever needs to be said can wait until the morning. Just rest. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to."

She leaned up slightly and pulled my arm behind her head. She felt tense and stiff like she didn't know what to do next. She could've done just about anything next and it would've been absolutely fine with me.

Except give up.

She wasn't allowed to do that.

Her gray eyes drilled into mine like she was searching for something. I couldn't help myself. I leaned across the bed and kissed her temple.

It was then that Tate let go.

Her left hand crossed over the other one and fisted the front of my shirt. Her forehead crashed against my chest.

Then she sobbed.

She didn't cry like when we were kids and I'd picked on her until she was pissed and embarrassed beyond control.

I felt like shit for making her cry, but maybe she needed this. Maybe Tate Halloway needed to let go before she could hold on.

I would be there for the letting go. I would be there for the hanging on. I would be here until she wished me away. And I would be there until she came back to me again.

Tate couldn't get rid of me again if she tried.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Tate

He came.

He came to me.

Part of me had always trusted him to. But there had also been a part of me that was scared.

Terrified.

And it wasn't just that Bridger wouldn't come if I needed him. It was scared of everything. Of this sickness. Of what this sickness would do to me. Of the future.

Of dying.

I rarely let this part of me out. I kept it locked up so tightly and securely that I almost forgot it existed.

Then Bridger found out I was sick. And he didn't know I was sick before. It was like I had to face this illness for the first time all over again.

He would have questions, and I would have to answer them. He would have fears and I would have to reassure him.

Or maybe not.

Maybe for once in my life, someone would do that for me.

Sure, my parents and grandparents were amazing when it came to talking to me or listening to my fears and complaints. They were even better at praying for me.

But I always felt like I needed to be strong for them. They were as afraid as I was. And if I let my courage falter, they would panic.

I didn't know what would happen with Bridger, but I couldn't take it if he panicked. I needed him to be strong. I needed him to pick up where I'd stumbled and carry me the rest of the way.

Someone needed to, or it didn't feel like I would make it.

I lay against his chest, drinking in his warmth and caressing touch. He cradled me so gently, so achingly tender that my heart hadn't slowed down since he'd crawled into bed with me.

Which was a good thing, because if my heartbeat had been able to slow down, I definitely would have drifted back asleep.

He was just that comfortable.

I could never sleep well in the hospital because of the awkwardness and irritation of the IV. But Bridger made it possible to ignore all that. His body felt right beneath mine.

I wanted this always. Forever. I never wanted to sleep alone again.

Even though that wasn't feasible at this point in our relationship, what with my hospital stay and all, I wanted to move in that direction.

"I missed you," I cried lightly against his now-soaked t-shirt. "So much."

He made a haunted groaning sound in the back of his throat and carefully pulled me up his chest and closer to him. He basically draped me across the front of him and tucked my head just beneath his chin. His strong arms wrapped around me and held me in place.

Maybe they held me to earth.

I seemed to be floating somewhere beyond this corporeal place with him so close.

"I'm sorry I stayed away so long. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have left you."

I lifted my head off his chest. Under normal circumstances, I would have whipped it up and glared down at him, but I had been lacking in the speed department lately.

I glared down at him anyway. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one that needs to apologize."

He nodded like that was an acceptable response and I tried to suppress my smile. But failed.

"So apologize," he whispered huskily.

My stomach flipped at his tone and I had to bite my lip to keep from kissing him. Not that I thought he would have minded if I kissed him.

Mainly, I needed to get this out now before he distracted me with all those kisses and I never said what I needed to.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you I was sick, Bridger. I wanted to. I wanted to so many times. I just... I didn't know how. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how you'd react or what you would think of me. I was afraid I'd lose you. And I didn't want to lose you then and I don't want to lose you now."

His eyebrows furrowed with a muddle of emotion. "You thought I'd leave if I found out?"

I looked up at the ceiling before steeling my will and meeting his intense gaze once again. "I didn't know. This is a lot. This is a ton to deal with. And I didn't know if you couldn't deal with it after... after you know... your parents. Or there was the alternate option, where you only stayed with me because you felt sorry for me. I couldn't have faced that either. And we were so good together. We were having so much fun and my feelings had gotten so deep for you, I just didn't want to ruin that. Plus, I'm really great at denial. When we hung out and you didn't know about any of this, it almost felt like this didn't exist. I felt healthy and happy. I could easily forget I was sick again and that I wasn't through the hells of treatment."

"Again?" Bridger's body tensed underneath me into rigid energy.

Oh, shit.

Leave it to him to pinpoint that one small, insignificant word.

But I was done being afraid. And I was done cowering from the hard things. That was so not who I was.

I conquered cancer. I lived through extreme poverty. I turned my life around and forced myself to grow up when all I wanted to do was sink into the ugliness deeper and deeper and deeper.

I'd been through some terrible times, but I'd gotten through them all. And I could share that with Bridger. I wasn't embarrassed of who I was because I was proud of who I'd become.

And that was enough for me so it better be enough for him.

"I should probably start at the beginning," I whispered.

"That sounds like a good idea."

I cleared my throat and adjusted us so that we lay facing each other. The hospital bed was narrow, but our legs intertwined and the rest of our bodies were just inches apart. I looked up into his forest green eyes and let out a slow breath.

Now or never.

"After we moved from Constance to Cincinnati, my dad got a better job." I laughed a little at the memory. "God, we were so poor in Constance. Ohio felt like something special. My family had crawled out of the depths of poverty and we finally seemed able to do more than just survive. We weren't rich by any means, but middle class sure felt like it. Ohio wasn't like Constance though. The schools my brother, sister and I went to were huge. My parents live in a suburb of Cincinnati, so it had the big-city-feel. We had a pretty comfortable life for a couple years. I enjoyed the new city and made some friends. I missed Constance, but less and less as the days went by. I went through some rough patches during middle and my early years of high school. I was a little bit of a wild child, but I did a lot of figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be. I had plans to go to college in California. I wanted to be a stylist." I flushed at the reminder. "It seems superficial now... I mean, I know it's not. It's a super cool job. But, you know, just in light of everything."

"What happened?" Bridger pressed. "Why did you come here instead?"

I met his eyes again and pressed on with my story. "My senior year of high school I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. My armpits swelled up pretty bad. I knew there was something wrong with me. Even though they didn't hurt, I knew they shouldn't be swollen like that. I mean, it looked like I was hiding two tennis balls in my pits." He cracked a small smile, but his eyes stayed serious. So serious. "My doctor knew something was wrong right away. He sent me for testing and it wasn't long before they found the disease. They caught it pretty early, but my senior year was completely consumed with treatments and recovery.

"I spent the summer catching up with school and then applying to the colleges I could still get into. I was glad to get accepted here because it was so close to Grams and Granddaddy. And my parents were less freaked out about my move out of state because I was in such a close driving distance from Constance. My doctor in Ohio had always been upfront with me that the cancer could come back. She had urged me to get checked out every six months for the first two years. She also told me that the first year is the most critical. If I could make it through the first year, then that would be very good for my chances.

"But, I didn't. Um, that's make it through the first year. Last summer when I went in for my yearly checkup, they found more cancer cells. Same thing. Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It had come back more aggressively than the first time. My parents urged me to come home and go back to the doctors and facilities that we already knew. But I was stubborn." He chuckled and I couldn't help but smile too. He knew me well. "I didn't want to quit school. I figured I'd already been through all this before, so I knew what to expect. I also worried that if I took off a semester, that semester would turn into two semesters and pretty soon, I'd be at the welfare office just like my parents when I was younger."

"What's wrong with the welfare office?" Bridger teased me.

I knew he was joking, but there was something he needed to understand about me. "Bridger, I can't ever be that person. I don't blame my parents or fault them in any way. They did the best they could with us and they made a better life for themselves. I'm proud of them. Proud of where we came from and how they worked their asses off to give us a better life. But I can't be that person. It nearly killed me when I was a child. I won't go through it again. And I won't put my family through it. You should know that about me. I'll work as hard as I have to in order to get food on the table that I paid for myself."

He kissed the corner of my mouth and whispered, "I like hearing you talk about the future."

I swallowed thickly. I didn't know if he meant because that meant I didn't plan on giving up and dying, or if he pictured himself in those words. Either way, I fell infinitely more in love with him at that moment.

"So anyway," I went on. "I got sick last summer and my treatments started at the beginning of this semester. This is my second round of treatments. There were still plenty of cancer cells after last round. This one is definitely more aggressive, which is why I've been having a harder time and the reason my hair started to fall out. I'm nearly done with treatments, but it will be a little while before they know the results. We are all hoping I won't need a third round. It would just be really great if I could finally be cancer free after all this."

His eyes filled with a depthless love that brought hot tears to my eyes. "It would be great if you were cancer free. Understatement of the century."

I smiled at him. "I really am sorry I didn't tell you. I was just so afraid. Afraid of losing you. Afraid of watching you turn back into that person you were after Jesse. Afraid of speaking the words of this sickness and dooming myself. I'm just afraid. I'm more afraid than I have ever been."

His face flashed with pain and he pulled me flush against him. His hand went to the back of my head and held it against his heartbeat. His breathing shuddered in his chest and soon I noticed that his t-shirt was completely soaked with my tears.

He held me like that for a very long time. And I just let him. It felt so good to be wrapped in his muscly arms and against a firm, healthy, capable body that would carry me through anything and protect me from everything.

I loved this man.

With every single thing inside me.

"I'm afraid too," he admitted.

I had thought those words would frustrate me. I had imagined myself wanting him to be perfectly strong and brave. I thought I needed him to be emotionless in this. To be a rock when I felt like sifting sand.

But his honesty soothed me in a way that I didn't expect. I appreciated that he didn't lie to himself or to me. He came out with the truth and that took away some of my fear.

We were both afraid, but we had each other.

After a few more steadying breaths, he went on, "But I'm not going anywhere, Tate. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I love you more than myself. More than anything in this world. I'm afraid, but I believe in you. I believe you're strong enough to get through this. I believe you'll be healthy again. And I believe in a future with us in it. You and me. In a cabin, I plan to build for us in the exact spot I showed you. I got a lot of plans for you, Tatum Makenzie Halloway. And I got a whole lot more bottles to show you."

I pressed a kiss against his heart and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for how blessed I'd been in my short life. Yes, I'd been sick. Yes, I'd been through hardships. But I was surrounded by the most amazing people alive. People that loved me. And cared for me.

My parents. My grandparents. My siblings.

And this man that stole my breath and made my heart beat like a drum.

"I would love that," I told him. "I would love to grow old in that cabin and read every secret message you ever buried."

I could feel his smile as he rested it against the top of my head. "No more secrets, Tate."

I couldn't have agreed more. "No more, Bridger. You're in this with me no matter what happens now. You have to put up with me while I'm sick, unshowered and bald. It's not exactly promising, but it's all I can give you right now."

It had been a joke, but he was so not having it. "Don't start with me. I might love your hair, but I love you more. And I think you're beautiful in every way. No matter how you look or how you smell. I love you more than life, Tate. Do you know what I mean by that?" I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. I knew he didn't expect me to answer. And I couldn't have anyway. I was too busy getting lost and carried away in his beautiful words. "It means that I love you more than this. More than these physical bodies that make us up. I love you through sickness and through health. I will love you with everything I am until my dying breath." I felt his lips in my hair and decided I didn't mind being sick so much if I could have Bridger like this.

"Those sound like marriage vows," I whispered.

"Maybe they should be." His voice was just as quiet.

"We got a lot to figure out before any of that!" I was almost appalled at how quickly he wanted to jump into marriage. I wanted to be mad at him too! This was exactly what I wanted to avoid when I didn't tell him about my illness. I didn't want him to start making rash plans and throwing his life away.

Only... only with Bridger it suddenly didn't feel like these were rushed decisions. Instead, it felt like we had been on this path since we were kids. The sickness was an obstacle, but that was it. We didn't have to be tied down by silly things like chemo or hair loss. We had each other. And we didn't need much else.

Bridger's arm tightened around my waist and he trailed kisses over my forehead. "I'm not worried about figuring it out, Tate. I'm more concerned with making you mine and turning this life I lead by myself into a life I share with you. I love you. I'm not sure there's anything else."

Okay, well, when he talked like that... "I love you too."

"Mmm," he sighed. "Say it again."

"I love you, Bridger."

"Now say, I won't ever keep secrets from you again, Bridger."

I chuckled but when along with his fun. "I won't ever keep secrets from you again, Bridger."

"Good." He sounded so gruff that I laughed again. "Now say, Bridger, I'll get better and marry you."

I picked my head up again and my mouth dropped open. "You're crazy."

"Say it." His eyes were pleading and his hands clutched at me like he was afraid I'd float away any second.

I could see how terrified he was to lose me. I realized then that was my greatest fear too. I had a lot to be afraid of, but losing Bridger beat everything else.

"Bridger, I'll get better and marry you."

His face relaxed completely and a smug grin lit his face. He coaxed me back to lie down on his chest and we didn't talk again.

Honestly, there wasn't much else to say at the moment. We both had all the important things in our life and even in this dreary, depressing hospital room, we'd found complete peace and happiness.

He loved me. He was going to stay with me.

He wanted to marry me.

And I couldn't have asked for more.

Except maybe some good test results.

I could still ask for those.

But either way, I knew Bridger would be with me every step of the way and things weren't nearly as scary as they were before. In fact, nothing was as scary as before.
Chapter Twenty-Five

Bridger

A week later, Tate was able to go back home—to her dorm.

Which was completely unacceptable.

She'd been finished the semester just barely but had decided, not without me constantly needling her, to take the next semester. She was very weak, but the doctors were optimistic about her going back into remission.

In my mind, there was no other choice other than remission.

There just wasn't.

She didn't know it, but our house was already being built. One two-hour phone call to Stockton, in which I poured my heart out, and the building was already underway. And my brother, as giving as anyone I'd ever known, was funding the entire thing.

He'd always told us that the money he made from what Dad started belonged to us all.

And if anyone in this world kept his word, it was Stockton.

"Is there anything else?" I asked her, looking around the room.

"I don't think so. I just need a minute by myself."

Since she wasn't currently a student anymore, we were moving her back to Preacher's house and I was going back home. It was all against my will. I'd even lined up a house to rent until the cabin was completed, but was she having any of that? No. I walked out of the room with her last bag and a box of books.

She might be a little frail, but Tate Halloway tore me up for even suggesting that she live with me until the cabin could be built.

"Really? How do you think that would go over with my grandfather—the preacher!"

"I'm already staying over here every night anyway."

"Sooooo not the same thing."

It wasn't a long conversation.

I really got in trouble when I started laughing.

"What are you laughing about?"

"I just got a little taste of what our fights are gonna be like when we're married."

Then we'd both started laughing.

I waited in the hallway for her for a few minutes while she said goodbye to everything. She was a sentimental sap. I'd discovered that while packing up her teddy bear from when she was a kid. I loved that about her. And it was especially fitting since I was just as sappy as her—but only with her.

We got into the truck, the back and bed filled with our stuff.

The last thing in the world I wanted to do was bring her to Preacher's house. It was hurting me already thinking about sleeping without her tucked against me right where she belonged.

I'd just have to marry her that much faster.

"So, I'm supposed to leave for Holland right after Valentine's Day. And my birthday is on Valentine's Day."

She giggled and scooted over to the middle seat, refastening her seatbelt afterwards. "That makes a lot of sense. That's why you're so gooshy."

I chose to ignore that dig.

"And you're coming with me, right?"

This is the one topic we'd avoided and I was tired of avoiding it. Truth be told, if she wasn't willing to come with me, then I would pass on the job. Tate was my number one priority and nothing short of death could separate me from her again. Not even Vikings.

She took my hand as a procrastination tactic and it worked. I swore that every time she touched me I lost myself in her more and more. How I had ever avoided her was beyond me.

"I don't know, Bridger. Can't we just wait until my follow-up doctor's appointment before we plan anything? I just don't want you to base any more of your life on me."

"All of my life from now on is going to be parallel with you. Get over it. I love you and there's nothing you can do about it."

All she did was sigh, exasperated with me already.

"You mind if we stop by the land before I have to take you home?"

"You just want to make-out in the woods. You're not fooling me."

"Nope. We've got plenty of time to make-out in those woods. Besides, I'm hoping for more than just making out after we are married. Why do you think I asked them to make the bathroom tub look like a baptismal?"

Tate slapped me as hard as she could on the thigh.

"Ow!"

"You DID not. Please tell me you didn't."

"Of course I didn't. The plans are in the glove box if you want to see."

As soon as she opened the glove box, I realized my mistake.

"What's this?" She inspected the wooden box with care. I'd had the box made for her with her initials carved into the cedar. It was her Christmas gift, but since I didn't know where she'd be for Christmas yet, I carried it with me everywhere I went.

"It's a box."

"Smartass. These are my initials."

"Really? I had no idea."

She turned it around and around in her hand and then moved to put it back. "You're not going to open it?"

"Well, you didn't say anything. I'm assuming either nothing is in it or you don't want me to see it yet."

I mulled it over while I exited the highway toward home. "You can open it when we get to the property."

She squirmed next to me. "Are you sure?"

"Yes ma'am."

We got to Constance an hour later. We had to pass up the original Wright home before getting to mine. I could've easily had a road leading from the old driveway to my land, but it seemed more private to have my own gravel driveway put in. Like it was ours.

"Bridger?" She gasped as we pulled in. The cabin foundation was built and the studs were already put in for the walls. The layout of the whole place could be envisioned easily. It was built in true log cabin style with the bark left intact. Most of it was built right from the trees removed from the land. I'd tried to get a wish list from her for the layout and the amenities, but she said she was just blessed to have a house at all. Looking over at her, she wore an expression of worry.

"What about the bottles?"

I loved how worried she looked about where they were like she was mourning them. "I guess they became part of the foundation."

She pouted and I nearly blabbered my secret. We had decided no more secrets, but this was one for the books. She would thank me for this secret later.

"You wanna go in?"

"Yeah. It's so beautiful."

We walked up the driveway to the stairs and that's when I reached over and scooped her up.

"We are not married yet, Bridger."

"Ah, Darlin,' I'm counting on yet. My whole life is betting everything it has on yet. That being said, there is no one else I will ever carry over this threshold. So give it up."

She was still thin and weighed practically nothing. I took her on the tour, explaining what everything would look like when it was done. I picked her up again as we crossed through the door to the bedroom.

"Can't be too careful."

"You are a mess."

There was something special I wanted her to see in the bedroom. There was a huge walk-in closet and a monstrous bathroom.

"Wait, that's the closet?" She pointed across the room.

"Yep."

"And that's the bathroom?"

She was growing more and more confused by the second. It was all I could do not to laugh.

"Yep."

"What's that?"

A small room was built off the side of the master bedroom and while she could use it for whatever she wanted, I'd planned it for one purpose.

"I thought maybe you could use it as a sewing room—for all your wild outfits. I want you to go back to school when you're ready. And I want to support you in whatever you do."

"What if I don't want to use it as a sewing room?"

I shrugged. She could use that room to play chess in for all I cared. I just wanted her to have a space of her own that she could pursue whatever she wanted. She deserved that.

She deserved her own island, but a country boy could only do so much.

"It would make a good nursery."

She blushed and covered her face with her hands. I didn't waste any time grabbing her up by the waist. But when Tate wrapped her legs around my waist, I knew that bringing her to Preacher's house later just became ten times harder. When our mouths met, the insurgence of pure bliss washed over me and took me away. I could feel her smile as we kissed and that's all I needed in the world.

Tate's happiness was all I needed—always.

"Ahem. You know there's no walls, right?"

I pulled back from Tate's mouth and she buried her face in my neck in embarrassment. "My parents needed a TV. There are way too many siblings around here."

Her whole body shook in laughter and it did nothing to quell my want for her. The sound of her happiness just made me want walls even more.

"Go away. This is our house, walls or not."

"Hey! You build a house this close to family, you better get used to people just walking in."

"Not if I lock you out."

"You'd have to get doors first."

Willa Wright was a pain in my ass.

"Give them a break, Willa. You'll be there one day too and then all the brothers are going to give you hell."

That made me let Tate go and turn on both of them.

"The hell she will. She won't be there until she's thirty."

Cami rolled her eyes and threw her arms in the air.

"Word to the wise, Willa, find someone tough if they have to deal with these three galoots."

We were all laughing when Tate's phone buzzed. "Those people have ESP. I swear it. Grams just texted me not to stay out too late at the Wright's."

"She's psychic. But don't tell her that. She'll throw Scriptures at you and make you read Exodus. Apparently psychic abilities are frowned upon in our church. Believe me."

Poor Cami.

"Stock said he wants to talk to you anyway. That's why he sent us. Get the girl home and then get yourself home."

"Yeah."

I waited until they walked away. Tate attempted to get away, but I stopped her and recaptured the position we were in again, pressing her against the door frame.

"Say it. Say you love me right here in our house."

"You're just trying to make me blush again."

I grabbed her by the hips and tugged her in tighter. "No, if I was trying to make you blush I'd say more about christening this room—and wedding nights—and honeymoons—and nurseries."

Her blush turned a bright crimson.

Nailed it.

"Fine. Bridger Wright, I do declare, in this very home, that I love you now and for the rest of my life."

I shook my head. "Nope. Not good enough. Your granny is gonna be upset if you're late. Make it right this time."

She grabbed my face and pulled me so that our lips were touching, barely.

"Bridger Wright I will love you from now until the end of time. Better?"

"Much."

"Now can I have whatever is in the box in your back pocket?"

Nothing slipped past her—nothing.

"Yes ma'am."

I took the box from my back pocket and gave it to her, opening it so she could see it. I felt like an idiot giving her such a piddly gift. Even standing in this cabin that was costing Stockton a fortune, I felt like wasn't enough.

"Tell me what each one is for."

She fingered the charms and I realized they probably had more meaning to me than they did to her.

I pointed to the first one. "This is for the swimsuit I begged my mom to buy for you when you didn't have one like all the other girls." She gasped. I knew she didn't know that, but there were no more secrets, other than one, that I wanted to keep from her. "This is supposed to be overalls for those cute ones you used to wear all the time. This one is a wild curl just like yours. The bottles and pieces of paper are for all the loves notes I wrote you. The church is the first place you kissed me. I thought the baptismal would be too telling. The hearts and the rings—those are pretty self-explanatory."

She didn't say anything and I nearly grabbed it back from her and started to apologize.

"Bridger." She whispered. "Put it on me, please."

"You like it?"

She smiled up at me with gray eyes that I could stare at for eternity. My heart pumped a rhythm in my ears waiting for her response. It felt like my whole life's weight was on that one answer.

"I love it. But not as much as I love you."

Epilogue

Tate

"Mrs. Wright," my new husband murmured against my temple. "I'll never get tired of saying that."

I closed my eyes and let him hold me while we danced. Had life ever been this perfect? This blissful? I couldn't even speak because of the fullness of my heart. It manifested itself into fierce emotion that was desperate to pour out of me.

"I'll never get tired of hearing it," I whispered thickly.

He clutched me tighter to his suit-clad body. I brushed my hands over his seersucker jacket and then slid my hand under his pressed lapel to the crisp white cotton so I could feel his heart hammer away.

"Good," he growled. "Because you're going to be hearing it for a long time. A very long time."

I pressed a kiss to his jawline and hummed my approval. "You're right about that."

And he was.

We had spent the last three months in Holland while he worked out his smithing job. It had been quite the adventure. I'd spent the days healing from my treatment and growing out my hair.

That's right. Healing.

I had found out in January, that I was officially cancer free!

The treatment worked! And my cancer had gone into remission.

I sat in Dr. Master's office with my family surrounding me and Bridger at my side, holding my hand. I had come to peace with the outcome, no matter what it would be. But I had been thrilled to find out I had life left to live.

Lots of life.

Bridger hadn't wasted any time.

Three days later, he asked me to marry him on the porch of our future home. He presented me with the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. He made it himself with his endless stores of skill and patience.

The sparkling white gold intertwined together, seeming to be made out of two different pieces. A gorgeous blue sapphire blinked at me with perfect clarity and on the inside, he had inscribed our names.

I broke down into happy tears when I found out I was cancer free and then again with his sweet proposal.

He promised me forever. He promised to love me, to cherish me and to never waste one single day with me. He promised me in sickness and in health. In richness and in poorness. He also promised that he would have asked me no matter the outcome of my treatments.

I knew that it was not possible to love him more.

He had been created for me.

And I for him.

We had struggles to look forward to; we had tough times that would eventually come. We had vows to make and then promise not to break.

But we also had each other

I had lived a lifetime of hardship, and I knew that my future was completely different than anything in my past.

It would never compare. It would never echo the difficulty of my past. Even if the cancer came back and we were as poor as dirt. It wouldn't matter.

Because I had Bridger. I had someone to go through this with me. I had someone to take care of me and hold me through the suffering.

I also had someone to make every day good.

I had to go in for my six-month checkup in four weeks, the middle of June. And I was nervous. So nervous.

But not afraid.

Sure, I wanted to be cancer-free for the rest of my life. And I never wanted to go through chemo or radiation again. But I also knew that I could face it again with Bridger at my side.

I could face anything with him.

We'd been married tonight, May fourteenth, in our own backyard. The spring had blessed the woods with a vibrancy that spoke to my soul. Green grass had sprouted and the trees burst with fresh green leaves or fragrant blossoms. The air was warm and the breeze caressing.

Bridger and his brothers had built a trellis that we stood beneath as my granddaddy married us in front of God and all our witnesses. Carter, Willa, Cami and Macey had stood at my side while Bridger had his brothers standing with him, as well as my brother and a cousin I had only just met.

My daddy gave me away with the proudest smile on his face and my mama wept happy tears through the entire ceremony. Grams hadn't stopped smiling in months. And even Cary and Dr. Masters had driven all the way from Nashville and attended the ceremony.

I had never felt more loved.

Bridger and I had promised each other no more secrets, but then he'd surprised me by hanging all the bottles he'd buried in his childhood around the perimeter of the backyard. He'd wrapped each bottle in a strand of white twinkly lights so that the rolled up message could be seen clearly. They made a beautiful decoration that everyone attending our wedding commented on.

But only we knew the truth of what was hidden inside those decorative bottles.

He had made our wedding day beautiful.

He had made my life beautiful.

It was unfortunate I was going to have to rip apart all his hard work so I could read those notes. Every last one of them.

Don't worry, I planned to keep the letters and make him hang up all the bottles again.

I could do that now. I was his wife.

"I love you, Bridger." My rain cloud. My rain cloud that had brought so much sun and warmth into my life that I had been changed irrevocably.

"I love you too, Tatum." He paused for a long moment before asking, "So, you're happy to be my wife?"

"It's not possible for me to be happier." My voice was a whisper of truth and conviction. I blinked through hot tears and tried to swallow back the pressure of overwhelmed bliss.

"Then, can I kick all these people out yet?"

I dissolved into laughter. "You can't kick anybody out!"

"I can," he swore. "It's my backyard. I can do whatever I want."

I pulled back and framed his handsome face with my hands. Behind him, the most beautiful house I had ever seen stood as the backdrop to everything I didn't know I wanted. A five bedroom log cabin that displayed Bridger's talented eye for detail and his complete love for me. The wrap around porch and the hand-crafted porch swing beckoned to my sore feet, but the master bedroom, that had so far remained untouched, called to my body and soul.

"Okay," I whispered. "You're right. Kick them all out."

His green eyes sparkled with mischief. "You're serious."

"I'm serious," I whispered. "I want to be your wife, Bridger, in every way."

His excited grin stretched across his face and my stomach flipped with anticipation. His eyes promised a night full of adventure and a lifetime that would follow suit.

I had jumped into this wanting to change Bridger, to give him back himself. But in the end, he was the one that changed me.

He gave me back myself.

And he promised to help me keep her for the rest of my life.

I loved this man with all that I was and that would never change. This was my happiness.

This was my happily ever after.

Instead of making a big scene, Bridger simply swept me up in his arms. My mermaid-style ivory dress swished with the movement and the pretty lace overlay got caught in his buttons. We giggled at each other, but he made no attempt to untangle us.

I brushed my short curly hair out of my eyes and settled some. I stared into his gorgeous emerald eyes and promised silently that he could do whatever he needed to in order to untangle us. As long as we were alone, he could rip the damn dress off if he needed to.

And he would probably need to.

I was making that prediction right now.

"Ready?"

I smiled at him. "Ready."

Without saying goodbye or acknowledging our small number of guests, Bridger bounded up the porch stairs and into our house. His intentions couldn't have been more obvious, but I was beyond caring.

And why would I? I was with my husband.

And we were on our way to start our life.

Our life that held a very promising future.

A very promising, very long future.

The End.

West's Book, yet untitled, will be coming soon.

Acknowledgements:

Lila:

As always, first and foremost, I thank God for this crazy life.

My husband and kids are the breath to my life and I wouldn't be able to do this without them. Their pride in what I do floors me day after day.

To Rachel: Wonder Twin powers, activate. That is all.

To the Rink Rats: Mess with my rats and you will get the claws! Y'all are the best street team on the planet. Hands down.

Monique O'Connor James: I missed you on this one, kid. I'll miss you on every one.

Mandy IReadIndie, Ashleigh Russell, Eden Butler, Candace Selph, and Jamie Magee and so many more, thank you for listening to me complain and fuss and then telling me to suck it up and write on.

To the Hellcats: Eye of the Tiger, ladies, Eye of the Tiger.

To the reader: Thank you for reading Bridger and Tate's story.

Rachel:

I thank God, who gives me the strength and the coherence to do this thing. Most days I am lost. It's a miracle when I can put two sentences together. And especially when they make sense.

To Zach, who will always inspire the love in my love stories. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for putting up with me. And thank you going on this epic adventure with me.

To my little brother, who's not exactly little. Robbie, you're amazing. Watching you get diagnosed with Hodgkins and going through what you did was one of the scariest times of my life. I am so thankful for your treatment, for your wise doctors, for nurses that helped give you a purpose and for your incredible persistence to survive and move on. You are amazing. I'm sorry I got annoyed with you when you had mono. Also. I love you.

To my Hellcats, Shelly Crane, Amy Bartol, Angeline Kace, Lila Felix, Samantha Young, Quinn Loftis, and Georgia Cates. Ladies, you are the best there is. I would be lost without you. I love you all. To pieces.

To the Reckless Rebels, the best group of girls in the world. I love you all. And I am convinced it doesn't get better than you girls. Thank you for being awesome. And for putting up with me. I appreciate everything you do!

To Lila, thank you for this book and for the opportunity to write with you. You had to put up with so much from me this time around. Thank you for still wanting to be my friend. I can't wait for West. It's going to be our best yet.

And to you, the Reader. Thank you for downloading and enjoying Brazing. We appreciate every single second you spent with Bridger and Tate. Thank you for your support! We hope you come back for West's love story. That boy needs a woman.

Please keep reading for a sample of Lila's book, and Rachel's new adult contemporary, The Five Stages of Falling in Love, coming January 27th, 2015.

Other works by the authors:

Lila Felix:

www.lilafelix.com

www.facebook.com/authorlilafelix

Twitter: @authorlilafelix

E-mail: authorlilafelix@gmail.com

Emerge

Perchance

The Love and Skate Series

Love and Skate, How It Rolls, Down 'N' Derby, Caught In A Jam, False Start

The Bayou Bear Chronicles

(Burden, Hearten)

The Lightning Series

Sparrows For Free

AnguiSH / HeartBREAKER

Hoax

Forced Autonomy (A Dystopian Serial)

Coming Soon: Doves For Sale, The Second Jam (The Second Generation Roller Derby Series), and Love Mercy

### Rachel Higginson:

Rachel Higginson was born and raised in Nebraska, but spent her college years traveling the world. She married her high school sweetheart and spends her days raising their growing family. She is obsessed with bad reality TV and any and all Young Adult Fiction.

Look for more from Rachel in 2014.

Other books by Rachel to be released in 2014 are The Redeemable Prince, the seventh book in The Star-Crossed Series, The Heart, the third book in the Siren Series and look for The Five Stages of Falling in Love, and adult contemporary romance, coming early 2015.

Other Books Now Available by Rachel Higginson

Love and Decay, Season One, Episodes One-Twelve

Love and Decay, Season Two, Episodes One-Twelve

Love and Decay, Volume One (Episodes One-Six, Season One)

Love and Decay, Volume Two (Episodes Seven-Twelve, Season One)

Love and Decay, Volume Three (Episodes One-Four, Season Two)

Love and Decay, Volume Four (Episodes Five-Eight, Season Two)

Love and Decay, Volume Five (Episodes Nine-Twelve, Season Two)

Reckless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 1)

Hopeless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 2)

Fearless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 3)

Endless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 4)

The Reluctant King (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 5)

The Relentless Warrior (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 6)

Breathless Magic (the Star-Crossed Series, Book 6.5)

Fateful Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 6.75)

The Redeemable Prince (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 7)

Heir of Skies (The Starbright Series, Book 1)

Heir of Darkness (The Starbright Series, Book 2)

Heir of Secrets (The Starbright Series, Book 3)

The Rush (The Siren Series, Book 1)

The Fall (The Siren Series, Book 2)

Bet in the Dark (An NA Contemporary Romance)

Striking (The Forged in Fire Series) a co-authored Contemporary NA

Follow Rachel on her blog at:

www.rachelhigginson.com

Or on Twitter:

@mywritesdntbite

Or on her Facebook pages:

Rachel Higginson

Please enjoy a sample of The Five Stages of Falling in Love by Rachel Higginson

Coming January 27th, 2015

Prologue

"Hey, there she is," Grady looked up at me from his bed, his eyes smiling even while his mouth barely mimicked the emotion.

"Hey, you," I called back. The lights had been dimmed after the last nurse checked his vitals and the TV was on, but muted. "Where are the kiddos? I was only in the cafeteria for ten minutes."

Grady winked at me playfully, "My mother took them." I melted a little at his roguish expression. It was the same look that made me agree to a date with him our junior year of college, it was the same look that made me fall in love with him- the same one that made me agree to have our second baby boy when I would have been just fine to stop after Blake, Abby and Lucy.

"Oh, yeah?" I walked over to the hospital bed and sat down next to him. He immediately reached for me, pulling me against him with weak arms. I snuggled back into him, so that my head rested on his thin shoulder and our bodies fit side by side on the narrow bed. One of my legs didn't make it and hung off awkwardly. But I didn't mind. It was just perfect to lie next to the love of my life, my husband.

"Oh, yeah," he growled suggestively. "You know what that means?" He walked his free hand up my arm and gave my breast a wicked squeeze. "When the kids are away, the grownups get to play..."

"You are so bad," I swatted him- or at least made the motion of swatting at him, since I was too afraid to hurt him.

"God, I don't remember the last time I got laid," he groaned next to me and I felt the rumble of his words against my side.

"Tell me about it, sport," I sighed. "I could use a nice, hard-"

"Elizabeth Carlson," he cut in on a surprised laugh. "When did you get such a dirty mouth?"

"I think you've known about my dirty mouth for quite some time, Grady," I flirted back. We'd been serious for so long it was nice to flirt with him, to remember that we didn't just love each other, but we liked each other too.

He grunted in satisfaction. "That I have. I think your dirty mouth had something to do with Lucy's conception."

I blushed. Even after all these years, he knew exactly what to say to me. "Maybe," I conceded.

"Probably," he chuckled, his breath hot on my ear.

We laid there in silence for a while, enjoying the feel of each other, watching the silent TV screen flicker in front of our eyes. It was perfect- or as close to perfect as we had felt in a long time.

"Dance with me, Lizzy," Grady whispered after a while. I'd thought maybe he fell asleep; the drugs were so hard on his system that he was usually in and out of consciousness. This was actually the most coherent he'd been in a month.

"Ok," I agreed. "It's the first thing we'll do when you get out. We'll have your mom come over and babysit, you can take me to dinner at Pazio's and we'll go dancing after."

"Mmm, that sounds nice," he agreed. "You love Pazio's. That's a guaranteed get-lucky night for me."

"Baby," I crooned. "As soon as I get you back home, you're going to have guaranteed get-lucky nights for at least a month, maybe two."

"I don't want to wait. I'm tired of waiting. Dance with me now, Lizzy," Grady pressed, this time sounding serious.

"Babe, after your treatment this morning, you can barely stand up right now. Honestly, how are you going to put all those sweet moves on me?" I teased, wondering where this sudden urge to dance- of all things- was coming from.

"Lizzy, I am a sick man. I haven't slept in my own bed in four months, I haven't seen my wife naked in just as long, and I am tired of lying in this bed. I want to dance with you. Will you please, pretty please, dance with me?"

I nodded at first because I was incapable of speech. He was right. I hated that he was right, but I hated that he was sick even more.

"Alright, Grady, I'll dance with you," I finally whispered.

"I knew I'd get my way," he croaked smugly.

I slipped off the bed and turned around to face my husband and help him to his feet. His once full head of auburn hair was now bald, reflecting the pallid color of his skin. His face was haggard, dark black circles under his eyes, chapped lips and pale cheeks. He was still as tall as he'd ever been, but instead of the toned muscles and thick frame he once boasted, he was depressingly skinny and weak, his shoulders perpetually slumped.

The only thing that remained the same was his eyes, they were the same dark green eyes I'd fallen in love with ten years ago. They were still full of life, even when his body wasn't, still full of mischief while the rest of him was tired and exhausted from fighting this stupid sickness.

"You always get your way," I grumbled while I helped him up from the bed.

"Only with you," he shot back on a pant after successfully standing. "And only because you love me."

"That I do," I agreed. Grady's hands slipped around my waist and he clutched my sides in an effort to stay standing.

I slipped my arms around his neck, but didn't allow any weight to press down on him. We maneuvered our bodies around his IV and monitors. It was awkward, but we managed.

"What should we listen to?" I asked, while I pulled out my cell phone and turned it to my iTunes app.

"You know what song. There is no other song when we're dancing," he reminded me on a faint smile.

"You must be horny," I laughed. "You're getting awfully romantic."

"Just trying to keep this fire alive, babe," he pulled me closer and I held back the flood of tears that threatened to spill over.

I turned on The Way You Look Tonight- the Frank Sinatra version- and we swayed slowly back and forth. Frank sang the soft, beautiful lyrics with the help of a full band, the music drifting around us over the constant beeping and whirring of medical machines. This was the song we thought of as ours, the first song we'd danced to at our wedding, the song he still made the band at Pazio's play on our anniversary each year.

"This fire is very much alive," I informed him sternly. I lay my forehead against his shoulder and inhaled him. He didn't smell like himself anymore, he was full of chemo drugs and smelled like hospital soap and detergent, but he was still Grady. And even though he barely resembled himself anymore, he still felt like Grady.

He was still _my_ Grady.

"It is, isn't it?" He whispered. I could feel how week he was growing, how tired this was making him, but still he clung to me, held me close. When my favorite verse came on, he leaned his head down and whispered in a broken voice along with Frank, "There is nothing for me, but to love you. And the way you look tonight."

Silent tears streamed down my face with truths I wasn't ready to admit to myself and fears that were too horrifying to even think. This was the man I loved with every fiber of my being- the only man I'd ever loved. The only man I'd _ever love_.

He'd made me fall in love with him before I was old enough to drink legally, then he'd convinced me to marry him before I even graduated college. He knocked me up a year later, and didn't stop until we had four wild rugrats that all had his red hair and his emerald green eyes. He'd forced me to finish my undergrad, and then grad school while I was pregnant, nursing and then pregnant again. He went to bed every night with socks on and then took them off sometime in the middle of the night, leaving them obnoxiously tucked in between our sheets. He could never find his wallet, or his keys, and when there was hair to grow he always forgot to shave.

And he drove me crazy most of the time.

But he was mine.

He was my husband.

And now he was sick.

"I do love you, Lizzy," he murmured against my hair. "I'll always love you, even when I'm dead and gone."

"Which won't be for a very long time," I reminded him on a sob.

He ignored me, "You love me back, don't you?"

"Yes, I love you back," I whispered with so much emotion the words felt stuck in my throat. "But you already knew that."

"Maybe," he conceded gently. "But I will never, ever get tired of hearing it."

I sniffled against him, staining his hospital gown with my mascara and eye liner. "That's a good thing, because you're going to be hearing it for a very long time."

He didn't respond, just kept swaying with me back and forth until the song ended. He asked me to play it again and I did, three more times. By the end of the fourth time, he was too tired to stand. I laid him back in bed and helped him adjust the IV and monitor again so that it didn't bother him, then pulled the sheet over his cold toes.

His eyes were closed and I thought he'd fallen asleep, so I bent down to kiss his forehead. He stirred at my touch and reached out to cup my face with his un-needled arm. I looked down into his depthless green eyes and fell in love with him all over again.

It was as simple as that.

It had always been that simple for him to get me to fall in love with him.

"You are the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, Lizzy." His voice was broken and scratchy and a tear slid out from the corner of each of his eyes.

My chin trembled at his words because I knew what he was doing and I hated it, I hated every part of it. I shook my head, trying to get him to stop but he held my gaze and just kept going.

"You are. And you have made my life good, and worth living. You have made me love more than any man has ever known how to love. I didn't know this kind of happiness existed in real life, Liz, and you're the one that gave it to me. I couldn't be more thankful for the life we've shared together. I couldn't be more thankful for you."

"Oh, Grady, please-"

"Lizzy," he said in his most stern voice that he only ever used when I'd maxed out a credit card. "Whatever happens, whatever happens to me, I want you to keep giving this gift to other people." I opened my mouth to vehemently object to everything he was saying but he silenced me with a cold finger on my lips. "I didn't say go marry the first man you find. Hell, I'm not even talking about another man. But I don't want this light to die with me. I don't want you to forget how happy you make other people just because you might not feel happy. Even if I don't, Lizzy, I want you to go on living. Promise me that."

But I shook my head, "no." I wasn't going to promise him that. I couldn't make myself. And it was unfair of him to ask me that.

"Please, sweetheart, for me?" His deep, green eyes glossed over with emotion and I could physically feel how painful this was for him to ask me. He didn't want this anymore than I did.

I found myself nodding, while I sniffled back a stream of tears. "Ok," I whispered. "I promise."

He broke out into a genuine smile then, his thumb rubbing back and forth along my jaw. "Now tell me you love me, one more time."

"I love you, Grady," I murmured, leaning into his touch and savoring this moment with him.

"And I will always, always love you, Lizzy," he promised.

His eyes finally fluttered shut and his hand dropped from my face. His vitals remained the same, so I knew he was just sleeping. I crawled into bed with him, gently shifting him so that I could lie on my side, in the nook of his arm and lay my hand on his chest. I did this often; I liked to feel the beat of his heart underneath my hand. It had stopped too many times before, for me to trust its reliability. My husband was a very sick man, and had been for a while now.

Tonight was different though. Tonight, Grady was lucid and coherent, he'd found enough energy to stand up and dance with me, to tell me he loved me. Tonight could have been a turn for the better.

But it wasn't- because only a few hours later, Grady's heart stopped for the fourth time during his adult life, and this time it never restarted.

Stage One: Denial

Not every story has a happy ending. Some only hold a happy beginning.

This is my story. I'd already met my soul mate, fallen in love with him and lived our happily ever after.

This story is not about me falling in love.

This story is about me learning to live again after love left my life.

Research shows there are five stages of grief. I don't know what this means for me, as I was stuck, nice and hard, in step one.

Denial.

I knew, acutely, that I was still in stage one.

I knew this because every time I walked in the house, I wandered around aimlessly looking for Grady. Because I still picked up my phone to check if he texted or called throughout the day. Because I looked for him in a crowded room, got the urge to call him from the grocery store just to make sure I had everything he needed, and reached for him in the middle of the night.

Acceptance- the last stage of grief- was firmly and forever out of my reach, and I often looked forward to it with longing. Why? Because Denial was a _son of a bitch_ and it hurt more than _anything_ when I realized he wasn't in the house, wouldn't be calling me, wasn't where I wanted him to be, didn't need anything from the store and would never lie next to me in bed again. The grief would cascade over me, fresh and suffocating and I was forced to suffer through the unbearable pain of losing my husband all over again.

Denial _sucked_.

But it was where I was right now. I was living in denial.
Chapter One

Six Months after Grady died.

I snuggled back into the cradle of his body while his arms wrapped around me tightly. He buried his scruffy face against the nape of my neck and I sighed contentedly. We fit perfectly together, but then again we always had- his big spoon nestled up against my little spoon.

"It's your turn," he rumbled against my skin with that deep morning voice I would always drink in.

"No," I argued half-heartedly. "It's always my turn."

"But you're so good at it," he teased.

I giggled, "It's one of my many talents, pouring cereal into bowls, making juice cups. I might just take this show on the road."

He laughed behind me and his chest shook with the movement. I pushed back into him, loving the feel of his hard, firm chest against my back. He was so hot first thing in the morning, his whole body radiating warmth.

His hand splayed out across my belly possessively and he pressed a kiss just below my ear. I could feel his lips through my tangle of hair and the tickle of his breath which wasn't all that pleasant first thing in the morning, but it was Grady and it was familiar.

"It's probably time we had another one, don't you think?" His hand rubbed a circle around my stomach and I could feel him vibrating happily with the thought.

"Grady, we already have three," I reminded him on a laugh. "If we have another one, people are going to start thinking we're weird."

"No, they won't," he soothed. "They might get an idea of how fertile you are, but they won't think we're weird."

I snorted a laugh. "They already think we're weird."

"Then we don't want to disappoint them," he murmured. His hand slid up my chest and cupped my breast, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You are obsessed with those things," I grinned.

"Definitely," he agreed quickly, while continuing to fondle me. "What do you think, Lizzy? Will you give me another baby?"

I was getting wrapped up in the way he was touching me, the way he was caressing me with so much love I thought I would burst. "I'll think about it," I finally conceded, knowing he would get his way- knowing I always let him have his way.

"While you're mulling it over, we should probably practice. I mean, we want to get this right when the time comes." Grady trailed kisses down the column of my throat and I moaned my consent.

I rolled over to kiss him on the mouth.

But he wasn't there.

My arm swung wide and hit cold, empty mattress.

I opened my eyes and stared at the slow moving ceiling fan over my head. The early morning light streamed in through cracks in my closed blinds and I let the silent tears fall.

I hated waking up like this; thinking he was there, next to me, still able to support me, love me- hold me. And unfortunately it happened more often than it didn't.

The fresh pain clawed and cut at my heart and I thought I would die just from sheer heartbreak. My chin quivered and I sniffled, trying desperately to wrestle my emotions under control. But the pain was too much, too consuming.

"Mom!" Blake called from the kitchen, ripping me away from my peaceful grief. "Moooooom!"

That was a distressed cry, and I was up out of my bed and racing downstairs immediately. I grabbed my silk robe on the way and threw it over my black cami and plaid pajama bottoms. When the kids were younger I wouldn't have bothered, but Blake was eight now and he'd been traumatized enough in life- I wasn't going to add to that by walking around bra-less first thing in the morning.

He continued to yell at me, while I barreled into the kitchen still wiping at the fresh tears. I found him at the bay windows, staring out in horror.

"Mom, Abby went swimming," he explained in a rush of words.

A sick feeling knotted my stomach and I looked around wild-eyed at what his words could possibly mean. "What do you mean, Abby _went swimming_?" I gasped, a little out of breath.

"There," he pointed to the neighbor's backyard with a shaky finger.

I followed the direction of his outstretched hand and from the elevated vantage point of our kitchen I could see that the neighbor's pool was filled with water, and my six-year-old daughter was swimming morning laps like she was on a regulated workout routine.

"What the f-" I started and then stopped, shooting a glance down at Blake who was looking up at me with more exaggerated shock than he'd given his sister.

I watched her for point one more second and then sprinted for the front door. "Keep an eye on the other ones," I shouted at Blake as I pushed open our heavy red door.

It was just early fall in rural Connecticut; the grass was still green, the mornings foggy but mostly still warm. The house next to us had been empty for almost a year. The owner had been asking too much for it in this economy, but I understood why- it was a beautiful, stately colonial with cream stucco siding and black decorative shutters. There were big oak trees offering shade and character in the sprawling front yard and in the back, an in-ground pool that was the drool-worthy envy of my children.

I raced down my yard and into my new neighbors. I hadn't noticed the house had sold, but that didn't surprise me. I wasn't the most observant person these days. Vaguely I noted a moving truck parked in the long drive.

The backyard gate must have been left open, because even though Abby had taught herself how to swim at the age of four- all by herself, the end result giving me several gray hairs- there was no way she could reach the flip lock at the top of the tall, iron fence.

I rounded the corner and hopped/ran to the edge of the pool, the gravel of the patio cutting into my bare feet. I took a steadying breath and focused my panic-flooded mind, long enough to assess whether Abby was still breathing or not.

She was, and happily swimming in circles _in the deep end_.

Fear and dread quickly turned to blinding anger and I took a step closer to the edge of the pool while I threw my silk robe on the ground.

"Abigail Elizabeth, you get out of there right this minute!" I shouted loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.

She popped her head up out of the water, acknowledged me by sticking out her tongue, and promptly went back to swimming. _That little brat._

"Abigail, I am _not_ joking. Get out of the pool. _Now_!" I hollered again. And was ignored- again. "Abby, if I have to come in there and get you, you will rue the day you were born!"

She poked her head back up out of the water, shooting me a confused look. Her light green eyebrows drew together, just like her father's used to, and her little freckled nose wrinkled at something I said. I was smart enough or experienced enough to know that she was not on the verge of obeying, just because I'd threatened her.

"Mommy?" she asked, somehow making her little body tread water in a red polk-a-dot bikini my sister picked up from Gap last summer- it was too small which for some reason made me _more_ angry. "What does _rue_ mean?"

"It means you're grounded from the iPad, your Leapster and the Wii for the next two years of your life," I threatened. "Now get out of that pool right now before I come in there and get you myself."

She giggled in reply, not believing me for one second and resumed her play.

"Damn it, Abigail," I growled under my breath- not that I was surprised by her behavior. She was naturally an adventurous child. Since she could walk, she'd been climbing to the highest point of anything she could, swinging precariously from branches, light fixtures and aisles at the grocery store. She was a dare-devil and there were moments when I absolutely adored her "the world is my playground" attitude about life. But then there were moments like this, when every mom instinct in me screamed she was in danger and her little, rotten life flashed before my eyes.

Those moments happened more and more often. She tested me, pushing every limit and boundary I'd set. She had been reckless before Grady died, now she was just wild. And I didn't know what to do about it.

I didn't know how to tame my uncontrollable child- how to be both parents to a little girl who desperately missed her daddy.

I focused on my outrage, pushing those tragic thoughts down, into the abyss of my soul. I was pissed, I didn't have time for this first thing in the morning and no doubt we were going to be late for school- again.

I slipped off my pajama pants, hoping whomever had moved into the house, if they were watching, would be more concerned with the little girl on the verge of drowning than me flashing my black, bikini briefs at them over morning coffee. I said a few more choice curses and then dove into the barely warm water after my second born.

I surfaced, sputtering water and shivering from the cool morning air pebbling my skin. "Abigail, when I get you out of this pool, you are going to be in _so_ much trouble."

"Okay," she agreed happily. "But first you have to catch me."

She proceeded to swim around me in circles while I reached out helplessly for her. First thing I was doing when I got out of this pool was throwing away every electronic device in our house just to teach her a lesson. Then I was going to sign her up for a swim team- because the little hellion was very, very fast.

We struggled like this for a few more minutes. Well, I struggled. She splashed at me and laughed at my efforts to wrangle her.

I was aware of a presence hovering by the edge of the pool but I was equally too embarrassed as I was preoccupied to look. Images of walking my children into school late _again_ , kept looping through my head and I cringed at the dirty looks I was bound to get from teachers and other parents alike.

"You look hungry," a deep masculine voice announced from above me.

I whipped my head around to find an incredibly tall man standing by my discarded pajama pants holding two beach towels and a box of Poptarts in one arm, while he munched casually on said Poptarts with the other.

"I look hungry?" I screeched in hysterical anger.

His eyes flickered down at me for just a second, "No, you look mad." He pointed at Abby, who had come to a stop next to me, treading water again with her short child-sized limbs waving wildly in the water. " _She_ looks hungry." He grinned at me, his mouth full of food, and then looked back at Abby. "Want a Poptart? They're brown sugar."

Abby nodded excitedly and swam to the edge of the pool. Not even using the ladder, she heaved herself out of the water and ran over to the stranger holding out his breakfast to her. He handed her a towel and she hastily draped it around her shoulders and then took the offered Poptart.

A million warnings about taking food from strangers ran through my head, but in the end I decided getting us out of his pool was probably more important to him than offing his brand new neighbors with poisoned Poptarts.

With a defeated sigh, I swam over to the ladder closest to my pants and robe, and pulled myself from the water. I was a dripping, limp mess and I was frozen to the bone after my body adjusted to the temperature of the water.

Abby took her Poptart and plopped down on one of the loungers that were still stacked on top of two others and wrapped in plastic. She began munching on it happily, grinning at me like she'd just won the lottery.

She was in _so_ much trouble.

I walked over to the stranger, eying him skeptically. He held out his remaining beach towel to me and after realizing I stood before him in just a soaking wet tank top and bikini briefs, I took it quickly and wrapped it around my body. I shivered violently, and my dark blonde hair dripped down my face and back. But I didn't dare adjust the towel, afraid I'd give him more of a show than he'd paid for.

"Good morning," he laughed at me.

"Good morning," I replied slowly, carefully.

Up close, he wasn't the giant I'd originally thought. Now that we were both ground level, I could see that while he was tall, at least six inches taller than me, he wasn't freakishly tall- which relieved some of my concerns. He still wore his pajamas: blue cotton pants and a white t-shirt that had been stretched out from sleep. He had almost black hair that appeared still mussed and disheveled, but swept over to the side in what could be a trendy style if he brushed it. He seemed to be a few years older than me- if I had to guess thirty-five or thirty-six- and he had dark, intelligent eyes that crinkled in the corners with amusement. He was tanned, and muscular, and imposing. And I hated that he was laughing at me.

"Sorry about the gate," he shrugged. "I didn't realize there were kids around."

"You moved into a neighborhood," I pointed out dryly. "There's bound to be kids around."

His eyes narrowed at the insult but he swallowed his Poptart and agreed, "Fair enough. I'll keep the gate locked from now on."

I wasn't finished with berating him though. His pool caused all kinds of problems for me this morning and since I could only take out so much anger on my six-year-old, I had to vent the rest somewhere. "Who fills their pool the first week of September anyway? You've been to New England in the winter, haven't you?"

He cleared his throat and the last laugh lines around his eyes disappeared. "My real estate agent," he explained. "It was kind of like a 'thank you' present for buying the house. He thought he was doing something nice for me."

I snorted at that, thinking how my little girl could have... No, I couldn't go there; physically, I was not emotionally capable of thinking that thought through.

"I really am sorry," he offered genuinely, his dark eyes flashing with true emotion. "I got in late last night, and passed out on the couch. I didn't even know the pool was full or the gate was open until I heard you screaming out here."

Guilt settled in my stomach like acid, and I regretted my harsh tone with him. This wasn't his fault. I just wanted to blame someone else.

"Look, I'm sorry I was snappish about the pool. I just, I was just worried about Abby. I took it out on you," I relented, but wouldn't look him in the eye. I'd always been terrible at apologies. When Grady and I would fight, I could never bring myself to tell him I felt sorry. Eventually, he'd just look at me and say, "I forgive you, Lizzy. Now come here and make it up to me." With anyone else my pride would have refused to let me give in; but with Grady, the way he smoothed over my stubbornness and let me get away with keeping my dignity, worked every single time.

"It's alright, I can understand that," my new neighbor agreed.

We stood there awkwardly for a few more moments, before I swooped down to pick up my plaid pants and discarded robe. "Alright, well I need to go get the kids ready for school. Thanks for convincing her to get out. Who knows how long we would have been stuck there playing _Finding Nemo_."

He chuckled but his eyes were confused. "Is that like Marco Polo?"

I shot him a questioning glance, wondering if he was serious or not. "No kids?" I asked.

He laughed again. "Nope, life-long bachelor." He waved the box of Poptarts and realization dawned on me. He hadn't really seemed like a father before now, but in my world- my four kids, soccer mom, neighborhood watch secretary, active member of the PTO world- it was almost unfathomable to me that someone his age could not have kids.

I cleared my throat, "It's uh, a little kid movie. Disney," I explained and understanding lit his expression. "Um, thanks again." I turned to Abby who was finishing up her breakfast, "Let's go, Abs, you're making us late for school."

"I'm Ben by the way," he called out to my back. "Ben Tyler."

I snorted to myself at the two first names- it somehow seemed appropriate for the handsome life-long bachelor, but ridiculous all the same.

"Liz Carson," I called over my shoulder. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Uh, the towels?" he shouted after me when we'd reached the gate.

I turned around with a dropped mouth, thinking a hundred different vile things about my new neighbor. "Can't we... I..." I glanced down helplessly at my bare legs poking out of the bottom of the towel he'd just lent me.

"Liz," he laughed familiarly, and I tried not to resent him. "I'm just teasing. Bring them back whenever."

I growled something unintelligible that I hope sounded like "thank you" and spun on my heel, shooing Abby onto the lawn between our houses.

"Nice to meet you, neighbor," he called out over the fence.

"You too," I mumbled, not even turning my head to look back at him.

Obviously he was single and unattached. He was way too smug for his own good. I just hoped he would keep his gate locked and loud parties few and far between. He seemed like the type to throw frat party-like keggers and hire strippers for the weekend. I had a family to raise; a family that was quickly falling apart while I floundered to hold us together with tired arms and a broken spirit. I didn't need a nosy neighbor handing out Poptarts and sarcasm interfering with my life.

An Excerpt from The Second Jam

A Love and Skate Spin-Off

Coming January 2015

Chapter 1

Beatriz

"Don't, Bea, don't! You're going to regret it! "

The hairdresser behind me plugged her ears with shears in one hand and a black comb in the other as she waited for the incessant wailing to stop.

"Will you shut up? Get a magazine or text your novio. You're good at that."

Her middle finger told me what she thought of that.

"Come on, girl. Cut it all off."

My parents had preferred me with long hair and were vocal about it. They were vocal about everything.

Katie, the girl behind me, fluffed my waist length hair in a bid of farewell.

"Are you sure?" She met my eyes in the mirror. "It's so pretty."

"It's not pretty when I'm pulling it out of my scalp trying to detangle it after stuffing it into a derby helmet. Cut the shit off—please."

Funneling most of my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, she hesitated three or four times before making the first cut. As the weight was lifted from my scalp, I noticed an audience of hairdressers had gathered in reverence. They looked as if they were seeing a body in a coffin one last time.

So I clapped and cheered—flailed my arms until shock plastered the faces of the people around and behind me.

It was just hair.

Even after graduating college, getting a job and living on my own for five years, this was the first time I really felt like an adult. No, it wasn't just hair—it was freedom.

With the mourning finally breaking up, Katie took one long drag of a breath and went to work on the rest of my hair looking like the Mad Hatter shearing seamlessly through silk for the Red Queen's bonnets.

When she powered up the clippers, Zuri began crossing herself and praying about not cutting off my ears.

She was ridiculous dramatic. In the next half hour, the style took shape, looking more and more like the picture I'd brought in on my phone. I was like a little roller derby chola.

I shut my eyes while Katie blow dried the stray black hairs from my neck. A gasp rang out from my right and I knew that Zuri was next to me freaking the F out.

"It doesn't look that bad."

I didn't even want to see the shock on her face. I kept my eyes closed while Katie's skilled fingers worked whatever product through my hair—conveniently the same product she was going to try to sell me on my way out. Too bad that on my professor's wage I wouldn't be able to afford it.

"It looks hot." I opened my eyes to see a woman with a pink streak of hair coming out of a blue braid. This was no ordinary woman. To anyone else, she would look like some middle-aged female who was living in the past by continuing to keep her hair like a teenager.

"Good to see you Ms. Reed."

Quickly, I looked around the place. How did these people not know this woman? She was the new matriarch of a roller derby empire.

The Black Family to roller derby was like The Sopranos to the mafia.

Reed Black was one of their feared leaders—no, more like loved.

Her husband, Falcon, was hot as...

"You too, babe. Really, the hair looks amazing."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Katie was still primping as Reed took a seat in the waiting area which was really six cheap looking chairs, some hair magazines and a dollar store bucket with McDonald's toys. Why Reed Black got her hair cut in a cheap ass place like this was beyond me.

"There you go, Hot Shot. Pay the lady and let's get out of here. Mama needs a torta."

It seemed like we were constantly at the mercy of Zuri's demanding hunger.

