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“Speaking of that, how’s Tate doing?”
A sudden lump formed in my throat.
“I have no idea. Our friendship is done, Dylan. Finished. We had a big blowout and that was it. He even spoke about it to the press. Henn didn’t tell you?”
“She just said you were going through a hard time, but gave no details. And I haven’t been reading the usual gossip. My therapist wanted me to detox off that too.”
“Smart idea. But maybe you could give Tate a call? I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you,” I suggested.
I knew that Henn kept tabs on Tate. She’d only mentioned in passing that he was in rehab again and left it at that. I didn’t push and she didn’t offer. But that didn’t stop me from worrying, and wondering, and second guessing my decision to cut off contact.
“I’ll do that. And I’m sorry to hear about you and Tate. You guys were close, and for a while there, I thought that?—”
Dylan paused.
“We were just friends, Dyl. Only that.”
“Yeah, Tate fed me the same line. But I know chemistry when I see it. And since I’m a country boy at heart, I also know bullshit when I smell it.”
“Still as charming as ever.”
“You can take the man out of Texas?—”
I laughed. For the first time in ages.
“I’ve got a break between acting gigs. Would you be open to a visitor? I mean, is that okay?”
“That would be great! I can tell you one thing for sure. When you hit rock bottom, you find out right quick who your real friends are.”
The pang of guilt about Tate hit me full force again. But then I remembered that I had my own heart and my own well-being to look after.
“How about Sunday?” I asked. “Does that work? I’ll probably stay a few days.”
“Text me the details. I look forward to it.”
“Will do. I’ll see you soon.”
Dylan’s call left me strangely homesick. When my cat, Grant, hopped up on my lap and began to pester me for scritches, I gave in to his charms. Like always.
Even the damn cat reminded me of Tate.
Grant pawed at my hip and I looked down. I’d almost had that fucking tattoo on my hip lasered off, but I couldn’t do it.
I left it as a reminder, a warning.
Even the luckiest of charms are just that.
Luck isn’t love.
Instead of wondering about the demise of my relationship with my former best friend, I picked up my phone and called my oldest one.
When my Dad answered, everything came flooding out.
And his advice? It was simple.
Go back to Tate. Don’t leave anything left unsaid.
This time, it was time to fight.
