SORREN: It’s okay that things with Deacon feel big—allegedly it’s normal. Love is messy and every time you’ve pushed him away, he’s come back swinging
TANNER: Until he didn’t
SORREN: Ah, but you recognized how much that sucked and what you’d be losing letting him go
SORREN: I don’t make you do all the media and interview shit because I hate it—I make you do it because you’re the best fucking person for the job
SORREN: So I guess the real question is if we’re talking about loving Deacon—are you the best person for the job?
TANNER: I didn’t say anything about loving him
Even as Itype out the words, I can’t help the way my heart hammers in my chest at the idea that I could be in lovewith Deacon. I’d never even considered finding love again after Fallon, but now…
SORREN: You didn’t have to
TANNER: This escalated quickly
SORREN: It escalated the right amount
TANNER: But do you think he feels the same?
SORREN: Dunno but love is wild and you just need to commit to letting yourself fall
Well,shit.
34
TANNER
Dad.
It takes me a full three seconds before my brain registers what it’s seeing as my phone vibrates on the table. Grabbing it, I swipe, accepting the call and putting it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Tanner, it’s your father.”
“Hey, yeah, how are you? Is everything all right?”
I hate that I let the question slip, as if my father would only call me if there was some kind of emergency. But isn’t that the truth? I can’t remember the last time we actually talked and that includes any time my mother would just hand him the phone and we’d have to make awkward conversation until she was satisfied and we could hang up.
“Your mother is in surgery.”
“What?” I bark, my heart suddenly in my throat as Sorren stares at me with concern and a hint of rage—the kind that when provoked could level a city.
Without knowing anything, my friend is ready to fight for me.
With me.
“She fell playing pickleball.” The casualness of his voice pisses me off. “Shattered something in her hip.” Pausing, he adds, “She wanted me to call you.”
Moving papers from the desk calendar, I mentally rearrange the week while simultaneously trying to do the same with my home obligations concerning Briggs and Deacon.
“I can take some time off and come stay and help. I could be there tonight. I just need to?—”
“There’s no need to do that.”
“What?” Sure I didn’t hear him right, I freeze and will the pounding in my ears to quiet as I wait for him to speak.
