“Soooo, he’s on something,” Ethan says in a hushed voice as we walk.
“On what?”
“Don’t know. Still figuring that out. Whatever it is, it’s lasted since his conference meeting on Monday. I was the one who picked him up.”
I have so many questions. “Why would you bring him here high?” I hiss.
“Believe me, I held the man off from coming here for three days. You try to get in his way when he wants something. Especially when that something is you. See if you last as long as I did.”
Without warning, Ethan shoves, and I trip over my footing, stumbling into a clearing.
I look back to tell him off, mostly because this isn’t the best place to stay fucking hidden, but he’s gone. I hope he intends on distracting patrol with his ass because that’s about the only thing that’s going to save mine.
But the fear of being caught vanishes as soon as I set eyes on Tate for the first time in what feels like an eternity. I’m on the verge of breaking down. The way I want to run into his massive arms—it’s an indescribable ache. His steel eyes brighten like they’ve suddenly learned to reflect the sun.
“Dollface!” His smile is … that’s not his fucking smile, and is that dirt smudged over his cheek? He’s not as well put together as he usually is. Gray hoodie, gray sweats. His hair is all messy black waves atop his head, half of it falling into his eyes.
I don’t know what’s going on, but fuck it. I run to him, colliding with his solid torso, arms circling him. He doesn’t even flinch. That should probably ratchet the anxiety building under my ribs, but I’m ignoring it. Instead, I burrow myself in all the feels of home that I’m not sure I’ve ever had.
He’s my home.
“Ethan tried to stop me from seeing you,” he says, his voice laced with anger and sadness.
“Is that why he has a black eye?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tate, what’s going on?”
“We’re married!” he says, way too fucking loudly.
“Shhhh.” We are so fucking cooked.
“No, you don’t get it. It’s exciting. Like this.” The man pops off into a series of cartwheels. One. Two. Three. They’re actually good, but he fumbles a bit, whatever he’s on, making his coordination wobbly. He claps for himself when he lands the last one, stumbling. “Whoa. Dizzy.”
Running, I catch him under his armpit with my shoulder, putting an arm around him. He leans into me.
“Mmmm, you smell good. Like tropical sunscreen.” He buries his face into my neck. “Gonna rip your dad’s face off. Know what? Let’s do that instead.”
He grabs my hand.
“Whoa, Tate. Wait.Wait,” I whisper-yell. He’s not in his right frame of mind. Or maybe this is him without filters. Either way, I need to distract him. He pulls his head out of my neck. “Guess what? We’re married, baby.”
A syrupy smile spreads across his handsome face. “We are!” He takes my hand, using it to spin me, and then catches my other hand, swaying us into a dance. I let my head fall onto his shoulder. Oh, the relief. Tate’s big enough and strong enough to carry me and my emotional baggage when I’m at the end of my endurance. Not forever, just until I can pick it up again. “You’re my easiest thing to think about, dollface.”
Pleasant heat spreads through my ribs. Maybe this drug isn’t all bad. It seems to have unlocked the door to Tate’s feelings.
“Not gonna be commissioner,” he says. “That’s done.”
I nod into his shoulder. Is that what he came to tell me?
He pulls back. “Oh! Have something to show you. Wait. Where did I put it?” He searches his pockets.
“You were doing fucking cartwheels, maybe it fell?—”
There’s a zip sound from inside his pocket. Must be a hidden inner pocket.
“Aha. Here it is,” he sings. “Open your hand.”
