Page 26

I thump my fist against the wall, fighting the overwhelming urge to storm into her bedroom, kiss away the tears, and beg her to tell me how I can fix things.

But our reunion has been messy enough as it is. Rush this, and I risk it all falling apart. More than it already has. Talia is flighty when she wants to be, and if I go in guns blazing, she’ll take off running. This will not be easy, which is why I need all the time I can get to fix things before I’m dragged back to Nashville and beyond.

I can’t bear it. Knowing I’m the cause of her hurt.

My vision blurs, throat tightening, when another whimper sounds.

There’s no chance in hell I’m sleeping in here or our bedroom. Tonight or any night, not while she’s next door in pieces. Her head belongs on the pillow next to mine. Cold toes squashed between my thighs to keep them warm. Fiery curls tickling my nose. The cool press of her wedding band on my cheek.

I go to leave the bedroom when something on the bedside table makes me pause.

Don’t forget to take your meds.

No kiss or I love you on the note. Beside it sits a brand-new pill box. I lost the first one she bought me somewhere on the tour bus, which might explain why I forgot to take my medication.

Does this fix things? No.

But it gives me hope there’s a chance.

Storming out of there, I make up camp on the couch. The next time I sleep in a bed under this roof, it’ll be with my wife next to me.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

Alarm clocks aren’t supposed to spit profanities. My eyes ping open, and I’m met with the wrath of a woman no sane man should ever cross. Most would wither under Parker Abbott’s stare. My balls threaten to, but I stay strong and offer her a sleepy smile.

“Hey there, darli⁠—”

“Do not darlin’ me, Tate Brooks.” She mocks my accent perfectly. “What are you doing here? Did you break in?”

“Is it breaking in if I live here?”

My joints crack as I rise to sit. It’s day three of sleeping on the couch—not my smartest idea. If I haven’t been eating soup or banana pudding, I’ve been sleeping off the effects of my seizure.

I was feeling better until this wake-up call.

Parker cocks a brow and gathers her lavender hair as if she’s getting ready for a brawl. “Can you still call it your home if you haven’t lived here for months?”

Touché.

Respectfully, and she’d take it as a compliment, Parker is a pit bull. The fiercest companion and protector any friend could wish for. Between her and Harriet, I know my girl was in good hands while I’ve been away. Speak of the devil, in walks Harriet, blonde hair bouncing and carrying a little bundle in her arms. It’s the third woman, with sleek black hair, wearing a floaty bohemian dress I don’t recognize.

I stand, tipping my head at the three of them. “Harriet, this must be the little mite who had you gripping my hand like a vise the other month.”

Harriet’s face fills with motherly pride. “Sure is. This is Ethan. He’s milk drunk.” She takes the sleeping baby’s hand and waves it in my direction.

I crane my neck, taking in Ethan’s pouty lips and rosy cheeks. Another arrow to the heart. “He’s gonna be a heartbreaker, Harry. Congrats.”

“Thanks, Tate.”

My attention turns to the newcomer, who shifts awkwardly on her feet.

I raise my palms. “I don’t bite. Tate Brooks, nice to meet you, darlin’.”

“I know who you are,” she blurts before her eyes widen. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I know who you are because my daughter is a fan. I’m not. Oh gosh, not like that.” I can’t help but laugh at her rambling. “Um, I’m Margot.”

“Margot. Pretty name. Let me know if I can autograph anything for your daughter. It’d be my pleasure.”

Her nervousness melts away. The opposite of Parker, who looks ready to crochet my intestines into a doily. Harriet has always been the pragmatic one and keeps her opinions to herself. Talia is a mix of both, and between the three of them, they complement one another perfectly. It’s nice to see another friend join the ranks, but it’s also a reminder of what’s changed.