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“Talia, c’mon,” Harriet calls after me as I rush toward the bar.
I hate pity. I hate failing. And right now, my friends pity me because of my failing marriage.
The bartender spots me and holds up a finger while she finishes serving a customer. I slump onto a barstool, kicking the toe of my boots into the steel siding as I stew in my thoughts.
They’re right. Having those papers drawn up was a mistake. Sometimes I think sending him away was a mistake, but when the days turned into months and he never came home, I presumed he wanted space too. Deep down, I refuse to accept it’s over. I’ve wrapped myself in a protective layer of bullheadedness and denial, and the second my eyes landed on Tate in the hospital bed, it all unraveled. But Tate will need to return to the life of fame and stardom eventually—his term with Vance Records isn’t up for another year, and he still has a second album to fulfill. I’ll remain here while we put our future on pause. Again.
He won’t give it up. Tate is made to do this whether I like it or not. All he did was support my dreams, and letting him go felt like the only way I could return the favor.
“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be sitting here looking all sad and lonely.”
Two stools down, sits a man, clad in a black shirt and boot-cut jeans. His belt buckle is the size of my head, and the brim of his hat is wider than the bar.
“Oh, I’m not alone. I’m with my friends.” I point toward the girls.
“Me too.” He scoots over, eliminating the space between us, and almost choking me with the overwhelming scent of his cologne. “Maybe our tables can join forces.”
“Tonight isn’t a good night, but I hope you have a good evening.” I turn as Laura, the bartender, walks over.
“Hey, Talia. The usual for you four?” she asks sweetly.
“Talia?” he purrs. “Knew you’d have a pretty name to go with that pretty face of yours. I’m Derek.”
Laura giggles when I go cross-eyed with impatience. This guy cannot take a hint. Just as I go to reject him less subtly, a baritone voice, rough and smooth all at once, cuts through the air.
“Her last name is even prettier. Brooks. Matches mine.” My back warms as a large body steps up behind me. “As in Mr. and Mrs. Brooks.”
Derek pales. “Ah. Listen, I didn’t know she was married, or I wouldn’t—”
“Well, she is very married.”
The moment Derek disappears, I’m spinning. I squeal when my stool makes an abrupt turn. I’d fall on my butt if it weren’t for the strong arm wrapped around my middle, keeping me steady.
His Stetson covers most of his face, but I can tell Tate is not happy. Gone is his usual happy-go-lucky attitude.
“What the hell was that?” I shove him away.
“I could ask you the same thing?” he growls.
I gulp when I take in his outfit. He’s traded his sweats and white tee for a pair of thigh-hugging jeans and a dark blue western shirt, perfectly fitted to showcase his wide shoulders and broad chest. He’s devastatingly handsome.
And way off the mark.
“I was minding my own business, getting another round of drinks, when Derek approached me. If you weren’t such a boneheaded Neanderthal, you would’ve heard me tell him I’m unavailable.”
Tate glances down at where my left hand rests on his chest. “Maybe if you were wearing your ring, he wouldn’t have come on to you in the first place.”
Guilt slides over me like oil. I took off my ring in a fit of rage hours after Tate left and I haven’t had the nerve to put it on since. Too scared of the emotional whiplash it’ll trigger.
“If you think I’m capable of cheating, then we have bigger issues than I expected.” I break the connection, tempted to sit on my hands to stop myself from touching him. “How do I know you’ve remained loyal this past year?”
He recoils like I’ve slapped him.
Tate wouldn’t, and he knows I wouldn’t either. This is why I’ve avoided him. If we’re not in the same room together, there’s no risk of us saying things we don’t mean.
I wonder what color aura we’re giving off now? A vacant black or lifeless gray.
He leans in, his heady scent of bergamot and peppermint clouding my senses. “I’d rather die than break our vows.”
