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Her arms cross over her chest in indignation. I’ve seen it too many times to play naïve. Her chin is raised as she mentally gathers her weapons together. I try to end this deadlock we find ourselves in, not wanting to fight with her about things that keep resurfacing. “You only get mad when you feel attacked. We may not know every little fucking thing about each other, but I’ve seen you for who you are, and you’ve seen me. I’m not a fucking stranger, Tatum—”
Her gaze hits me in the chest, slicing me up the center until she reaches my eyes. Fires shine so bright that she could light up the universe with her anger. It takes her a few seconds to come to me, the woman I know so well inside the walls of her apartment. Vulnerability douses the flames, and she says, “I’m lost in your world, Harrison, an outsider that feels misplaced.”
“We’re together, so why would you feel that way?”
“Because I’m standing in the middle of a party of strangers being hit on while you schmoozed. Why bother taking me at all?” She does have a point. I hated that too.
“I’m sorry for leaving you. I guess I always saw you as more of a party girl or socialite and would like to be there.”
A humorless laugh rattles her chest as she looks down at the suitcase on the bed. “I used to revel in those titles, feeling I had earned them after endless partying for years.” She looks up at me, and says, “I’ve never felt ashamed of being either. Until now.” She moves toward the bathroom and with her back to me, she adds, “You’re right. It’s too late for me to figure out how to fly home right now. I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”
“It’s probably best if we both get some rest, so we can figure this out tomorrow.” I walk to the door to give her privacy. I didn’t have a drink earlier, but I’m damn well having one now.
Before I leave, I say, “For the record, I didn’t have anything except Perrier to drink because the things that I thought mattered when I was living in LA full-time don’t anymore. Only you and that baby do.”
She sucks in a staggered breath, and then I hear her start crying. I go to her, rubbing her shoulders, and kiss the back of her head. “It’s going to be okay, Tate.”
Turning in my hold, she hugs me so tight that I can’t see her face. “Promise me. Promise me that you’ll always be there for the baby, even if you can’t be there for me.”
“I’m going to be there for both of you. I love you, Tate.”
Tilting her head, the tears glisten making her eyes look like precious gemstones. “Promise me, Harrison.”
It’s an easy promise for me to keep, so I reply, “I promise.”
I come to bed just over an hour later. An hour of staring at the glittering city of LA had me wanting to make this right with her. She wants security. A place to call home for a family. She wants New York.
Although I want LA, I don’t want to lose her. We have a lot to work through, the details of how our relationship will move forward. But it will be best discussed in the daylight and on full stomachs.
I climb into bed next to her sleeping body. She didn’t tell me she was going to sleep but I understand we were standing our grounds in separate parts of the house. The pregnancy is taking a toll on her already and I know she needs more sleep.
Though her back is to me, I slide around her, wanting our bodies to mold together like they do at her apartment. Maybe then she’ll feel what she can’t see—that it doesn’t matter where we live as long as we’re together.
My mind is too busy for sleep and one of the memories that flashes is when I went to go pick up my clothes from the drycleaners after returning from Catalina . . .
I hang the hanger on the hook in my car. It’s weeks overdue, but with my sister being in the accident and niece still in the hospital, my laundry from Catalina wasn’t a priority. My mom dropped it off though and I was down to my last day before they donated them. I don’t mind the donation, but I was partial to the shirt I was wearing with Tatum.
She liked it.
That meant I would keep it in hopes of wearing it for her again. I made a promise to her, made her my mission, and unlike her pact, I intended to keep it.
Once I get home, I carry the plastic-wrapped clothes into my closet and rip off the packaging. A Ziploc dangles from the neck of the hanger. I open it to pull out a white piece of paper.
