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‘Lucky guess. Who is she?’
‘Dorothy’s granddaughter, Chloe. She’s staying for a few months. Her car broke down yesterday and I brought her home. Then I met her again on the beach, but... well... I fucked that up by falling asleep. I mean, who the fuck does that?’ He bangs his fist against the door, startling Jove.
‘Okay, first, relax. Next, you’re coming with me. We’re getting out of here for a bit.’
‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘You’re never in the mood, but I’m done listening. Now, get your fucking arse in the car or I’ll do my best to drag you there. I know, good luck to me, but I’m willing to give it a damn good try.’
Tate attempts to glare his friend into backing off but it doesn’t do any good. It never does. ‘Fine.’
He follows Gregg around the front of the house and over to his dark blue Defender. Gregg disappears into the house for a minute. Probably telling Tate’s parents he’s taking him out for a bit.
Gregg reappears and shakes a set of keys in his hand as he skips over to Tate’s truck. ‘No fucking way, Gregg. Get the hell away from my truck.’
Gregg unlocks the Ranger and jumps in before Tate can get to the driver’s side. Tate tries to open the door but Gregg locks it and starts the engine. He smiles out the window and points to his ear, pretending he can’t hear anything.
Tate flicks him the bird then walks around the front of the truck. He’s seriously going to regret putting Gregg on the insurance. The passenger door unlocks and he climbs in. ‘One fucking scratch and I will kill you. You get that, right?’
Gregg grins. ‘Have no fear my friend. I’ll treat her like she’s mine.’
As they roar out of the driveway, Tate can’t help but look at the battered blue Defender. ‘Is that a new dent on the side?’
Gregg waves his hand. ‘I will swear until the day I die that the tree moved.’
He lets the silence remain while they leave the coast and head to the mountains. After a few minutes, Gregg gets the hang of the gears and the truck stops screaming in protest.
Tate looks out the window, not really seeing the scenery as it flies by. That’s twice he’s messed up with Chloe. He doubts he’ll get another chance. Running hot and cold is a fucking understatement. He’s acting like he’s crazy. Unpredictable. Messed up. Clearly he’s far from ready to have anyone in his life. Hell, he may never be ready again. His mobile rings and he pulls it out to check the screen, before silencing it and stuffing it back in his jeans.
‘Problem?’
‘Keep your eyes on the road. It was Ellen. She’s been trying to get a hold of me for a few days.’
‘Right, so why are you ignoring her? She’s our manager, Tate. It’s her job to talk to you.’
‘I’m not ready to talk to her.’
‘Oh so you’re going to keep ignoring her and hope she gives up. Great plan. Problem is, she’s kind of important if you want to do your fucking job. And my job too. Just saying.’
‘I know that. I just don’t know what to say to her.’
‘How about you start with hi. She’s your friend too. Jesus, Tate, she’s one of the good ones, you know that right? What if she’s got some amazing gig lined up?’
Tate knows exactly where this is going. He’s well aware the longer he takes to get his shit sorted the longer the guys are out of work. They can’t exactly do their jobs if he wasn’t doing his. Without a lead singer they’re not much of a band. It’s an extra pressure that’s always weighing on him.
He scratches his arm. The fucking thing is driving him crazy. How the hell can he think about performing when he can’t even stop scratching?
‘You picked up your guitar yet?’
Tate sighs and looks out the window.
‘Yeah, thought not. How about the bike?’
‘How about you mind your own damn business and concentrate on not crashing my truck?’
Gregg glares across at him but keeps any further questions to himself until he pulls into the car park overlooking Lough Tay in the Wicklow Mountains. He kills the engine and turns to face Tate. ‘See. No scratches.’ He runs his hand over the steering wheel. ‘I like this.’
‘Yeah, so do I. Get out.’
