Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“Oh, really?” She sneers. “You wouldn’t find a soul around here with shirts as pressed as yours. Tell me, did Daddy Dearest buy that shiny truck with his dirty oil money, or the shit he gets from being the biggest banker in East Texas?”

“Neither, Grease. I don’t talk to my parents anymore, let alone let them buy shit for me. Bought the ‘shiny truck’ myself,” I answer, calmly, even if mention of my father’s “dirty oil money” is enough to fire me up. She has no idea how dangerous that man and his ill-gotten gains can be.

She snorts, the sound mocking and full of disbelief.

“I’ve never lied to you before, Quinn, wouldn’t start now.”

“No,” she says low and dangerously. “Your method of bullshit is a little less untruths, a little more blatant abandonment.”

“Quinn,” I breathe, the word coming out nothing short of pleading.

“No, Tate,” she interrupts. Her pacing stops and she straightens her shoulders, turning to face me with anger still swirling in her eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time. You can’t just come back and expect there not to be consequences to your bullshit.”

“Not that I don’t agree with you, but I can assure you there would have been far worse consequences had I come back before now.”

Her head tilts just a second before her bottom lip rolls inward, her teeth capturing it instantly. The adorable move I had forgotten about hits me right in my gut. It never failed: when she was deep in thought, she would do the same damn thing. It’s easy to forget that there is the distance of stolen time between us when those memories are slamming into my brain, making the years slip away.

“Explain that,” she finally demands, softly but no less pissed.

“You got that kinda time, sweetheart?”

“Seein’ as the only thing that demands my attention right now is the bargainin’ chip you used to get to me in the first place, I’d say yeah.”

“I didn’t exactly make a secret out of that.”

“Anyone with a brain in their head could’ve fixed up Fisher’s old truck. There’s a reason you demanded it be me, and we both know it.”

Pushing off the doorframe, I walk into the office and pull out one of the two chairs in front of my desk, making a point to tip my head toward it, waiting for her to sit—with a huff, I might add—before dropping down into the one next to her. Close enough that I could reach out and take her in my arms, if I was so inclined, but also far enough away that she has space.

“I don’t even know where to start with you,” I tell her honestly, leaning back and running my fingers through my hair. “I should start by apologizin’ for the other mornin’. Nothin’ happened that night, Quinn. I was just stuck in my head, not even fully awake, not that that’s an excuse. I let myself get stuck in the past, seein’ you there, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I figured that out on my own, Tate. Either your dick shrunk or you forgot how to work it, because had we actually hooked up, I would have felt it. And I didn’t. Feel it, that is,” she smarts off. It’s on the tip of my tongue to reply with something crass and she doesn’t miss a beat. “Shut your damn mind off, Tate.”

I hold my hands up. “Do you remember anything from that night?”

“I remember Leighton and Maverick leavin’ the bar. Gettin’ a message from Mav that Randy would be keepin’ his eye on me. Clay was gone already. Then things get a little fuzzy.”

I nod. “Ran into you at the bar well after ‘fuzzy,’ because you couldn’t even walk. You started pukin’ right after that, around the same time you tossed the wig you had been wearin’ into the bushes behind the bar and told who I’m assumin’ is Randy to fuck off because you were goin’ to ride a cowboy. I finally got you to stop pukin’ long enough to get you back to Paw’s place. I would have taken you home, honest to God, but you were passed out and wouldn’t tell me where home was now.”

“I’m still at the ranch,” she whispers. “You could have just brought me to the ranch and left me on the porch,” she continues, some of the anger dissipating from her earlier harsh tone.

“Yeah.” I laugh without humor. “That wouldn’t have ever happened.”

“Doesn’t explain how I got naked.”

“Did you miss the part about you pukin’? Covered yourself and me. Mark’s buddy got us back here, but I wasn’t exactly sober, Quinn. I did the best I could with one fuckin’ twisted-up head.”

“Explain what you said earlier.” Her change of subject makes me have to backpedal a bit, and I clearly take too much time to rewind our conversation, because she lets out a long, irritated sigh. “About consequences, Tate.”

Goddammit. I knew this moment would come: it had to, if I really wanted a chance to fix the future I took away from us, but I know this isn’t going to end well. I don’t know if the truth will cause her to hate me more for not fighting for our chance back then or, even worse, make her understand and still hate me.

“I was blackmailed.” The words burst from my lips, and with my heart about to pound out of my chest, I hurry to explain. Quinn’s so still she doesn’t even look like she’s breathing. “The day I left, I went home and told my parents that I wanted to transfer from Emory and enroll at Baylor. Houston wouldn’t have been right next door, but it would have been a helluva lot closer than Atlanta. Didn’t even finish my sentence before my father was shovin’ me against the wall. He told me he would cut me off if I even thought about it.” I focus on the wall behind her, needing to get everything out. “It didn’t matter to me. I could put school off until I came into my trust fund. It would suck, but I would have done it. I didn’t want his money, but he reminded me real quick his power resides in a lot more than just money.”

Unable to look away any longer, I turn my attention to her. She’s so still, but her face is awash with a weird expression of understanding.

“We fought. I’m surprised the damn windows didn’t explode with the volume of our screamin’. When he realized he wouldn’t win by takin’ away my financial stability, he hit me where he knew it would hurt the most. You.”

“Me?” she squeaks. “He didn’t even know me.”

A puff of air leaves my chest, mixing with a sound of pure agony that makes her jolt slightly in her seat, her fingers wrapping tight around the armrest, bracing herself, I’m sure.

“He knew about you because my mother knew about you. Paw couldn’t stop talkin’ about the beautiful Davis girl that stole his grandson’s heart. I had no clue that they had been waitin’ for me to come home to dish their bullshit out—even if I hadn’t walked right in demandin’ to transfer schools.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispers. “You never mentioned that before you left here.”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. God, Quinn, there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Except fight for me. Except that.”