Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“Excuse me?” he asks in a calm voice that I know is just for show.

“Even when left to your own devices, you can’t even find one that isn’t fucked-up. Could’ve seen it with the hick, at least she was a looker with some great tits, Tatum. This girl that showed up, though, not sure you understood what I was tryin’ to get you to go after if that’s the side piece you’re attemptin’. Want them mute and compliant, not mouthy and fuckin’ crazy, goin’ on about how you two are meant to be together and wantin’ to see if you were around.”

I feel a tremor of fear shake through my hands, something Tate doesn’t miss, because his other hand drops from the wheel to hold mine tight. Confusion is still written all over his face, but, even not understanding what his father is saying, he’s pleading with me to believe in him—in us.

Jesus Jones—can I do that, faced with something that has the potential to gut me deep, carving out a hole in the part inside me that had finally healed?

“I don’t know what game you’re playin’,” Tate fumes through clenched teeth, and I pray for the strength to calm my breathing. “I don’t give a shit if the goddamn president shows up lookin’ for me next—you lose my number and forget that I was ever alive. I’m not your son. If in some unfortunate event we’re to cross paths, look through me like I will you and pretend that we’re strangers. I have a good life started here and I’m not going to let you rip it away again.”

That evil-as-hell laugh booms through the line even before Tate has finished speaking.

Then, a ball of doom is thrown into our court.

“Well, I gave your crazy little bitch directions to Fisher’s, so she should be well on her way. Have fun cleanin’ up that mess, Tatum.”

The phone disconnects and all that’s left is silence between us.

“Tate?” I ask, my voice shaking as fear gets the best of me.

“Fuck!” he bellows, slapping his palm against the wheel.

“Tate?” I try again, feeling my throat get heavy with emotion, making my voice sound weak.

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Quinn, I don’t know what he’s talkin’ about. There isn’t anyone else, goddammit!” He ends this declaration with a roar so loud my ears ring.

I swallow thickly, my eyes stuck on the man I love with all my heart. All logic is gone when it comes to my feelings for him. This scared me nine years ago when I was too young to realize just how powerful things were between us, but now that I know what it feels like to lose him, that fear is multiplied tenfold.

I gave him my heart again. I took the promise of his affection because I know he meant it. The man next to me now is lost in the madness of his anger, but it isn’t the fear of a cheating man caught in the act that I see. When his eyes flash on mine, anger and just as much fear as I’m feeling burning bright in them, I know he wouldn’t have come back if there was even a chance that what we have could be snatched away from us.

He fought for us when that wasn’t even something he had anymore. Sure, he might have lived his life during that time, but he did it with half a heart—just like I did—because we each held the missing part of the other’s. He fought for my family. He fought for his grandparents. All the man I love has done for nine long and lonely years is fight for something he didn’t know if he would ever have back. No one does that, endures that kind of debilitating pain, without meaning it. No man strives so hard to obtain a second chance at something without being sure that’s what he wants.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

A sense of calm that I can’t believe I’m feeling envelops me, giving me the strength I need. The strength he can’t find through his raw anger. All the weapons I need to mentally take onto a battlefield to fight for him.

To fight for him.

To fight for us.

To protect him with my love and unwavering support.

To win.

“Whatever it is, we handle it together, Tate. I won’t lie and tell you that what he said doesn’t freak me out, but I’m here, and you’re not fightin’ for us alone anymore.”

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he hisses, closing his eyes as my words take root. His chest is still heaving when he opens them again, but I feel better seeing some of his anger dissipate. “There’s no one else, Quinn. You have to believe me.”

I smile, trying to give him courage even where I feel none. “I know, Tate. One step at a time. Just start drivin’.”

I wish I could say more, but right now I have so much swirling in my mind that I don’t know what to say to make him understand my thoughts. I know what he’s saying is true. I honestly do, but I also know that there were a lot of years when we weren’t together and we’ve both admitted that we didn’t spend all that time alone. I can’t fault him for what he did while we were apart, because I know how overwhelming the loneliness got.

Had I not just spent the past two days banishing fears that I held onto for so long, I might have looked at this moment and run far away, but I’m not that person anymore. I’m stronger, and I’ve gained that strength because of the man behind the wheel now. With every turn of the tires, I feel his uncertain fear growing. He looks over every half mile or so, begging me without words not to run.

He’s been working to win me back for over two months. He’s spent every second leading up to his return to Pine Oak gearing himself up to give us both back what we’ve been missing—not stopping once. He’s been open, honest, and truthful since day one. He’s not had a single moment of having someone else lessen his burdens in years, not had someone willing to take on the world for those that he loves, and it kills me to see the panic in his eyes that all that work has been for nothing.

I might not know what’s going on with this unknown woman, but I know the man I love, and it’s time I show him that he’s not the only one willing to fight the hounds of hell to win the life he wants.

Not when he’s got a hell-raising badass on his side.





29


TATE


“For Her” by Chris Lane

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I look over at Quinn, feeling like my chest is about to split open. My fingers ache with the harsh grip I have on the steering wheel, fear like I’ve never known eating at me. I knew something was coming, felt it deep inside me earlier, but I didn’t expect this.

Everything is out of my control now. I’ve done all I can to prove to Quinn that I want her—I need her—but if she still holds just a sliver of doubt, this could rip her away forever. I won’t survive losing her. I can’t go through another hour, let alone more years, without feeling the power of her love. I tighten my grip, my knuckles screaming in protest. I won’t let this be it. I can’t.

“Tate,” she says and I almost don’t hear her over the roar of my frantic heartbeat rushing through my body. I glance over at the same second I see my mailbox come into view. “I love you and I trust you.”

Her words make the breath shudder in my lungs.