Page 32

We go home today, which means my little bubble of peace is about to pop. The guys and Zeke left early this morning, leaving Greyson, Hannah, Tate, and I to clean up, pack, and say goodbye to the cabin of fun.

I fold the last of my clothes into my suitcase when Hannah strolls in, humming a catchy tune that I’m sure I’ll curse her for later. She sits on the edge of my bed like it’s her room, hands framing her hips, a soft smile on her face. A picture of pure contentment.

I glance over my shoulder, eyebrow raised as I ask, “What’s got you all rainbows and unicorns over there?”

She gives me a smug, devious smile before dramatically throwing herself backward, arms and legs moving like she’s making a snow angel on the comforter. “Whatever do you mean?” she sings, voice dripping with faux innocence.

I snort before turning back to my suitcase. “You’re humming. You never hum unless you’re plotting something or...” I hear her gasp, but I continue anyway. “You just got laid.”

I’m met with a pillow to the back of the head, making me fall forward a bit. “First of all, rude.” She says as she hops off the bed, coming to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips. “Second of all, I do hum. On occasion.”

I shoot her a knowing look, and she responds with a shrug. “Can’t a girl just be happy? Geez.”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide the smile, because this is so us, Hannah filling silence with her shenanigans and me pretending I don’t like it when she does. “Can you try to do something for me on you r drive back?” Ahh, there it is. She needs, or rather wants, something from me.

I straighten as I pull the suitcase off the bed and place it on the floor. “Okay, what?” She falls back on the bed, rolling over to her stomach, placing her hands under her chin as her feet kick behind her.

I’m going to miss this, these little moments where we can just be. She’s so much more comfortable being herself these days, she doesn’t try to hide who she is, or the awful southern words she sprinkles into conversation sometimes.

“Wanna see if you can find out who Tate’s dating?

” I deflate like a tire that struck a nail.

No, I do not. Because I know who, and damn it I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to give her hope if this doesn’t work out.

I’m not convinced my brain won’t kick back into “Get the hell away from me” mode as soon as we get back home and into our normal routine.

My hands tighten around the jacket I picked up off the bed, channeling every bit of the ‘I hate Tate’ energy I have, and I look her dead in the eyes.

“I would rather pull every single eyelash out, one by one.” She stares blankly for a second before her head falls forward and a silent laugh rolls through her body.

I chew on my bottom lip, my thoughts begin swirling as I think about the rest of the day.

Eight hours. Eight long, confined hours I get to spend in the car with him.

How in the world am I meant to survive that?

How am I supposed to pretend my body isn’t still singing from his touch?

That my mind isn’t still wrapped up in all the ways he unraveled me.

Lord almighty, that man is a machine, and I was all too eager to let him play my body like an instrument.

But that’s not what has my stomach in knots.

It’s the way it felt to be under his comman d.

Natural, like he was always supposed to be mine.

Like maybe, in some cruel twist of fate, we were made for each other.

Sure, I asked him to help me lose control, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t fight him tooth and nail to take it back.

It doesn’t mean I didn’t feel like the world was falling out from under me with every whispered, “Let go, Abby.” I should listen to that.

I should take it as a waving, blazing red flag and walk away before I get too deep.

But if I’m being honest with myself, I already am.

There’s no undo button on what we’ve done, the lines we’ve crossed.

No going back to the way things were before, before the fights turned to flirting.

Before I saw his hard edges soften, just for me.

Before I knew how his lips felt against mine, how his arms caged me in like they could keep the rest of the world out.

Before I learned that he melts for me, too.

Hannah clears her throat, pulling me back to the present before I can fall too far down the rabbit hole.

My gaze snaps to hers, it's sharp, assessing. Looking for cracks she can attack for her little mission. Her head tilts to the side, brows pinching like she’s working through the world's hardest crossword puzzle. When she juts out her bottom lip, my stomach jolts. That’s her ‘I’m about to pester you until I get what I want’ look.

“No,” I say as my finger points at her. I gotta shut this down before she can even start. Her arms slide out to the side as she drops her upper body on the bed with an exaggerated groan, slamming her forehead into it a few times, as if her dramatic reaction will get me to give in.

She lets out a long, agitated sigh before rolling to her back, tucking her hands behind her head as she settles. Her voice is gentle when she drops the bomb. Dare I say, deceptively gentle. “When a re you going to settle down, Abs?” she whispers. “I don’t want you to be alone when I move out.”

I freeze. My jacket clenched tightly in my fist as I fight to free the breath that’s caught somewhere between my ribs. Her words burrow deep, twisting like a knife. I’m aware that this is a gross overreaction, yet here I am, spiraling. Again. Bat signal, bat signal, freaking bat signal.

I drop my jacket onto my suitcase, my jaw locked so tight it aches. I take a deep breath, trying to settle the flames burning me from the inside. It doesn’t help. I’ve spent this entire trip trying not to think about this very thing. I’ve been mostly successful. Until now.

“Abby?” she tries again, somehow even more gentle this time. And that’s the detonator.

I can’t do this. I move before I can even blink, my feet carrying me toward the bathroom. I pause just before the door, my head turning slightly so I can just make her out in my peripheral vision. But I don’t meet her gaze. I can’t.

“I’m perfectly fine on my own, Hannah,” I say, voice tight.

The words taste like betrayal, but I force them out anyway.

I need her to believe them. Hell, I needed to believe them.

My skin feels like shrink-wrap under a heat lamp, my fingers twitching with the urge to scratch, peel, whatever it takes to get this feeling off.

“In fact,” I continue, voice void of emotion, “I prefer it that way.” What a steaming pile of crap that is.

She goes silent, and somehow that makes it all twenty times worse.

I grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

The weight of everything presses in harder.

Tatum.

The abuse .

The texts.

The letter.

The numerous fake dates I used to make up so she wouldn’t question me.

It’s heavy. And I’m so damn tired.

I step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before she can say anything else. Not that I think she would anyway. Locking it, I slide to the floor, pulling my knees tightly into my chest. My head falls against my arms as the panic seeps into my bones, heavy and all consuming.

I need a shower hot enough to burn these feelings out of me.

To scrub away the weight of it, the guilt from hiding things from her.

To reset. I let my grip slip these past few weeks, and look at me now.

If I could just get things back to how they were before we got here, everything would be fine. Right?

I didn’t even notice the door had opened until his voice cut through the tornado currently wreaking havoc on my brain. “Tink.” I don’t move, don’t blink. I don't even acknowledge his existence. I can’t, because if I do, I’ll let him in. And that isn’t going to help anyone.

I need the version of him I know how to handle–the broody, stubborn, and impossible one. The one who pisses me off to no end, who rubs me the wrong way so badly that it keeps me from falling apart. But instead, I get this one.

The one who's crouched in front of me, hands resting on my knees, squeezing slightly to let me know he’s here. Like he can feel the way I’m falling apart. “What happened?” His voice is laced with concern, enough concern that it almost makes me talk. Almost .

“Abby, talk to me, please.” I lift my head, the second my eyes meet his, the tornado goes from a three to a five. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m some fragile woman, is too much.

“I’m fine,” I grumble. He doesn’t buy my lie for a second. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face before he sits down, legs bracketing mine as he leans his chest against my shins. He slowly wraps his hands around the back of my calves before giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t lie to me.” His eyes sweep over my face as he begins running his hands up and down the backs of my legs. “You’re sitting on the floor in the bathroom, looking like you haven’t slept in days. So, talk to me.”

I scoff, clinging to sarcasm like a lifeline. “You saying I look like shit, Sunshine?” He blinks, clearly thrown by my quick change in demeanor, before he drags a hand through his hair.

“No, now stop deflecting.” His chin drops to the tops of my knees, the glare he levels me with is one I’ve been on the receiving end of thousands of times. “Don’t shut me out. Something is clearly bothering you. I don’t want you sitting in the car all day stewing over it. Let it out.”

The urge to tell him to get lost is strong. I should fortify the walls I’ve spent years building, but sadly, he’s right. “Hannah asked me to find out who you’re dating on the way home.”

His eyes widen, and for a second, I think he might rethink our little arrangement. But then he drops his head back to my knees and laughs. It grates against my already frazzled nerves. “Tatum, it’s not funny,” I snap. “I don’t want to lie to her. She’s basically my sister.”

“So don’t,” he says. “Tell her the truth. ”

A laugh so bitter rips from my throat before I can stop it. “Like that wouldn’t throw the world's biggest monkey wrench into everything.” Shaking my head, I look up at the ceiling. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.” His voice is steady, convincing. “If hiding it and pretending that nothing’s going on here is eating at you, then is it really worth it to keep it hidden?”

My gaze drops as I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, my mind running through every possible reaction she could have.

But it isn’t just him and I that I’ve kept from her.

“She’s about to move out. What if I tell her and it ruins everything?

It’s not like it’s just one thing I’ve been keeping from her. ”

His fingers find their way to my cheek as he angles my face toward his. I lean into his touch before I can think better of it. “But what if it doesn’t?” he counters. “What if she understands all of it? What if she understands us ?”

My heart stumbles, “Is there even an us?” The question spills from my lips before I can take it back. He swallows hard, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

After what feels like an eternity, he nods.

“I’d like there to be.” I stare at the sharp angles of his face, softened by the freckles I should have no business caring about.

At the dark lashes that make his light eyes stand out even more.

At the mouth that’s spent years taunting me, challenging me, the same mouth that spent last night loving every inch of me.

I lose the fight to keep my hands to myself as I reach out, trailing my fingers over the freckles that cut a path across his face.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I think I’d like that too.

” He shifts behind me, pulling me into his chest as he leans against the door.

His fingers lace through mine, and when his chin lands on the top of my head, I almost laugh.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Tatum Wilder, the walking storm cloud, holding onto me like I’m something worth protecting from the rain.

We sit in silence for a few moments, his heartbeat providing a steady anchor, loosening the pressure in my chest with every beat. “Tell me something about you that no one else knows,” I say as I trace the veins in his forearms, the other hand still clinging to his.

His deep sigh rattles against my back. “I don’t actually like to be alone.” I tilt my head to look at him. His slow exhale tells me he’s trying to figure out just how much he wants to tell me. Then he grabs my hand, crossing our arms over my waist as he holds me against him.

“Before Nikki, I was never alone,” His thumbs begin to trace lazy patterns over the backs of my hands as he continues.

“I had friends. I did the whole party thing. I think after her little stunt, I just lumped everyone into the ‘untrustworthy’ category.” Understandable, I’ve done the same. Well, with men at least.

“It was easier to push people away, to pretend I was fine on my own. No one could hurt me that way. All I ever wanted was to be the best at something. Soccer was that something, and they tried to take it.” My fingers tighten around his, hoping to ground him the way he’s been grounding me.

“I didn’t think I needed anything but soccer. But...” His voice trails off, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re guarded. “Since Hannah and my brother got engaged, something’s been missing. I just couldn’t figure out what.”

My heart clenches; the hope blossoming is terrifying. “And now you know?” I ask, my voice barely audible as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear and smiles .

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I do.” And then he kisses me.

Soft, reverent, a moment frozen in time.

When we break apart, his eyes stay closed like he’s committing this to memory.

Like it's something worth remembering. I don’t know what this all means.

I don't know how to let go of the control I’m so used to holding on to.

But right now, none of it matters. Because right now, for the first time in a really long time, I feel safe.

Tatum Wilder feels like home.