And I sink under water so that no one can hear me . . . and I scream at the world.
57
TATE
One week later . . .
“Tate. It’s me. I was hoping you’d want to talk by now. I’ve been trying to give you your space.” His sigh is heavy. “Look, I know you’re mad. You have every right to be mad, but I’m fucking miserable without you.” His laugh is self-deprecating at best, desperate at worst. “Yeah, its selfish of me to care how I feel when I’m the one who made you feel how you feel, but I just want to see you again.” Another sigh. “Call me back.”
I look down at the screen of my cell and stare at it for a beat.
Then I play the message again.
58
TATE
One month later . . .
“I’m assuming you’re getting my messages but don’t want to talk yet. I’m trying to be patient . . . but you know me, that isn’t an easy task. I talked to Will, and he said nine of the ten horses tested last week are pregnant. That’s nineteen of the twenty. Congrats. That’s great . . . Christ, listen to me. Picking up scraps so I have a reason to talk to you. I miss you. That’s all. I just miss you.”
59
JACK
One month later . . .
“Will?”
“Jack?” His laugh is surprised. “What’re you doing calling?”
“How is she?” I ask.
“Don’t do this to me, Jack. Don’t put me in the middle.” He sighs, and his voice lowers. “You mentioned me in a message . . . after Doc’s last visit, and Tate . . . she unloaded on me. Said she needed to be able to trust me. Please don’t . . .”
“Christ. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get you tangled in this. I’m just . . .”
“Fucking miserable?” He asks. “Sounds like it to me anyway.”
“Fucking miserable and then some,” I murmur as I take in the view from my porch. Miles upon miles of green, rolling hills stretch in front of me, and dozens of heads of cattle dot the land. I’m far from alone here with the full-time staff, but fuck if I don’t feel completely isolated and lonely.
“Then why did you give up so easily?” Will asks.
“I didn’t. Look, I did what she asked.” And I’ve regretted it every day since.
“Since when do you ever do what she says?”
60
JACK
One month later . . .
“Every time I call, I think this might be the time you pick up and talk to me. Every goddamn time. You told me I’d move on when I got home. I haven’t moved on, Tate. I don’t expect to either. I love you. Plain and simple. I love you.”
61
TATE
One month later . . .
I arch my back, trying to stretch away some of the exhaustion that has set in. It’s getting worse with each passing day, but there isn’t much I can do about it. It is what it is, and having a fully functioning breeding ranch is what I wanted. It’s what I got.
Now, I have to figure out how to do it.
“Harris is loading up the foal now,” Will says, referring to the extra hand we’ve hired to help with the sale of this season’s foals. “He’ll be back in a second to help.”
“What about this one?” I point to the fawn-colored colt walking in the ring. A bittersweet smile paints my lips as I think of the night he was born. The worry I felt and then the relief that coursed through me when Jack watched me from the other side of the stall.
I ignore the sting the memory brings. I’ve gotten good at ignoring the pangs over the past few months, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less when I do think about him.
“The owner’s coming to pick him up today.”
“Name?” I ask so I can put it in my records.
“Next time.”
“What did you say?” I ask, my attention snapping up to meet Will’s eyes.
“Next Time. That’s the name of the ranch that bought the horse.”
I blink back the tears that well in my eyes as I stare at the clipboard. Emotion swells within me at the coincidence.
62
JACK
“Next Time. That’s the name of the ranch that bought the horse.”
I hear Will say the words, but it’s Tate I stare at as I stand just outside the stable.
She turns slowly to Will, as if she’s in shock. There isn’t any way she would know that I renamed the ranch now that it’s mine to do with as I please.
Her back is to me, but that small frame of hers stands tall as her head hangs forward while she writes something on her clipboard. Her hair is swept up, exposing that neck I’ve longed to press my lips to. She has a flannel on to fight off the chill of the afternoon, and from what I can see over the gate she’s standing behind, it looks as if she’s swimming in it.
It’s then that I realize it’s my flannel. It’s my shirt she’s wearing.
And there’s something about seeing it that steadies the ground beneath me.
But her—the sight of her, being near her—makes every agonizing minute of the past four months dissipate.
“Do you have a problem with the name of my ranch, Knox?”
Her body jolts at the sound of my voice. The hitch of her breath is audible as she turns to face me in what feels like slow motion.
Gray eyes meet mine. Her chin quivers, and her lips tremble before they curve up into a guarded smile. “Jack?” My name on her lips is like a goddamn knife to my heart.
“I didn’t fight hard enough for you, Tate. I told you to fight hard for what you wanted. For this ranch. For the people in town to see the real you . . . but when the rubber met the road with you and me, I didn’t fight hard enough for you. I didn’t prove to you that I was worth it. That our love was worth it.”
“Jack,” she says my name again, and panic hits me when I see tears begin to slide down her cheeks. Silently.
She’s going to push me away.
She’s moved on.
She doesn’t love me anymore.
“No. Don’t, Tate.” I take another step toward her, desperate to say and prove and do whatever the fuck it takes not to walk out of this stable without her knowing how I feel. Without resolving this somehow. “You have to hear me out. You have to—”
“Jack.” She hiccups a sob and before I can think what to say or do next, we are in each other’s arms.
She is right where I need her to be.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I love you so much.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs against my chest as her tears wet my shirt. “I couldn’t tell you—I didn’t know how to—Jack—”
Her words hit my ears, and I shock to reality because what I thought was going to be a reunion doesn’t sound like one by the apology on her lips.
To the idea that . . . and when she steps back, when I see my flannel shirt unbuttoned, when I see her tank top . . .