“Cade should’ve been nicer to her,” Rena argued, still firmly Team Tasha.
“What kind of a prick would mistreat the woman he loves?” he asked, his gaze locked with Rena’s. She blushed, understanding he was talking about himself. “We all fuck up. If we’re lucky”—his head swiveled to me—“we are granted a second chance.”
I hiccupped again, unsuccessfully stopping the tears streaking my face. Devlin’s hand wrapped around my neck. He bent to meet my eyes. “Let him come to you. He’s not who he used to be, Tash. He’ll realize what he’s losing and he’ll come back, tail between his legs.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I whispered, half terrified of the answer.
“Then he never deserved you in the first place,” Rena said.
My vision blurred with more tears as Devlin put a kiss on my forehead. “You don’t need him if he can’t love you back.”
Cade
I had the day off, so I spent most of it under my Camaro’s hood. I wanted her purring like a kitten.
Kitten.
That made me think of Tasha, so I pushed the thought aside in favor of thinking of my car—the only girl I needed.
I changed the Camaro’s name to Ice Blue. I liked to think Ice Blue was the color of my heart. An impenetrable, cold block, safe from women who sought to shatter it. The cavernous ache in my chest was proof my heart had different plans.
Under Ice Blue, the hours flew by and yet time ceased to exist. During those dreamlike hours, I forgot about the Tasha-shaped hole in my chest. By midafternoon I remembered, so I climbed behind the wheel. I drove and drove, loving the sensation of power and control, and the massive sense of satisfaction that came from taking something dull and broken and fine-tuning it. That, too, made me think of Tasha, and all the work she’d done on my mouth—and the rest of me—which was how I ended up on Alley Road.
Engine idling, I stared at the yellow fire hydrant with the telltale scrape of dark blue paint from Blue. My life had changed irrevocably that night. I’d only recently learned Joyce wasn’t my mother; that I’d been lied to by the two people who were supposed to love me most. I wanted my father to stop gambling, to be the reliable man I remembered. At the time I couldn’t imagine any of it resolving.
After my chat with Mom at our kitchen table—Tasha was right, Joyce will always be my mom—I woke the next morning to her standing at Dad’s side while he made pancakes. I finally had what I wanted. My dad was back. My mom was literally back. And yet that cavernous ache persisted.
The accident had been the physical setback of a lifetime. At least, I hoped so. God willing, an unfortunate circumstance such as that one limited itself to one per person per lifetime. It had rattled my brain, destroyed my car, and sealed my fate.
As I thought those ominous words, a low rumble of thunder rippled across the sky. That was all the warning I had before the clouds opened up above me. Rain splattered on my head and, since I had the top down, onto the car’s seats. I didn’t move to put the top up, instead welcoming the water as a baptism of sorts.
The accident had been, in its own way, a gift. Dad had stopped gambling to take care of me. Mom had a reason to come back into my life, and subsequently Dad’s. Devlin and I had become brothers in a way other than surreal. Tasha had showed up to help, refusing to leave my side.
Until I’d pushed too hard and had broken her very strong will.
The greasy fast-food I’d eaten for lunch tossed in my stomach. She’d done nothing but help me when I’d been an impossible asshole. Then she’d let me in, let me kiss her, let me love her. God, I missed her. So damn much.
I rubbed the center of my chest, blinking against the raindrops hitting my cheeks and soaking through my T-shirt. There was a pain there I wasn’t used to. It was different from the humiliation I’d felt whenever I tried to speak clearly and failed. It was different from the physical zap when my body had been undergoing PT. It was a fresh, new sort of pain. With fangs that bit into my heart relentlessly.
Regret wasn’t a stranger to me. I’d spent years mourning that I’d followed Brooke. Mourned each and every cocky assurance to anyone listening that I was going to be the best damned lawyer on the planet. Mourned the loss of the building on Claire that was, I thought, destined to have my name on it. My friends hadn’t stolen the future from me. That was their future. I didn’t want any of the things I used to and pretending I was embittered by it only proved that I was the interloper.
The dream hadn’t died, it’d been reborn. I stroked the steering wheel, wiping the water away. I wanted what I had. Correction: what I’d had. I didn’t have Tasha. Not anymore. It’d been nearly two weeks since I’d stormed out of her apartment. Devlin had mentioned her once, and Rena had said nothing, only glared at me from her position behind the bar at Oak & Sage.
I respected her loyalty to Tasha, but it hurt like hell to see the reminder of how badly I’d fucked up on Rena’s formerly friendly face.
In an effort to move on, I’d dropped off an application at a car dealership a few days ago. I applied for the garage; they offered me a sales position.
I accepted it.
I figured sales was a good skill to have in life, and I was an asset since I could pinpoint what was wrong with any trade-in with just a quick glance. During my interview, I identified a transmission problem by the grinding/humming sound when it had pulled onto the lot.
I’d turned in my notice to Devlin and ignored (mostly) the hollowness inside of me. I tried to think of Brooke and Tasha as the same mistake made twice, but the idea never took root. They were both from wealthy families, but that’s where the similarities ended. I hadn’t loved Brooke. I’d been infatuated. Tasha, on the other hand…
Did I love her?
I forced my head from side to side, my neck protesting the movement. Then I tried to verbally convince myself. What came out was, “Nuh-no.”
My tongue was my lie detector. That was the first stumble I’d had in a while.
Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a telltale stammer.
“I don’t c-care about T-Tasha,” I tried again. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, lip curling in frustration.
“I love her,” I said, blinking when a raindrop hit my eye. My stomach sank in that way it does when you realize you’ve buried yourself in a very deep pile of shit. “I’m in love with Tasha Montgomery.”
Idiot. I fucking knew it.
My other superpower was holding a grudge. In the past I’d exercised this skill with my ex-girlfriend, even after she’d gone, and Dad, and of course, Mom. Now I was doing it to Tasha.
Tasha, who’d sat with me until the ambulance arrived, my red blood soaking into Blue’s fabric seats. Tasha, who’d watched over my hospital bed, holding vigil for a guy she should have hated on principle. Tasha, who’d refused to let me give up on myself when all I’d wanted to do was sulk.
I didn’t know if I could forgive myself for the accusations I made that night in her apartment. And I really didn’t know if she could forgive me. She’d been burned by Tony and had forgiven him, though, and that bastard really hadn’t deserved it. Did that mean she had a soft, forgiving heart? Or was she brushing up on her grudge-holding skills?