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When he first told me he loved me, he shouted it to the stars.
Tate sat with me every evening in the library. He quizzed me before any major tests. He made up songs on his guitar to help me memorize facts and figures. Tate has been my biggest cheerleader since the day I met him.
His humming stops. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”
Water droplets cling to his dark-blond hair. I follow the path of one, sliding down his nose before disappearing below his Cupid’s bow. My response is a firm press of my lips to his. Peppermint. Always peppermint, thanks to his obsession with chewing gum. Mixed with the rainwater, the kiss is refreshing, sending a zap of energy through my bones.
“I’m thinking how lucky I am.” His eyes soften at my tone. “That I get to do life with my best friend, who has never allowed me to question my worth. It also helps he’s good looking.”
Brushing off my joke, Tate cradles my hands in his. “This town never deserved you. Fuck, I’m not sure I do, but I’m going to spend a lifetime proving what big and brilliant things you’re capable of.”
I kiss his knuckles. “A lifetime, huh?”
“Yes, a lifetime, and to prove I’m serious…” He untangles our hands and reaches down to unfasten his watch. It’s his grandfather’s. The dark leather strap is worn, the face scratched from years of wear, but it’s still ticking. He pulls the crown out and taps the glass when the hands freeze. “There. Starting now. Three thirty-seven, August twenty-third.”
“We’re really doing this?” I whisper. My question isn’t fueled by doubt. I’m simply struggling to believe this is our new reality, our fresh start in life after years of worrying we’d never make it out of Canyon Pass. I’d go anywhere with Tate. This our chance to get out and never look back. Apart from Tate’s mom, there’s nothing for us here.
“Yes.” He taps the tip of my nose three times, counting his three favorite freckles, a move he’s been doing for years. It’s his silent way of telling me he loves me. “Today is the start of our lifetime, Talia Brooks, and what a fucking spectacular one it’s going to be.”
Our next kiss is softer. There’s no rush, not when you have a lifetime ahead of you. A car honks as it passes us by, and Tate moves us out of the street and onto the sidewalk, never breaking our connection. To be the center of Tate’s affection still makes my toes curl in my boots.
“What was that song you were singing?” I ask against his lips.
“Just a little something I’ve been playing with.” He hums the same tune, the vibrations from his throat tickling my cheek from where it rests. “I guess it’s kind of our first dance song.”
“Sing it to me.” I lay my head against his chest, counting the beats of his heart when his baritone voice fills the air, smoky and rich.
This life, next life, all our lives
They’ll find our love in every timeline
Through thick and thin, I’m all in
And don’t you ever doubt it
We’re timeless, lasting through the ages
ONE
TATE
PRESENT DAY
Sweat stings my eyes, my ears buzz, and the vibrations from the crowd stomping their feet work their way through my weary body. I’m exhausted to the bone, yet the smile plastered on my face doesn’t drop by a millimeter. It can’t.
Show a sliver of weakness and the world will spin it, feeding a false story to any news outlet or trashy magazine that’ll listen. I’ve been trained by the best, groomed like their obedient little pet.
It’s easier to be the energetic, carefree Tate Brooks—the best thing to happen to country music in a decade. So dedicated to his music, he doesn’t have the time to be the source of gossip.
“Seattle, you’ve been exceptional tonight. Stay beautiful.” Keeping the neck of my Gibson J-45 pointed skyward, I tap my nose three times, the gesture painfully familiar.
Does she see it?
Are those same freckles still there?
The crowd goes wild, their screams echoing through the stadium. Don’t get me wrong, I love my fans—most of them—but the longer I do this, jetting between cities and sleeping on tour buses, the less they see me as human. The label certainly doesn’t. I’m a commodity.
They scream for another encore as I smile and wave myself off the stage, ready for one second of peace. No such luck. Someone swaps my guitar for a bottle of electrolytes and starts unbuttoning my shirt before removing my earpiece. When you become famous, people assume you’re incapable of undressing yourself.
