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“Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.” The backs of my eyes sting as I fight to stave off the tears.
Tate’s jaw works hard to stop his lip from wobbling. “You’re not even going to let me try to save us? That’s it? You decide we’re over and I’m supposed to accept it.” He drags a hand down his face, mumbling, “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”
And I see red. Does he think this has been easy for me?
I square my shoulders, begging myself to not lose my cool. “You don’t think I tried for months before you left?”
He barks with laughter. “You sent me away! You gave me no other choice. It was either breach the contract I’d just signed with the label and repay the advance, or go and not come back until you decided. Bad news. Here I am, baby.”
“You’re not getting it.” I push away from him, my boots knocking against the decking as I storm away. “Even before you chose to leave, all we did was fuck or fight. I’m no couple’s therapist, but that doesn’t seem like a healthy marriage to me.”
His nostrils flare. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Nothing good will come from murdering him.
“I don’t know what there’s left to say or do, Tate.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head slowly, his hat pressed to his chest. “You give me a chance to fix this. One chance, and if all hope is lost, then…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and a part of me is grateful. Neither of us has dared utter the word divorce. It’s taboo, poisonous on the tongue, and I’m not even sure it’s what I want. The girls’ comments are in my head, skewing all logic. “Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
“I stayed away, like you asked, so the least you can do is offer me the same courtesy.”
I frown, expecting him to suggest counseling or a couple’s retreat in the wild.
“You give me until our wedding anniversary.”
Curiosity overrides my better judgment. That’s just under two months away. The timing of his vacation and our anniversary cannot be coincidental. “To do what?”
I should’ve seen it coming. Tate’s right, I’m not a quitter, and when handed an opportunity, it’s difficult for me to say no. “To fix us. Let me take you on dates until then. Let me prove this isn’t over.”
“Date?” Surely I’m not about to agree to this.
“Yes. A date. Date me.” He nods vigorously.
“You’re my husband.”
“Am I? Because I seem to be doing a terrible job.” His gaze cuts to the horizon. I want to tell him we’re both to blame for this mess, but right now, he needs to sit with his thoughts, not to hear mine. “I still love you, even if you don’t, and I’m not walking away from this until the label drags me back, kicking and screaming. Or you tell me it’s over.”
Someone might as well have taken a sledgehammer to my chest with the way it caves in. “Tate…” My voice fades into the ether, because I can’t tell him that. No matter what I was about to say minutes earlier, I can’t do it. My heart point-blank refuses to formulate the words.
Our issue isn’t lack of love. I’ll always love him. But is it fair to either of us to pretend like the months leading up to his departure weren’t some of the most challenging and painful of our lives? Saying goodbye would be easier to do if I didn’t love him so thoroughly.
“Please, Talia.” He clears his throat. “Give me until then, and if you’re sure this is what you want, I’ll walk away, no questions asked.”
My mind spins. I should say no. This is only going to end in heartbreak. Why drag out the pain? I’ve had months to sit with the fact that our marriage was irreparable. I didn’t give up hope easily, but every week he was gone, the damage grew deeper and more permanent. And maybe I broke us by sending him away, but I was so mad. So mad at him for going behind my back the way he did and changing our life plans.
Six weeks
Forty-two days.
August 23.
Had I really expected Tate to turn up here and accept our shattered relationship? Absolutely not. That isn’t the Tate I know. But am I the same Talia?
We’re about to find out.
“I have some conditions.” I twist my hands together to hide their trembling. I’m really agreeing with this.
