“Sure thing,” Brit says as I spin on my heel, practically sprinting down the hall.
The fluorescent lights above me buzz with an irritating persistence as I take the stairs in record time, then push through thelarge wooden doors of Oakridge Hall into the cool night air. I toss the bag into the trash can on my way to the truck with athunkthat matches the mournful thump of my heart, and by the time I reach my Bronco, I’m shaking on the inside.
I slam the car door harder than necessary, sitting in the silence, hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles as white as the moon. Closing my eyes, I imagine Tate all dressed up at some fancy restaurant and sitting beside Ethan with their hands clasped, his parents beaming at them from across the table, like some picture-perfect fucking family. Something she’d never have if she were with me.
My mom was never very involved in my life. She did what she needed to raise me, but once I was out of the house, she never looked back. And my father, well, I think the last time I talked to his ass was a few years ago. After my parents divorced when I was ten, he had zero qualms about moving across the country. His weekly calls became less frequent until I could no longer remember the last time we had a real conversation.
I can’t offer Tate what Ethan can, and it fucking kills me to admit it. There will be no mixed family holidays or vacations or showing her off. Not when my parents don’t give a damn. Hell, Tate’s family has been more like family to me over the years than my own.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel, and my knuckle splits over the stitched leather.
Who am I kidding?This isn’t about family dinners or roses or any of that superficial bullshit. It’s about the fact that whileI’ve been playing it safe, waiting for the perfect moment, when Ethan’s been making moves. Big ones.
I start the truck with a vicious twist of the key, and the engine roars to life, like it shares my anger. My temperature instantly rises as a love song blasts through the stereo. The lyrics make me want to drive off the proverbial bridge, so I flick it off and peel out of the parking lot with a satisfying squelch of the tires while I wonder if I’m fucked.
Chapter 15
TATUM
Ismooth down the front of my navy-blue dress for the tenth time, wishing I’d gone with something a little more demure. The neckline isn’t low, but it shows more skin than I’m comfortable with in front of Ethan’s parents, who, if they’re anything like Ethan, are rather conservative.
“You look beautiful.” Ethan finds the small of my back with the warmth of his palm, but it does little to ease the mass of nerves at the base of my spine as we follow his parents into their dining room.
The White home is everything I expected—elegant crown molding, hardwood floors with plush area rugs, and tasteful artwork adorning walls painted in soft, muted colors. But there’s something unexpectedly cozy about it, too. Family photos line the hallway. Fresh flowers adorn the counter. A worn leatherchair sits in the corner of the living room, clearly someone’s favorite spot.
“Can I help with anything, Mrs. White?” I ask as she arranges a steaming dish on the table.
Her answering smile is warm, helping to put me at ease. “Please call me Diana. And no, dear, everything’s ready. Clark, will you pour the wine?” she calls out.
Mr. White nods, his movements precise as he fills each glass with a rich burgundy liquid.
I take a seat beside Ethan at the elegantly set table, smoothing my napkin onto my lap. The silverware gleams under the soft chandelier light, making me second-guess which fork to use first, and what, if anything, I’ll have in common with such sophisticated people.
Diana takes the seat across from me, waiting patiently for her husband to finish with the wine. After each of us has a glass, he slides into a chair at the head of the table, and Mrs. White smiles before passing me a basket of warm rolls. “So, Ethan tells us you’re quite the dedicated student?”
I accept the basket with a grateful smile. “I try to be.”
“What are you studying?” Mr. White asks, his voice deep and measured.
Ethan glances over at me with a smirk. “I told them already, but they probably forgot.”
“It’s okay,” I say more to myself than him. “I’m pursuing a double major, actually. Business and English literature.”
“A double major?” Mr. White asks, sounding impressed. “That’s ambitious.”
“Very practical combination,” Diana nods approvingly. “The business degree for security, and the literature for passion, I presume?”
“Something like that,” I say, relaxing slightly. “I’ve always loved books, so I’d really like to combine my career with something I love.”
Mrs. White nods and passes a serving dish of roast. “Come to think of it, Ethan did mention you were quite the reader.”
I grab my glass, taking a sip of water to swallow down my nerves, unsure of whether the Whites will share their son’s sentiments about my career ambitions. “Like I said, I love it.”
“And what sort of books do you enjoy most?”
I brace myself for the judgment that might come as I fight the urge to press the cold glass in my hand to my hot cheeks. “Um, romance novels, mostly?” I say, hating how uncertain I sound.
I clear my throat, meeting Diana’s gaze directly. “I know they get a bad rap, but the good ones are about so much more than just . . . well, romance. They explore human connection, vulnerability, personal growth, and sometimes even past trauma.”
