N: Hello?
G: OMG seriously…
G: ANSWER YOUR TEXTS.
N: Did you do something last night?
N: Or is my car stolen?
G: I SEE THE READ MESSAGE, YOU LOUT. DON’T IGNORE ME!
Tate’s thumb hovered, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t awake enough for this kind of chaos. The messages screamed at him from the screen, his sister’s virtual shrieking practically rattling the phone in his hand. He scowled at the device like he could bend it to his will.
How can I when you are shouting in all caps? I just woke up – can you dial it back a notch?
The replies were instantaneous.
N: I’m not shouting – yet.
N: Should I be calling the police – or should I relax?
G: WAIT A MINUTE - WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?
Tate exhaled through his nose, a small flicker of relief sparking. So Nettie hadn’t blabbed to Gina about last night. About the ride. About the argument that followed.
“I guess that answered my next question,” he muttered, feeling absurdly pleased in spite of the circumstances.
His thumbs flew over the screen.
Um, caps?
And NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS
But even as he typed it, frustration surged. He wasn’t about to do this circus act over text. Not with Nettie. Not when the words he wanted to say were heavier than thumbs could handle.
“I’m not doing this over text messages,” he growled, stabbing at her contact and lifting the phone to his ear.
The line barely rang once before she answered.
“Hello?” Nettie’s voice was breathless, hurried. He could hear Gina screeching in the background like a banshee.
“Hey,” Tate began, suddenly awkward. The words caught in his throat, his pride pushing back, but guilt won the round. “I’m sorry I lost my temper last night, but I just wanted to help…”
“What did you do, Tate?” Her voice tightened, braced for the worst.
“I had your car towed to the dealership last night, and it should be ready about five this afternoon,” he admitted, forcing the words out. He braced himself, shoulders tensed, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
But silence met him instead.
“You’re mad—aren’t you?”
Her answer came, soft and trembling, a whisper wrapped in humiliation. “I’m not mad—I’m humiliated. I didn’t want you involved because I can only affordonetire right now.”
His chest squeezed, the quiet confession gutting him.
“You needed four,” he said flatly. The sharp intake of her breath traveled across the line, hitting him square in the sternum. His tone softened. “Nettie. I’m asking you to give me peace of mind—and that is priceless to me.”
“Tate…”
