“I’ll fill you in when I get home.”
“Which will be... when?”
“Not sure. I’ll text you.”
She sighed. “Okay, honey. Ride safe.”
“I will.”
I hung up just as Dad opened his office door. “We’ll talk about logistics tomorrow,” he said. “Right now, I’m gonna take your mom home.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He gave me a chin lift and closed the door again, and I headed out to my bike. Since it was close to ten, there wasn’t much in the way of traffic back over the bridge, so I made it home in less than thirty minutes, walking into Tate pacing the family room.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, dropping my keys into the bowl by the door.
“Outside of the fact you’re probably pissing your parents off before you leave to your death on Monday?” she retorted. “Nothing.”
I smiled. “Come here, baby.”
She didn’t hesitate, wrapping her arms around my waist, and dropping her cheek to my chest. “How bad was it?”
“Mom wanted to donate money so I wouldn’t have to go.”
“Well, shit,” she whispered. “She knows it doesn’t work that way, right?”
“Yeah, baby. She was half-joking,” I said, kissing her crown. “I think.”
“What about your dad?” she asked. “Is he going to be okay with Flea covering for you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Baby, he’s objecting because I’m his kid and he doesn’t want me to go, not because he’s pissed I got Flea to cover for me.” I gave her a squeeze. “He’ll sort it out and everything will be okay.”
“How can you be so calm about alienating your family?”
“Tater, I’m not alienating my family.” I cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her gently. “We’re having a little disagreement. That’s all.”
Tate nodded and leaned close again.
“Why do you go straight from a disagreement to alienation?” I asked.
She sighed, meeting my eyes again. “Probably because I did the same thing to you and I’m afraid of karma.”
“You really think if we have a disagreement, you’ll alienate me? Or I’ll alienate you?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Baby, do you think I’lleverlet you go again?” I challenged.
“I really hope you won’t,” she whispered.
“Well, let me make this clear.” I smiled, cupping her face. “It. Will. Never. Happen.”
“Swear at God?”
“Swear at God,” I promised.
“Are you hungry?”
