Tate’s hands gripped my shirt, holding it tightly.
“Why, Fin? We never go there. I want to be home. My momma needs me. My momma,” she whimpered, tears rolling down her hot red cheeks, beads of sweat lining her forehead as her eyes locked on mine. I tried to find the words. The words an eight-year-old didn’t have.
“Tate, honey, your momma needs some time alone right now. When you get older, you will understand, but sometimes us ladies need alone time,” my mom said to Tatum, pulling her attention from mine.
“But you’re here,” Tatum pressed, confusion lining her features as she tried to understand. “My daddy, he almost ran me over.” Tatum looked up at my mom, her big eyes filling with tears as she said the words. “He left. He left. He left us?” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and I hated it when she cried. And now I hated Mr. Grace for making her cry.
“I’m here, Tate. I’m here, and I promise I won’t leave.”
I shook the memory from my head as we entered River High. Immediately, people turned to look at my two friends and me. We were the stereotypical jocks. You know, the type that guys want to be like, and girls want to date.Yeah, that kind.At first, it was hard to handle. Girls kept slipping notes into my locker, offering to do things I had only dreamed of, and guys wanted to hang out every day of the week, hoping some of my popularity would rub off of me and onto them.
I took advantage of the offers from the many girls who were prepared to spread their legs for a sixteen-year-old boy and pretended to date a few when the sex was good so that I had a regular hookup. I hung out with the guys, went to more parties than I could count, had more beer than I probably should have, and had more friends than I ever needed.
Popularity had been something I was so eager to get, soenvious of those before me who looked cool and had all the answers. Until it was something that I had learned to hate with every fiber of my being because it took the one thing that was most important to me.
Tatum Grace.
CHAPTER 3
TATUM
FOUR YEARS AGO
Millie and I walked through the front door, water dripping off us onto the tiled floor, laughter spilling from our lips as we dropped our wet bags to the ground and kicked off our shoes.
“Mom?” I called from the entry of the house. A rustle from the living room confirmed my suspicions that she hadn’t left the couch since I left her this morning.
“In here, Tate.” Her soft, broken voice filled the silence. Millie looked at me. Every ounce of happiness drained from her expression.
I steeled myself and took a deep breath. I had done my best to keep my emotions at bay today, except for that one moment of weakness with Griffin this morning, but seeing my mom like this, so broken, a complete and utter shell of the woman I had grown up with, was unbearable.
Every year, it got a little worse. On the anniversary of the first year he left, Griffin’s mom came over. She looked out of place in our new home, her car far too exotic for the broken driveway with overgrown weeds. I remember being so excited to show Griffin my new house. It was tiny, so much smaller than before,but my mom, my older brother, Dustin, and I had done our best to make it a home. One where we were happy and my father wasn’t mentioned.
Griffin had jumped out of his mom’s luxurious SUV and run up the cracked driveway, his brand-new sneakers slapping against the ground as he barreled toward me. He wrapped me in the biggest hug a nine-year-old could give and spun me around. Mom had laughed for the first time in a week when she saw that, and Dustin had snorted, making some comment about how I was going to get hurt.
Dustin never really liked Griffin, or me, now that I thought about it, and that’s probably why he left when he was given the choice. He chose Dad and his new family, while I chose Mom, the only person who had never left us or let us down. Dustin swore that Dad didn’t mean to leave him or me behind, but if that was the case, then he would have called or come to visit, but he never did.
Dustin choosing my father was something else that shattered Mom to absolute smithereens.She was never the same after he packed his bags, kissed her on the head, and left like it was his duty to protect my father’s image.
Millie nudged my shoulder, shaking me from the memories that haunted me the most. She nodded her head toward the living room, where I could hear my mother softly calling my name.
“Tate, baby, come here.”
“Millie and I just got soaked in the rain. We’re gonna change really quick and then come watch a movie with you,” I hollered before I grabbed Millie’s hand and dragged her into my bedroom down the hall and slammed the door, buying myself a few more minutes.
“What the hell was that about? Are you worried I’m gonna freak out seeing her like this? I’ve seen her like this three timesalready, Tate,” she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest, green eyes slitting like a snake about to attack. And I was her prey of choice.
“Millie, shut up. You know it’s not that,” I grumbled, pulling my wet jeans down my hips and throwing them to a corner of the room. “Did you bring extra clothes?” I asked over my shoulder as I rifled through my closet, looking for my favorite pair of gray sweatpants.
“Yeah, and they got soaked, so I’ll take the usual.” I handed her the black shorts that she loved to borrow and the gray hoodie she had claimed as her own, even though it was my brother’s, who she also supposedly hated, but I wasn’t too sure. Not after the last time he came to visit Mom, and I caught the two of them having a very heated debate in the kitchen.
“I’m not strong enough to hold her together every single time. He didn’t just leave her, Millie. He left me too. He had a new daughter with that other woman. She wasn’t the only one replaced, and it’s so draining to pretend like I’m okay when I’m not.” I sniffled, admitting the truth for the first time to my best friend.
“I get what you’re saying. I do. But she was cheated on foryears,Tate. Her husband, who vowed to spend the rest of his life with her, had an affair foryears.Then he just packs up all his shit and leaves her behind with her twelve-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter, a fucking huge mortgage, and all the other bills, all so he can live the life he thinks hedeserves.Put yourself in her shoes. She had to sell her home, her car, her own personal things to just keep a roof over your head, Tate.”
Ifucking hated when she’s right.Absolutely fucking hated, which was, unfortunately, ninety-five percent of the time. So my pride took a beating on a regular basis.
“Go to hell,” I grumbled, finally finding my favorite pants and sliding them up my cold legs.
