Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “Tate will never get lost, not as long as the stars are still in the sky.”
My heart suddenly swells with emotion. I miss him so much. I think about him all the time. Sometimes I dream that I’m on the Surely Perfect with him. We’re lying on a blanket on the gleaming teak deck and gazing up at the stars. He points out all the different constellations and tells me where the fuck we are.
Gemma must see the raw pain in my eyes because hers fill with tears again. “Can you ever forgive me?” she blurts out.
I blink in surprise. “What?”
Rather than clarify, she seems to change the subject. Her face takes on a faraway look. “His videos, Cassie … he’s happy, yes. He’s always happy when he’s sailing. But I know my son. He’s not at peace. His eyes are troubled.”
I never saw any indication of that, but she’s his mother. She knows him better. She’s probably catalogued every last expression on Tate’s face. Every flicker of emotion.
“We’ve spoken three times,” she tells me. “Once a month. He calls from the satellite phone. It’s expensive, so he keeps the calls short. But I hear it in his voice. He’s sad.”
A sob rises in my throat. I hastily swallow it down. I’m sad too, I want to say. But I don’t. Because I understand the reason we broke up—she’s sitting right in front of me. And I don’t blame her for it, not one bit.
“I asked him to break up with you,” Gemma confesses. “I told him I couldn’t stand to have you around.”
“I know. I get it. Honestly, I do.”
“I was wrong.”
I frown at her. “What?”
“I was wrong,” she repeats with a firm shake of the head. “Gavin cheated on me, but I took him back. That’s all that matters.”
“But my mother …” I furrow my brow.
“I don’t care about your mother. The affair was never about your mother. It was about my husband. It was about his own insecurities, his perceived inadequacies. And he’s worked so hard on himself over the years. I’m proud of him. And I’m ashamed of myself for putting my own needs ahead of my child’s.”
“Gemma, come on. You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Tate comes first. Always. Forever.”
I gulp down another lump of emotion at the proof that they exist—good mothers. The proof is in Nia, and how fiercely she loves her girls. In Gemma, and how fiercely she loves her son. I might not have that, but it makes me happy to know others do.
“He loves you. You’re the first girl he’s ever felt that way about. I’ve watched him over the years.” She sighs. “I know my boy. He was always a player—that’s what we say these days, right? A player?”
Mmm. Not quite. I believe the term is fuckboy. But I keep that to myself. Besides, that’s not what Tate is. It’s not who he is. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. Wise beyond his years. More sensitive than he lets on.
And, fine, he’s great in bed.
“Then this summer, he met you and fell in love, and his own mother took that away from him. I’m ashamed.”
“Gemma. Stop.”
“So, please, can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
I reach over and take her hand. She clasps it with both of hers.
“I miss him,” I confess.
“I know. So do I.” She smiles. “I put together a care package for him last night. I need to send it to Auckland before he sets sail for his Australian adventure. Do you know how much it costs to ship something to New Zealand? Gavin almost choked on his tongue.”
I laugh. “Well, I mean, it’s literally at the bottom of the world. It’s bound to be expensive.” Then I bite my lip, as something nags at the back of my mind. It starts as a tiny seed, then grows into a full-fledged idea that has me squeezing Gemma’s hand. “But if you need a delivery person …”
CHAPTER 36
TATE
December
I exit the tiny grocery store three miles from the marina, muttering a string of curses under my breath. The kid that loaded these bags overfilled this one. And it’s a paper bag. A delicate fucking creature. As I feel the bottom about to give out, I execute a swift maneuver, readjusting my grip at the same time I heave the danger bag on top of the meat bag. I swear, if this thing bursts and all my carefully hand-picked fruit rolls away? And then my apples go rolling on the dirt and I have to chase after them like an asshole—
“Tate.”
I stop. Frowning.
Weird. I swear I heard Cassie’s voice saying my name. I snap myself out of such insanity and keep walking.
“Tate! I know you heard me! Are you running away from me?”