Tatum's Tears | On Hold

Chapter 8 - ❝I Missed You.❞

That evening, Tatum was lounging on the hammock tied to two trees in the garden by the side of the house, hands resting behind the back of her head and eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the few rays of sun piercing past the thick canopy of the trees, on her face. The book she'd been reading, long forgotten, as it rested against her stomach.

This is nice, she mused. I need to come out more and stop locking myself in my room.

She tilted her head to her right slightly and stared at the empty hammock swinging in the air, and was suddenly struck by a pang of nostalgia and memories. Especially the one where they'd scouted the huge, tree-filled part of the garden area to find four trees with identical gaps to tie the hammocks right beside each other.

She chuckled, remembering all their shenanigans, but shook herself off quickly.

I'm here to enjoy the garden, not reminisce the glory days. With that, she stubbornly pushed away her thoughts, turning her head back straight as she let her eyes fall shut, inhaling slowly to enjoy the wonderful scents of wet earth after a rainy day and the greenness of the trees, permeating all around her.

Tatum remained like that for a while, basking in the beauty of it all. The beautiful silence of nature with nothing but the sounds of a few birds chirping was interrupted by the whir of a car's engine approaching distantly, probably a couple of miles away. It pulled her out of her comfortable state of mind for a moment, but she ignored it, determined to not let anything disturb her evening.

'Tatum?'

That was her mom, talking via the Tele-link, probably because she'd stopped by her room and wondered where she was.

'Yes?'

'Are you in the garden?'

'Yes, mom.'

'Great, want me to bring you something? Iced Tea? Lemonade?'

'No, it's fine, mom. Thanks.'

'Alright, kiddo.'

Tatum hated but secretly loved the fact that her mom still insisted on calling her stuff like 'pup', 'kiddo', and every other pet name on earth. Sometimes she wondered if her mom only did that because she felt sorry for her, but sometimes she thought it was just the nature of Maarika Karas. Whatever the reason was, Tatum didn't care and liked it.

Just as Tatum started to float in that happy, blissful state of almost dozed-off-but-still-aware-of-your-surroundings, she registered distinctly that the roar of the engine she'd heard a few minutes before was getting prominently closer, and probably headed down the road to her home if her judgement was accurate.

Huh, she thought. I didn't know people drove their cars much around the pack territory.

You're slacking off, Tatum. Start paying more attention to what's happening, you're gonna have to take responsibility for it all, soon.

She wanted to so badly ignore that stupid car interjecting on her evening, but much to Tatum's irritation, the car slowed down and turned into her driveway.

Just great.

Although Tatum couldn't see the visitors as she was somewhere in the middle of the woodsy garden by the side of her house, the air was quiet enough that she could hear the low murmur of voices and the opening and closing of car doors. She couldn't pick up on what was being said as the distance was too far, but the two distinct baritones, one deep and masculine and the other slightly high-pitched one, were easily identifiable.