by SM West
“You’re a smart woman, why’d you call it off? It doesn’t make sense. Tell me. Make me believe you.”
“I called it off because they were both behind bars. Because of you…” She stops, almost afraid to say the next words.
“Go on,” I encourage.
“You asked me to. You’d already covered for me with Bobby. I wasn’t going to further jeopardize your career.”
Her sincerity rings true and the look on her face says it all. Completely open, bare to me. Heat blooms and spreads rapidly throughout my chest and body. Her words shouldn’t affect me so much, but fuck, I can’t deny they do. Knowing she called it off because of me, kills my doubt. I believe her. Fuck, I should have believed her from the get-go.
“I’m sorry,” I growl, disgusted with myself for coming down so hard, so quick.
My apology’s not enough. She begs for more. Gone is the shine in her eyes, replaced with dismay and possibly, hurt. She needs more from me, and fuck if I’m not going to give it to her.
“It’s just your plan with Bobby. When the car crashed, I figured you didn’t listen to…. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Wanting to mend this, I attempt a little levity, “Let’s face it, your plan with Bobby, it was a shitty plan,” I smirk.
Raising her head, she meets my stare. Instead of holding onto her anger, which she has every right to, she equals my smirk. With her hands on the curve of her hips, she accentuates her beguiling body, hidden beneath my shirt that she’s swimming in. A glimmer of her zeal shines in her eyes.
“There’s a saying in chess. It’s better to have a bad plan than no plan at all,” she volleys. There’s the woman I adore. Her fire and sass rearing to go.
“You play chess?” I counter with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” she replies with a smile. “I’m sorry I made you doubt me. Next time give me the benefit of the doubt.”
At the sweet sight of her lips upturned, I exhale with relief. Before long, we’re both chuckling. Tension ebbs. Reaching for her, our chests touch, her breath hitches as I drape my arms around her slender frame.
She easily winds her arms around my waist, resting her forehead on my chest. Each of her warm, moist breaths seeps through my dress shirt, coating my chest. It’s sensual and fucking hot. Shivers glide down my spine.
Her nearness awakes my yearning for more. I’ve incessantly fought to lay my want to rest. We’re not in a good place right now. We’ve got so much left unsaid. And there’s the little fact I accused her of attempted murder. Taking her here and now after our spat isn’t wise. Fuck, my need for her; it’s so consuming that it hurts so fucking much.
“Where are my parents now?”
“At the hospital. The driver was killed on impact. Your mother was banged up and your father’s critical. He’s been in ICU the past couple of days.”
“Couple days? When did this happen?”
“Two days ago. I called, Noel called. We knew you were here.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I was hoping you’d come to us, to me. It makes sense now...” I trail off. I readily admit I was testing her and livid when I thought she’d failed.
“Who do you think did it?”
“Not sure. My first guess would be Bobby,” I say.
“You mean your second guess,” she states cheekily.
Like an anvil, her unspoken words hang heavy in the air. She implicated herself when she tried to kill Bobby. Her guilt is real. She broke my trust going behind my back, planning the deaths of her husband and father. I’m not saying I don’t understand or that I might not have done the same thing in her shoes, but trust works both ways.
Our trust is tenuous and fuck if I don’t want more. All of her trust, her unadulterated faith in me. For us to have that, she needs to give, to open up. I’m also uncertain if that’s possible. If she’s done with her plans. I can’t fight the niggling voice in my mind, whispering there’s more to come. She’s not done.
She’s a survivor and has been in survival mode for years. She still is. It’ll take a long time before she comes out of it. For now, her first instinct is to fight by any means necessary. And I admire that. I truly do. It also means she’s capable of many things, perhaps anything.
“I should shower,” she abruptly says, releasing her hold.
Pulling the curtains back, bright sunshine floods the room. With better lighting, her lack of sleep is glaring. She has dark circles under her eyes. Grabbing her bag, Tate enters the bathroom.
I’m not sure what I should do. Should I stay? Go? Things have been weird and tense between us since the club and I’m not sure how to fix it. Or if she even wants it fixed. There’s also more I need to talk to her about. I’m uncertain if I should bring it up now or wait for another time.
This is uncharted territory. I’m not indecisive. I’m actually the complete opposite. Always the one to make the decision and execute. Yet here I am, hemming and hawing over choices that should be easy to make.
I want Tate. Now’s not the time with too many loose ends to this case, and then there’s the trial. It could be months, even years before this is fully wrapped up. That’s a long time for anyone to wait. Never mind, I don’t even know if she wants to wait.
About twenty minutes later, she tentatively stands in the middle of the room with a shy and sincere smile. The shower has breathed life into her. She’s in black leggings, a baggy cream sweater hanging off one shoulder and her wet hair is braided.
Standing before me, I welcome her seductively familiar aroma. I’m clueless, not knowing what to say, what she needs or wants. This is so unlike me. Rather than make things worse, leaving seems like the best option.
Picking up on my intent, she gently says, “Stay. I’m ordering food. Stay and eat with me. Please.”
I can’t help but like it. She wants me to stay. We order room service and wait.
“What did you do for Christmas?” she asks breaking our silence.
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t go home?”
“No. Not a good idea. Things were down to the wire. Too risky. I’ll see them soon,” I reassure myself just as much as her.
I miss Ma and Carys. I’m lucky they understand my job. Otherwise, there’d be hell to pay for not showing at Christmas. I hate that Ma would’ve planned with me in mind, only to realize after hours of waiting that I wasn’t coming.
“Ah, about…” She anxiously shifts in her seat.
Room service interrupts and saves us from the awkwardness. We sit for our meal and then I broach the subject, too curious to drop it.
“You were saying?” I prompt.
“Thank you for covering for me the night Bobby was arrested. You didn’t have to. I was prepared to face the consequences. You protected me. It could’ve cost you. Thank you.”
“It was reckless and stupid.”
While her apology and candor warm me, this is my chance to get through to her. She won’t like it. Still, I’m not passing up the opportunity. If she does have more planned, I need to change her mind. Her eyes narrow and her brow furrows.
“Gee, tell me how you really feel,” she drolly snaps. “I went about it the wrong way, okay? You know what, let’s not bother getting into this. I’d rather not fight with you.”
I should probably let it go, but like a dog with a bone, I keep gnawing at it.
“Why the hell did you visit Bobby?” I fire, getting to what I wanted to ask. She flinches like I’ve tried to hit her. Her eyes narrow further, jaw clenching as she crosses her arms.
“Are you following me?” she accuses.
“You know we are. I told you, nothing changes. You visited a week ago. I almost came over here when I found out. Instead, I waited to see if you would come to me. If you’d tell me.”
“Another test? And I failed,” her tone’s insolent and aggravated.
“No, it wasn’t a test,” I clip out, sick and tired of her withholding information or planning shit behind my back. Then I realize,
honesty works both ways. I need to come clean. “Or maybe it was. All I know is you keep pulling this shit and it’s really testing my patience.”
Like a goddam ping pong ball, my dumbass emotions are all over the place. Tate has me tied up in knots. We’re getting all this shit out in the open. I’ve let too many things slide. If we’re going to work, we need to be honest and open with each other.
“Excuse me?” She recoils at my punitive tone.
“You told Bobby you were working with the FBI. What the fuck?”
“What? How?” My chest constricts at the multitude of emotions flitting across her face.
“Why’d you do it?” I push.
“I wanted him to know it was me. I’m the reason he’s behind bars. It’s stupid, but…I just wanted him to know for all the countless battles and endless victories at the slow killing of me, I’d won the war,” she cries, abruptly standing from the table.
She’s halfway across the room. Ready for battle. Her stance wide, fists tight, eyes wild and cheeks flushed.
“What makes you people think you own me? You don’t. No one owns me. It ended the day you put cuffs on that barbarian. It ended the day you hauled my father into a jail cell. I agreed to work with the FBI on my terms,” she claims passionately. “And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do. But if I decide to tell him to go fuck himself and that I’ve filed for divorce, I don’t need to ask for your permission. You don’t get to come in here and scold me like some bad little girl.”
I’m riled by her nerve, acting like the wounded party. In a flash, I head toward her. Startling her, she hastily steps back. With deep breaths and steady strides, I harness my unhinged emotions as I near her. She’s right. She has freedoms.
“The last thing I want is for you to feel caged, used, merely a possession. But you need to understand, we’re in this together. We’re partners. And your actions aren’t always in the interests of ‘us’ but more in ‘you.’ Let me help you,” I boldly say.
Pussy. That’s how I feel. Scared to death, putting my shit out there like that. I quickly rush to fill the silence.
“The behind the scenes maneuvering, like visiting Bobby in prison, outing yourself, it’s dangerous. And some of it, illegal. I can’t for one minute fully understand what you’ve been through. Even still, what you’re doing is completely uncalled for and thoughtless. Lives are being put on the line.”
My resistance is futile. We’re only a foot apart. Despite the heat and anger burning brightly in her eyes, my hand caresses her cheek, sliding to wrap around the back of her neck. I gently prompt her closer.
“As for Bobby, my concern is your protection,” I soften my tone. “If he did tamper with that car, there’s nothing stopping him from coming after you. Not a damn thing.” We’re now chest to chest, tilting my head down to rest my forehead on hers. “And if he’s hired someone to take you out, you going to see him makes his job really easy. Your death is the LAST thing I want to see,” I somberly state.
Our locked gaze is intense, loaded with many unspoken declarations. I swear I see the fierce love and adoration I feel for her in her eyes, directed at me. Yes, I fucking love her and I’ve known it for some time. Her fierce spirit, good heart and loving soul are irrefutable as is my love for her.
She breaks our trance, willingly relaxing and leaning into me.
“I’m sorry. I never looked at it like that. I’m grateful for all you’ve done. And you’re right, it was stupid,” she whispers bashfully, almost ashamed.
Her acquiescence is welcomed, lessening my burden. I don’t enjoy being an asshole. Again, shifting the mood, I focus on the one bit of her conversation with Bobby that I’d been elated to learn.
“You’re getting a divorce?” I grin.
“Yes. A lawyer’s drawing up the papers.” Hope and joy cover her stunning features.
Meeting her with a smile, her slender hands cup my cheeks, gently rubbing against my stubble. Rising up, her sweet lips land on mine. Her kiss gentle, honeyed and inviting. Before I can deepen it, she backs down.
“Best fucking news I’ve had all day,” I whisper.
With her in my arms, I lift her to meet my lips, again. Her body further softens, arms circling my neck as our lips lock. Giving herself over to me, she threads her fingers tightly in my hair, tugs and softly whimpers. Her irresistible mewls are devoured by our dueling tongues.
I want to believe this is the start of putting our trust issues and her secrets behind us even though, we still have lots to hash out. I’m hopeful.
We break apart, Tate gently pushing against my chest. I reluctantly release her, placing her feet on the carpet.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she says definitively, moving away. With deliberate distance between us, she hugs her middle. “You’ve a job to do. No one can find out about us or else this entire case is trashed. That can’t happen.”
“I know,” I reply, resigned to the harsh reality of our situation.
This is where I should say more, declare my feelings, but she’s pushing me away. All she says is true. We should stay away from each other for the good of the case. There’s no simple solution. And it won’t be solved today. We don’t have the luxury of time or space to figure this out together.
“I better go,” I say solemnly.
She nods in agreement. Grudgingly, I slip back into FBI mode and by doing so, further fortifying our great divide.
“Call Noel or me before you go anywhere. Someone needs to be on you. So far, there’s no sign of Bobby’s people anywhere near you. But make no mistake, they’re looking.”
WITH THE CLICK OF THE door, I collapse onto the couch. A sharp pain invades my chest. Touching my just kissed lips, the warmth and firmness of his mouth and tongue are still present. His intoxicating scent and steady, strong hold still clinging to my body.
A carnal need and voracious craving tears at my insides, cultivating a heady throbbing between my legs. Squeezing my eyes shut, I burn every touch, look and taste into my memory. I’ll need these moments. Something to pull out and relive in the not too distant future. My future without him.
Reluctantly, I check my messages, forty-two over the past week while I’ve been hiding away from the world. I groan in frustration, growing tenser with each message. From Max and Julia laying on the guilt, to my mother threatening, to Noel’s orders to call, and then, finally, the hospital.
With a deep breath, I dial the hospital. I luck out and get a nice nurse who provides me with details about my parents. It’s tempting to leave it at that, let sleeping dogs lie. If only I could. I need to go to the hospital. Not for them. For me.
It’s silly, after all they’ve done, I should walk away. Some misguided part of me needs this final encounter. Knowing my father’s out on bail boils my blood. I need to end this my way.
My next call is Max. Surprisingly; he picks up on the third ring.
“Hello,” his groggy voice greets me.
“Max, it’s Tate. Did I wake you?”
“Tate, yeah. Been working real crazy hours at the hospital. But I’ve got to get up in an hour for my shift. I’m glad you called, I was worried about you.”
“Sorry, I’ve been avoiding the world, but I’m back. Actually, have you received any calls about…”
He interjects, “Mom and dad.”
“Yes, you got a call too?”
“Yes, I spoke with the doctor. Dad’s not doing too well and I briefly spoke with mom. Have you seen them?”
“No, not yet.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Their car crashed. It looks deliberate.”
“Hold up a sec,” he says, sounding more alert. “What do you mean?”
“It looks like the car was tampered with. The driver was killed. Right now, the FBI thinks it was Bobby.”
“Shit. Bobby?”
“With both facing jail time, I think he’s being pre-emptive. Worried Warren will make a deal and let him rot in jail. I su
ppose Bobby didn’t want to give Dad a chance.”
“Are you okay? Do you need me there? I’m was about to hop on a plane if I didn’t hear from you.”
“Let me find out more. I’m going to the hospital and when we know what we’re dealing with, you can decide if you need to come.”
“Okay. Wish I was there to help you out,” he sounds regretful and resolved.
“I know. Love you. I’ll call or text soon.”
“Love you too, Bear.”
***
I WAIT A DAY BEFORE going to the hospital. Needing time to wrap my head around facing them. Noel drives me. Smiling in greeting and without words, we slip back into our well-known dance, remaining silent on the drive to the hospital. I take comfort in the ease of and familiarity of it, amidst all this upheaval.
I’ve no apprehension, joy or even melancholy at my final move, ending this dark and dismal chapter of my life. The numbness is back. It’s resurfaced since Ry’s departure, making me once again, a silent observer to my life. Mostly, I’m unperturbed by my indifference, although a small part of me wonders what the hell it all means.
As we walk through the hospital, two of Bobby’s men approach. Like a barricade, Noel prevents them from getting to me. He motions for me to keep going. Without hesitation, I quickly make my way to my father’s room.
I’m granted entry with a warning to keep it short. I intend to. My mother is reclining in a chair. One of her arms is in a sling. Her right cheek is bruised and there’s a butterfly bandage on her brow. Placing the Town & Country magazine on her lap, she gives me the once over.
“Tate, finally, you’re here. The hospital said they called you. Where were you?” she’s terse and contemptuous.
“My phone was dead,” I lie.
“Well, you’re here now. Sit with your father while I go for a walk. All this sitting around is making me anxious.” She spryly stands, heading for the door.
“How are you?” I force myself to ask.
Raising one perfectly arched blond brow, she clinically scrutinizes me, knowing my concern is out of character.
“Fine. It’s your father I’m worried about. He’s lost a lot of blood and there’s internal bleeding. He had swelling on the brain. The medication seems to be working to reduce it. Last night was dreadful. He went into cardiac arrest. Fortunately, they saved him.” She’s eerily calm as she ticks off his injuries. “I have to get out of here for a bit. Everything is a mess. Such a horrible mess,” she states, waving her hand at my father and then at me. “Stay. I don’t want him to be alone.”
