“We stayed in the rundown motel room for just a couple of hours, trying to regenerate the energy it had taken to escape before we rented a car – using cash – and drove for miles. After five hours of driving, we pulled up at another motel. Using cash again, we checked in and instantly fell asleep in the shabby room. We stayed there for two weeks while we worked out our next steps. Then, one night, I heard a creaking along the hardwood flooring outside our motel room. It was Jace. He had heard of our escape through his family and decided to do the same: some of us just were not cut out for that life. Two days later, we all had an alias. Jace had gotten us and himself a place to live; he had enrolled us both in high school, and life sorta just carried on.”
I stopped, watching as Tate tried to take in every detail of my account. His eyes flashed to mine as he nodded for me to carry on.
“Once we had gotten into a routine, we ensured we embraced a ‘normal’ life, only looking over our shoulders when no one else was watching. Then, three weeks later, a news article caught my eye. The girl my father had beaten in the manor was found brutally beaten and murdered. I recognized her eyes, ones that held so much fear and remorse. It was right then I decided to place every little lie I made from that day forward into the jar. It was a reminder that every step, every action, every word had consequences.”
I stopped talking, trying to gauge Tate’s reaction. He was silent. My god. He was silent for so long I almost thought I’d lost him. Not just to his injuries, but also his heart. I could feel my world crumbling around me as he stared blankly over my shoulder. I turned, hoping there was someone stood behind us, hoping what he was staring at wasn’t just flashes of our future, flashes of the mafia daughter trying to live a normal life, and failing miserably.
My gaze drifted over my shoulder. A gasp of relief leaving my lips as I stared at Lorena, Tate’s mother. Their relationship had never been easy; she could never look her son in the eyes and in turn their relationship was completely broken.
But right then, right in that moment, she was finally staring at Tate, finally looking him right in the eyes. A solemn smile graced his lips as he nodded gently towards his mother. She nodded in return, turning on her heel as she left the room, clicking the door closed behind her.
Suddenly, without warning, Tate emptied the contents of the mason jar onto my lap. Two hundred and one paper hearts stared back at me as I tried to study Tate’s face for some kind of answer.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, a small tear escaping.
“All you need to understand is,” he paused, collecting the single tear with the pad of his thumb before tasting the salty moisture with his lips, “I fell in love with this.”
His hand splayed across my chest, above my very own thundering heart.
“All of these little hearts are insignificant. The only heart I’m interested in is yours.”
I stared at him in bewilderment as he reached over to the table at his bedside, picking up a blank square of paper and drawing one large black heart with a black marker, placing it in the glass jar that stood upright on my lap.
“Now you can carry my heart wherever you go: that little heart represents my love, adoration, desire and need for you.” He paused, screwing the lid on tight. “You own me, baby. You own my heart and I never want you to let it go.”
“Tate.” I gasped, the breath leaving my lungs so fast I was dizzy.
“Low, I love you for who you are. You’re caring, passionate, and selfless. In the face of what you’ve been through, your only thought was to protect us, to keep that ugly side locked away. But that ugly side is what makes you so fucking special, sweetheart. That side only illuminates the purity of your heart, the heart that stole mine all those years ago and never gave it back. I love you for you, Low. Not who you think you should be. God, I love you, baby.”
“I love you too,” I whispered, leaning into his touch as his palm rested against my cheek once more. Tears fell from my eyes, but were quickly wiped away by Tate.
“Don’t cry, baby. I can’t take it seeing you cry and being able to nothing about it to stop those tears.”
“I’m sorry.” I sniffed.
“Never, ever be sorry for finally letting me see you feel, baby,” he said, wiping away the tears that just kept on falling.
Holding back the sob that was about to pour from my lips, I dropped my mouth to his. Taking his mouth like I always wanted, showing him just how much I loved him. How much he made me feel. The deep groan that escaped his lips was swallowed as I plunged my tongue into his mouth, fighting against his to give him that little piece of me I was always holding back.
“I paper heart you, Low,” he whispered into my mouth, taking my heart to new heights as he showed me just how much he paper hearted me with his tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had been three days since Tate poured my lies out of my jar. Three days since he replaced all of my lies with a single drawn heart. Three days of watching him get out from his bed as he winced back the pain.
I watched in awe as he took his first tentative steps three days ago, his catheter out and all of his machines unhooked. He walked like a toddler, his steps unsure and weak as he tried to move further into his room. Exhaustion overcame him though, and I felt as defeated as he did as the physiotherapist helped him back into bed.
“Why doesn’t my body understand that my head wants me to fucking walk?” he growled, adjusting his pillows on his bed as he slowly sat up, leaning against his makeshift back support.
“It will soon, baby. Just give it time,” I whispered gently, holding onto his hand again.
“I just want to hold you without the pain,” he admitted, breaking my heart as he squeezed my hand gently.
“Maybe we can,” I whispered.
Surely I could get into his bed without hurting him. If I got onto his good side, maybe it wouldn’t hurt him too much. And that’s exactly what I did.
Taking off my Chucks, I pulled back the sheet that covered the lower half of Tate’s body, his abdomen completely on display as I slid in gently beside him. A small smile crept across his lips as I lay my head in the crook of his shoulder, my hand resting on his pec.
A sigh of contentment left his lips as his nose brushed against my hair, inhaling as he breathed.
“I’ve missed this,” he muttered, “I’ve missed you. I paper heart you, baby.”
“I paper heart you too,” I whispered, my gaze locking on the jar that stood proud on Tate’s bedside table for all to see.
It was no longer my jar of lies, no longer my little jar of broken hearts.
It was the jar that held my past, my present and now my future. The memories of my lies would always be with me as long as I had that jar, but my present and future would always tell me the beauty behind those lies would always outshine the ugly.
I woke with a jolt three hours later, Tate flat out beside me. We must have drifted off. As my eyes adjusted to the harsh light, I looked around the room to try and understand what had woken me from my sleep. Realizing it was my cell, I slowly pulled myself from Tate’s warm body and off the bed. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell: it was Jace.
I hadn’t heard from him since the day he gave me my suitcase before walking right out of the room.
Sliding my finger across the screen, I answered the call.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“I believe he’s awake,” Jace’s voice rang into my ear.
“Yeah, he’s still recovering but he’s awake. He should be allowed home soon.”
“That’s good.” He paused, silence taking over the line as I waited to hear what was going on.
“Willow.” He sighed. “You’re safe.”
His words penetrated my heart in a series of pins and needles. What did he mean? Before I could ask, he answered for me.
“You have been removed from the table.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, soon enough.”
/> “Jace, what does that even mean?” I demanded.
“It means… it means I’m sorry.”
Then the call ended, shattering my heart. I knew what he had done. I knew what was going on but I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to hear myself say it. Then my brain over took my heart.
Jace Rowe was now head of the Rowe family.
I was never going to have to take the chair at my table.
Suddenly, my cell pinged in my hands, alerting me to a text message. Sliding my finger across the screen, I was hit with a series of newspaper article headlines.
Julius Rowe found dead.
Jace Rowe rumored to have taken his place.
Twelve bodies recovered from the Knoxx family manor.
Has the Knoxx family been wiped out?
Jace saved me. Jace saved Tate. He saved all of us.
I owed him my life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Six weeks later…
I watched in total fascination as Tate walked effortlessly across the kitchen of our new home, his abdomen completely exposed as he sauntered his way towards me shirtless, only wearing a pair of low slung jeans. My mouth watered as he moved with slow and sure steps, completely barefoot. He had come a long way since the incident, since he was shot. He walked with a slight limp now, but it only added to the mysterious hotness that is Tate James.
The minute he was released from hospital, he made it his business to find a perfect home for his family, for us. Using our collected savings, we managed to pick out a small two-bedroom home only twenty minutes away from campus.
“What are you doing, baby?” I whispered from my seat on the sofa.
I watched as his eyes turned from intense to smoldering in an instant, the act in itself doing things to my body I don’t think I’d ever come to understand.
“I have a present for you,” he said as he stepped between my legs.
Reaching out his hand, he nodded with a small smile as I tentatively placed mine within his. It was an act that still brings tears to my eyes even now. Even through the foggy memories of sedation, the thing he truly remembered first was my touch, my hand within his.
“What sort of present?” I asked breathlessly as he walked us in the direction of our bedroom.
“You’ll see.” He winked.
We walked towards our door, his steps slower than they used to be. His hand rested on the handle, pausing for a moment before looking back at me.
“What’s going on, Tate?” I asked, pulling back on his hand.
I had no idea what he was doing, what he had on the other side of that room.
Tate’s eyes locked with mine as he tried to assess my features, trying to gauge how I’m going to react to his present. His hands cupped my face and his lips grazed against mine in a sweetly torturous kiss.
“Trust me,” he breathed as he pulled his lips from mine.
My body trembled in response.
“Okay.”
Tate flung open the door to the bedroom and I was suddenly frozen to the spot as I took in everything I was seeing.
The walls were no longer bare. Instead they were now painted a duck egg blue. Instead of hardwood flooring, there was now thick soft carpet. To the right stood the most beautiful white wood-framed bed I had ever seen, complete with matching blue bedding. On the left against the wall was a dresser made in the same white wood as the bed. But what I saw next brought tears to my eyes. Sitting on a side unit was a small jar: my mason jar.
With a gulp of courage, I stepped inside the room, my toes loving the soft carpet against the bare flesh. With shaky steps, I walked towards the side unit. My eyes locked onto the mason jar. Inside the glass prison was a single paper heart, hanging from the tiniest piece of string I had ever seen. I picked up the jar and unscrewed the cap. Lifting, I watched as the paper heart attached to the string left the confines of the glass. It was attached to the lid.
“Do you like it?” Tate asked tentatively from the doorway.
The tears had long since fell. I didn’t think I could’ve loved this man any more than I already did, but in that moment, my heart swelled for the man I loved.
“I love it, baby,” I whispered as I placed the lid back on the jar, screwing it back in place before putting it back on the unit.
I turned, wiping my face in the process and watched as a beautiful smile took over Tate’s face. I was quickly moving, the feel of the carpet between my toes forgotten as my body ached to touch the man who had captured me mind, body and soul.
Without a second thought, I crashed my lips to his, melting into the warm heat of his body as his hands encircled my waist, pulling me against him. I whimpered as his arms wrapped around me, encasing me in his scent and warm heat.
“I paper heart you,” he whispered against my mouth before plunging his tongue between my lips.
It had been just over seven weeks since he’d touched me, since I intimately felt the warmth of his bare skin against my own. The kiss quickly turned from sweet and loving to fast, hard and wanting. I wanted him to pull me onto his hips and carry me to the bed, but it was too soon for that. He was still recovering: we were still recovering.
I moaned into his mouth as my hands slid into his hair, gripping on for dear life as he devoured my mouth with his tongue. He hissed as I gripped hard, pulling him closer to my body.
“Shit, baby,” he groaned as he walked us towards our bed, our lips locked in a battle of losing restraint.
“Tate,” I moaned into his mouth.
Before I knew what had happened, I felt the hard surface of our bed against the back of my knees. I froze instantly. He wasn’t ready for this. He was still healing.
“Baby I—”
I was swiftly cut off as I felt my body falling against the soft mattress, gasping as Tate quickly pressed his solid body above mine.
“Don’t,” he growled as he flexed his hips against my jean-covered center. “Don’t stop this, baby. I haven’t touched you in so damn long.”
He flexed his hips once more and all rational thought went right out the window as I moaned his name.
“That’s it. Can you feel that, baby? Can you feel what you do to me every time I look at you?” he whispered, peppering kisses against the soft flesh of my neck. “My beauty beneath the chaos.”
“Oh god. Tate,” I groaned, the desperation thick in my voice.
“Let me make you feel. Let me make love to you,” he whispered.
Placing a soft and gentle kiss on my stomach, he smoothly glided his nose against the skin of my abdomen, moving his way up to the swell of my breasts, encased in their lace prison. My breasts were heaving with every breath. They were heaving so much I could barely stand it the minute his fingers glided beneath my bra and found the aching peaks beneath.
Tate’s fingers worked my nipples, which didn’t need much coaxing to respond, rolling them between his finger and thumb, spiking pleasure straight to my core. Within seconds, my tank top was quickly peeled away from my feverish skin, my bra along with it. I was bare from the waist up, matching him.
Sitting up on the bed, my hands moved to his sides. His scar stood out against his tanned and toned abdomen. Fear clinched my heart as I took in the injury I had caused, tears burning the back of my eyes.
Tate’s fingers grasped my chin, lifting my face to his eye line.
“I wear my scars just like you do, baby. With fucking pride,” he whispered.
I nodded, pushing back the tears before bravely leaning forward. His fingers left my face, but his eyes bore holes into me as I placed one soft kiss at the center of his scar: a silent apology, a silent plea of my love for him.
He hissed as I placed another kiss on the very edge of his scar. Gazing up through my lashes, I watched his reaction, trying to read him even with his eyes closed. I placed one last kiss on the opposite end of the scar, lingering as I swiped my tongue right down the middle of it.
“Shit,” he growled, his eyes flying open.
&nbs
p; The minute my tongue left his searing skin, I was right back where I started. On my back, beneath him. His hands went straight to my jeans, popping the button before pulling them roughly from my legs. There was a new intensity to his pace, as if he couldn’t get the barriers between us away quick enough. The panties I had in place under my jeans? Yeah, gone. Completely ripped apart by the animalistic Tate panting hard above me.
I was bare, and I quickly realized I wasn’t the only one. In his moment of fierce want, he stripped the rest of his clothes, leaving me with a perfect view of his delicious body. From head to toe, he was a picture of the perfect man. Dark hair: just long enough to pull on. Dark searing eyes that could have you feeling completely vulnerable. Shoulder muscles. Pec. Abs: a freaking sea of never ending abs. That deep set V that was every woman’s wet dream. The happy trail your eyes couldn’t help but follow right down to his hard length. But he wasn’t just hard.
My, god. He was painfully hard. Painfully beautiful.
“Tate,” I whispered, trying to pull him out of the trance-like state he had gotten himself into. He was just starting at me, drinking me in. “Tate,” I repeated.
That seemed to get his attention as I heard a deep growl leave his lips before he was back above me, his mouth crashing against mine. His tongue delved into the deep, dark depth of my mouth as his hand moved between us, his fingers brushing against my core, making me quiver with throbbing need.
“I’m going to make you feel, baby,” he groaned as he slipped a finger easily inside me.
I moaned out from the sudden invasion. The delirious high that flooded my mind took my breath away.
“I always feel with you, Tate,” I moaned as his finger moved at a leisurely pace inside of me.
“I can’t think straight when you moan like that, baby. I want you so bad, but I want to make love to you, not fuck you to oblivion. You deserve to be loved, every day.”
Finding Us Page 21
