“Alright, you ready for some good eating?” The waiter interrupted them then, bringing a big tray of food. It smelled delicious, but Shay's appetite was completely gone.
“That is a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you,” her father said as the waiter set a steaming plate of pot roast on the table in front of him.
“Actually, can I get this to go please?” she asked as the big bowl of chicken and dumplings was set on the table. The waiter blinked at her in surprise, then reached for the bowl again.
“Aw, come on, baby girl. Don't be like that.” Sam gestured for the kitchen. “Don't disrespect Bessie like that. Is old Bessie still back there in the kitchen?”
“Oh no, Bessie's retired. It's her daughters back there now, Sammy,” the waiter said, his smile returned. “She's got her feet propped up somewhere now, like she should.”
“Sounds good. Sounds real good,” Sam chuckled, like he didn't have a care in the world. “She doesn't need a box. We're going to eat all this delicious food right now.”
“You sure?” the waiter said, looking at Shay for confirmation. She nodded, reluctantly. Her father had gone out of his way to see her, for whatever reason. The least she could was have dinner with him and try to find out why. “Alrighty then. Bon appetit.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder and then left them alone. Shay picked up her spoon and dipped it in the thick sauce in her bowl, busying herself with her food. She lifted it to her lips and the taste instantly took her back to her childhood. The creamy, salty, savory dish made her moan in pleasure, despite the fact that she wasn't hungry at all a few seconds before. Her first thought was that she wished Tate was there, so that she could share it with him.
She wished Tate was there for so many reasons, but the stone cold truth was that he couldn't be there. He couldn't lay eyes on her father. He couldn't even know that Sam Spears was in town, or the state for that matter. He would have to report it. He would have to arrest him. The realization that she would have to lie to Tate killed her appetite in a heartbeat. She didn't know how she was going to do it. Lying to him was going to be hard as hell, if not impossible.
“It's just like I remember,” Sam was saying, smiling as he chewed. “You don't get good home cooking like this everywhere.”
“Yeah, I know,” she shot back, glaring up at him.
“I guess you would,” he said, swallowing and taking a sip of his water. Then he leaned in closer to her. “Look, Sugar, we've all had to make sacrifices. You, me, your mama, even Gina.”
“We've had to make sacrifices because of you,” she scoffed. “Do you even care?
“Of course I care. Why do you think I'm here?”
“I don't know, Daddy,” she said, swirling her spoon around a fat dumpling in her bowl. “Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?”
“You must be so mad at me,” he shook his head. “And I get it. I do. But it's all in the past now.”
“Is it?”
“That's a promise.” He took another bite of his pot roast. “Now let's just eat and talk about happy stuff. Let's celebrate.” He reached over and speared one of her pieces of okra with his fork. “How's Gina? She still like the, uh, ladies?”
“Yes, Daddy, she's still a lesbian,” she said, not able to resist a small laugh. The thought of Gina not being with girls was so foreign that she couldn't imagine it. “And she hates your guts.”
“Oh, she does not.” He waved her off. “She likes to act all big and bad, but deep down, she still loves her little brother.”
“Well why didn't you go to see her today at the salon, then? If you're so convinced that she'll welcome you with a big bear hug?” Shay rolled her eyes, taking a bite of okra. Then a few more bites.
“Eh, maybe tomorrow,” he said and then he laughed, throwing his head back. His big laugh filled up the little restaurant. Just like old times.
“Tomorrow, huh?” she said. “You're still going to be around tomorrow, then.”
“Yup. And the next day.”
“And then?”
“And then what?” He shrugged. “You know I can't hang around here too long.”
“Yeah, I know,” she murmured. She knew all too well. The sooner he left, the better it would be for all of them. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she could stop walking on eggshells. “Go see Gina tomorrow. I don't like keeping secrets from her.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. Then he patted his stomach and pushed away his nearly empty plate. “How about some peach cobbler? With whipped cream on top?”
“No, I'm full,” she said, shaking her head.
“You sure you're not still on a diet?”
“No, Daddy!” she exclaimed, well aware that she sounded just like a little kid again. “For your information, I've actually been baking a lot lately. Cakes and stuff.”
“Cakes?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” she nodded, debating if she wanted to tell him more or not. After a second of internal argument, she went against her better judgement and elaborated. “I actually think I want to be a baker or a pastry chef.”
“Really?”
“I'm thinking about going to culinary school,” she said.
“That's nice, baby.” He leaned forward and nabbed a bite of her chicken and dumplings.
“I'm going to use the... the package you left me. For school,” she said, watching his face for his reaction. She wanted so badly for him to be happy for her, to see how much she'd changed and how she was trying to be better. She wanted him to congratulate her and be excited. But, as always, she was disappointed. His froze, the good humor sliding from his face like he was taking off a mask. Then, like someone turned on a light switch, his easy going manner returned.
“Well, here's the thing, Sugar,” he said through the bite of dumpling. “That package. It's not really enough for school, right?”
“It'll make a big difference though,” she said, her voice shrinking along with her expectations.
“You could take loans out for school. I'm sure there's some kind of government program for that shit.” He slapped his pockets, absentmindedly looking for his cigarettes again. “The fact is, I'm in a bit a trouble.”
“Trouble?” she said, her heart sinking.
“Not anything serious,” he shrugged, tossing his pack of cigarettes on the table. “Damn, I need a smoke. You sure you don't want any peach cobbler?”
“I'm sure,” she replied, the cold starting to creep into her chest again.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “But I want you to know I'm really proud of you.” He slid his hand across the tablecloth and took her hand. “You've done so good for yourself. You look so beautiful. So grown up.” She bit her lip, staring down at his hand on hers. “I didn't want it to come to this. I never wanted to come back here and fuck things up for you.” He squeezed her hand, but she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. She had a feeling she wouldn't like what she would see there. “I just want you to be happy.”
“And?” she asked.
“And what, Sugar?”
“And what else do you want?” She sighed, trying to ease the tightness of her chest, but it didn't help. Deep down, she knew what he wanted, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“Well, like I said,” he replied, lowering his voice. “I'm in some trouble.”
“How much trouble?”
“Whatever you have left,” he said, and she could hear the desperation creeping into his voice, despite his attempts to hide it. “I need the money, baby girl. I need all of it.”
***
Tate could sense that something was wrong.
He'd have to be an idiot not to sense it. Ever since her birthday, Shay'd been acting odd. She wasn't texting him incessantly like she normally did. So far, it had been almost two days of virtual silence. He wasn't used to it. And he didn't like it. Not one bit.
The night of her birthday, she'd come over late and wrapped herself around him like she'd been waiting a
ll day to touch him. “I'll do whatever you want,” she'd said, her voice low and husky and sexy as hell. She'd turned him out with just five little words. Then she kissed and bit his neck and whispered in his ear and his walls had slowly come crumbling down because, when it came to her, he was weak. He'd whispered the words in her ear before he could stop himself, telling her exactly what he wanted. It had been her birthday, but it was like she'd dropped down from the heavens with a big fat red bow on, just for him. Shay Spears was too goddamn good to be true,
She'd lifted her silky shirt over her head, revealing a white cotton bra with little pink dots all over it and lacy straps. He dragged his eyes over all the smooth, brown skin she revealed as she dropped her shirt on the floor. Then she dropped her hands to the waistband of her jeans and unbuttoned them. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip as she slid her tight jeans down her round hips and her thick thighs. Christ, her body was perfect. When she stood in front of him in just her mismatched panties and bra, he ran his eyes up and down her, memorizing exactly what she looked like in that moment. There was something slightly wild and unhinged in her eyes and her breathing was jagged. The air had been charged with sex and something else, something less tangible. At that moment, he didn't give a shit about anything but her. She was everything, everything that mattered in the whole world. She was beautiful and she was young and, even though he didn't deserve her, she was all his.
Then she'd fucked his brains out. She'd done things to him that no one had ever done to him and he'd loved every second of it. He'd woken up sore and bruised and scratched up and he'd never felt more alive. But then the wall of silence had descended and he had no idea what he'd done wrong. He didn't really care, either. He just wanted to fix it.
His texts went unanswered or barely answered. A 'yes' or a 'no' here or there, one word answers, weren't good enough for him. He replayed the night over and over in his head, trying to think of when he had fucked up, but he couldn't think of anything. He knew he wasn't the most sensitive guy, but he wasn't a complete idiot when it came to Shay. He knew when he said something to piss her off because she would often immediately and loudly tell him just exactly what he'd done, which he appreciated. It was the silence he couldn't stand. The silence was worse than anger.
He missed her in all the ways a man could miss a woman, but he also was stubborn. Whatever he had with Shay was good. It was really good, and he wasn't too keen on letting it go. They hadn't defined it yet, but it was a relationship. There was no if, ands, or buts about it. She was the only woman he was fucking; she was the only woman he wanted to fuck. He'd given her his keys, after all. He didn't know how to make it clearer than that. But she seemed to have missed what he was trying to say with that gesture.
He was just going to have to make it unmistakeably obvious.
He stopped by House of Pain after work and beat the bag until he wore himself out and calmed himself down. With his history of celibacy and being able to go for long periods without intimacy, going without sex for two nights shouldn't have been that big of a deal. But somehow it was. He was antsy and distracted and easily irritable without her. The fact that he didn't know what was going on with her didn't help matters. In fact, it only made him more antsy and irritable.
“I haven't seen your girl around,” Austin said as he tossed his expensive leather duffel on the bench in the locker room. Tate ignored him as he pulled off his sweat-drenched T-shirt and grimaced as his muscles cried out in protest. “Obviously, when I try to help you out, it's a bust, but I'm not blind. If I had known your type, maybe I would have made a better choice.”
“I don't have a type,” Tate said, because that used to be true. However, as soon as Austin mentioned it, he was already imagining his ideal woman. Brown skin, bright eyes. Pointed chin and round cheeks and full lips. But she wasn't just an ideal. Luckily or unluckily, she was a flesh and blood woman who was already living and torturing him.
“But she is your girl?” Austin said, glancing over his shoulder at Tate and looking pleased with himself. Tate didn't respond, just dug around in his locker for a clean T-shirt. He didn't want to discuss Shay because he didn't know what to say. “I never would have seen you with someone like her. She seems too...”
“Seems too what?” Tate asked, a bit more gruffly than he intended.
“Well, she actually kind of reminds me of Gennifer,” Austin said with a laugh. “Tough and mean. Angry at the world.”
“Who are we talking about?” Tate said, in the mood to be as difficult as possible. “You just described every woman that walks in this place.”
“No,” Austin said, shaking his head, not letting Tate derail the conversation. “You know who I'm talking about. The black girl with the purple hair and the nails.” Austin plopped down on the bench beside his bag and leaned over to tie his shoes. Tate stared down at his friend, debating on how much he wanted to say. He hadn't told anybody about his and Shay's past. For all they knew, she was just some innocent, random person who'd walked in off the street for self-defense classes. But she wasn't. And she was in no way innocent. “I've seen the scratches on your back. Nails like that could do some damage.” Austin sat up and smiled a cheshire cat smile. “Two plus two equals four. I know numbers and those numbers add up.”
“Her name is Shay,” Tate said, giving in a bit. Austin raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“And?”
“And I gave her keys to my place,” Tate admitted, then immediately wished he hadn't by the look on Austin's face.
“What does that mean?” Austin asked, cocking his head to the side.
“It means what it means.” Tate took a swig of water from his bottle even though it was warm. His throat was suddenly so dry that it didn't even matter.
“How long have you been fucking her?”
“Long enough.”
“Christ,” Austin said. “Are you going to give me a straight answer or not?”
“No,” Tate said, tossing the bottle back in his locker and slamming the door shut.
“Because you know you're being an idiot.” Austin stood and rolled his shoulders, loosening up his muscles. “Only you would fuck a girl for a few weeks and then practically ask her to move in with you.” Tate stared at his friend, a mixture of annoyance and anger coming over him. He wanted to hear what else Austin was going to say, so he kept his mouth shut and waited. Austin didn't disappoint him. “How old is that girl? I bet she looks at you and sees all the things she can get out of you. I bet she saw your apartment and thinks you have money to blow on her.”
“Thanks to you, I do,” Tate said, matter-of-factly. His financial situation was not something he usually dwelled on, because he didn't have to. He lived simply, had a retirement through the city, and whatever he didn't spend on his apartment went to Austin to invest. He hadn't even thought about it in regards to Shay, because the thought was so far from the reality of the situation. Shay didn't give a shit about his money; she had her own money problems to worry about.
“You're moving too fast, Tate. And I can tell you this because I love you like a brother.” Austin worked his jaw, like he had so much more to say. “That's why I thought Leah would be good for you. She takes care of herself.”
“I don't want to talk about Leah,” Tate said, shaking his head. Leah had never meant anything to him. The possibility of her in no way measured up to the reality of Shay Spears. He suddenly couldn't think of himself with anyone but Shay, and maybe that should've scared him. If he was a man like Austin, maybe he would be. But he wasn't.
The only thing he was scared of was being without her.
“So how old is she?”
“Older than Tiny,” Tate shot back, wanting to see the look on Austin's face when he heard Tiny's name. He wasn't as naïve as his friend seemed to think. He knew Austin had an odd soft spot for Tiny, and Tate didn't like it one bit. Austin snorted out a surprised laugh and dropped his head, so he didn't have to look Tate in the eyes.
“What does Tiny have
to do with it?”
“Nothing,” Tate said with a shrug.
“Tell me something else about this girl,” Austin said, changing the subject so fast Tate's head almost spun.
“She's twenty-five. She likes to bake. She's a convicted felon,” Tate listed, figuring he might as well just get it out the way. Austin already thought Tate was being stupid when it came to Shay, so he figured he would really blow his mind.
“What?!” Austin practically shouted.
“She's twenty-five -” Tate began but Austin cut him off.
“Go back to that last part.”
“She's a felon. I helped put her away a few years back.”
“So she was guilty?”
“Partially,” Tate said, feeling his stomach clench. It still made him feel like shit whenever he thought about Shay's arrest. He often wondered if she'd really put all the bad things that had gone down behind her. She would never forget, but at least her anger had seemed to subside. He didn't know how she could when he couldn't. Knowing what he knew now, he would've done everything to stop her from going to prison. But hindsight was too little too late. He had faith in the law, but when it came to Shay, his loyalties were getting all twisted up.
“Tate...” Austin trailed off, shaking his head.
“I like her,” Tate said and realized it was the first time he'd said anything like that out loud. He hadn't talked about Shay to anyone he knew, other than Brandon. It was strange how he was keeping all the parts of his life separate, but it wasn't that new. It was a symptom of his fucked up childhood. If someone else wanted to talk, he would gladly listen, but he rarely afforded himself the same openness. But suddenly, none of that seemed to matter. Shay was too important. She was worth talking about. “She's good for me.”
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 26
