That random Thursday night, it was beautiful, like a fantasyland. She looked up at the sky, at the milky clouds above and the light snowflakes drifting down. She felt almost like they were all alone in the world together, and it was a nice feeling. She trusted him, she realized. She trusted him absolutely. She'd follow him wherever he wanted to go. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.
“We're almost there,” he said, his voice muffled by the trees and rapidly accumulating snow around them. “Watch the steps.” He shone his flashlight on the wood steps in front of them, and she followed him up them.
“Where are we going?” she asked, walking gingerly across the uneven stone path.
“You'll see,” he replied. “More steps.” She narrowed her eyes at his back, but she continued with him up even more stairs. Around them, the trees got bigger, taller. She glanced up at the dark branches that stretched far above their heads, making jagged black patterns against the milky sky. The trees cleared and suddenly they were on the edge of a precipice, staring out at the George Washington Bridge across the way. The Hudson river was inky black in front of them, and lights dotted the steep cliffs of New Jersey on the other side of the river, the houses looking like fireflies in the darkness. Tate shown his flashlight downward, revealing a stonewall that ran the length of the cliff, protecting them from the steep fall. “We're here,” he said.
“Are you kidding me?” she said, letting his hand go and leaning her weight on the wall to gawk at the scenery.
“You'd rather I took you someplace fancy?” he said, his deep voice close to her ear. She shook her head, even though she knew he probably couldn't see her.
“No,” she whispered. “This is crazy.”
“Crazy?”
“I've lived in the city my whole life and I've never seen this.” She ran her eyes down the coast, taking in the dark ridges of the cliffs all along the river. “It's beautiful.” He let out a small breath behind her, but it didn't escape her attention. She wondered if he thought she wouldn't be impressed. She wondered what kind of woman he thought she was, if he thought she wouldn't appreciate what he was showing her. She furrowed her brow, a flare of annoyance going through her at the thought. But then his arms slid around her waist and he pulled her back against his chest and any bad feelings dissipated just as soon as they'd welled up.
“When I was a kid, I used to come up here for fresh air. When I wanted to be alone,” he said softly. She dropped her head back against his chest, enjoying how strong his arms felt, wrapped around her.
“We used to go to Central Park or Morningside. But I never wanted to be alone. I always had a million friends around,” Shay said. “I guess that's what happens when you're an only child.”
“When I was a beat cop in Harlem. I used to see you out on the corners with all the other kids,” he said.
“You remember that?” she asked, surprised. She remembered seeing him around, too. After he let her go on the shoplifting charge, every so often she would see him driving by or on the street. But she would always duck her head or go the other direction when she saw him, out of habit. She was used to not trusting cops, even one that had gone out of his way to help her out.
“Of course,” he said.
“Because of who I was?” She turned her head toward him.
“That was part of it,” he said bluntly, not that she'd expected him to beat around the bush.
“I was just a kid,” she said, shoving on his arms and trying to pull away from him. He didn't let her, though. He held tight.
“But it wasn't just your name. That's not the only reason I remembered you,” he said, smoothly changing the subject away from her father even as she silently mulled over what he'd revealed. He pressed his chin to her hair.
“What else was memorable?” she asked, not able to resist being distracted from her thoughts. He was silent for awhile and she wondered if he was going to answer her question.
“Nights in Red Satin,” he said, surprising her. She couldn't help it—she laughed. “And those big-ass earrings you always wore,” he said.
“I still wear big-ass earrings,” she said, a smile spreading across her lips.
“I know. I like them.”
“I guess I'll keep wearing them then.”
“Good.” He squeezed her again and she closed her eyes for a moment, wanting to bask in the way his words made her feel. How was it that he could make her so damn giddy? One minute she could be pissed about something and the next he would have her smiling and getting heated like she was a teenager all over again. “There's something about you, Shay,” he said. “A light, or something. I don't know how to describe it.” He sighed deep. “I'm glad the light didn't go out. After everything.” She stared out at the bridge in the distance as the snow swirled around them and she felt a twinge in her eye, like she was about to start crying. That just wouldn't do. Tate Grayson was not going to make her cry, no matter how beautiful his words were or how beautiful the date he'd planned for her was. She blinked her eyes until the twinge went away but the weird pain in her chest didn't.
Her life had taken a strange turn and was getting more and more complicated by the day.
She'd just turned twenty-five, her father was back to fuck with her life, and she had a sneaking suspicion she was very close to falling in love.
***
He regretted the words the minute they came out of his mouth. It was the truth – there was a light around Shay. When she was around, she warmed him up and made him happy. It wasn't just her beautiful face and her perfect body. No, it was more than that. It was her smile, her laugh, her eyes. With her, it was everything. But he shouldn't have brought up the past again, it was a mistake. Tate felt the change come over her. She went quiet and then she squirmed a bit in his arms and then she cleared her throat and reached around for her purse.
“What kind of wine is this?” she asked, extracting the bottle out of her purse. The paper bag rustled loudly, which disrupted the odd mood that had settled over them.
“The kind you like,” he said, taking the bottle out of her hands. He pulled out his keys and went to work opening the bottle with the corkscrew on his keychain. She watched him silently and he could feel her nervous energy. He held out the bottle for her and she tipped her head back and took a drink.
“Mmm, it's dry,” she murmured. “Not too sweet. Have some,” she said, licking her lips and offering him the bottle.
“You know, I never used to drink wine until you came around,” he said taking the bottle.
“I'm a bad influence,” she said as he tilted his head back and took a drink and she took a seat on the stone wall, after brushing a section free of snow. “But you know, you could've brought a Colt .45 in that bag and I would've been fine with that,” she deadpanned.
“My kind of woman,” he said, not joking in the least. They took turns drinking in silence for awhile as they stared at the bridge. The snow picked up, more flakes falling faster and faster. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, closing his big hands around her smaller ones.
“We can go back to the car whenever you want,” he said, thinking to himself that he shouldn't have brought her there. It was snowing and ball-numbingly cold, for fuck's sake, but it was also still and quiet. It was his most favorite spot in the whole city after all, winter weather or not. Showing it to her only made it more special to him. After talking to Austin in the gym, he'd acted rashly, without thinking. The thought of losing her had forced him into action. Even if he did a stupid thing by bringing her to the park in the cold night, it was better than doing nothing at all.
“When you were a kid and you came up here, did you used to bring girls with you?” she asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“I don't believe you,” she answered. “This is the kind of place people come to fool around.”
“I didn't,” he said. “I came here to think. To get away from the noise.”
“I bet
you had to beat the girls off with a stick,” she said, moving away from him slightly as she set the wine bottle down on the stone wall in front of them. He pulled her back in tight when she was done, wanting to keep her warm. And he just really wanted to touch her.
“Nah,” he replied.“I didn't start to box until I the summer after my sophomore year. Before then I was just invisible. Hector and Donny were the ones that got the girls,” he said. “I was just the tall one that didn't talk much.”
“Who's Donny?”
“A shithead,” Tate said, his voice sharpening slightly. “We don't talk anymore.”
“Because of a girl?” she guessed.
“Yeah,” he said, the old memories floating to the surface and pissing him off. Donny'd had his comeuppance twice over, but it still made Tate furious to think of what he did to Gennifer. “He fucked with my sister, so we fucked him up.”
“Oh,” she said lightly.
“I only ever came here by myself,” he said, staring down past her at the inky black Hudson River. He could see chunks of white ice on the surface.
“So this is your special place,” she said, turning her face toward his. He cocked his head to look at her. The bright lights of the bridge cast an faint orange glow all around them and he could barely make out her features in the lowlight.
“I always wanted to bring a girl here, though,” he admitted lightly, because it was hard to say it out loud. He'd been lonely. His whole life, he'd been lonely. Even surrounded by family, he'd been alone. Mostly, it had been his choice. But in the past few days, he'd learned that if he had that choice to make now, he wouldn't choose to be alone, that was for damn sure. Life was better when you had someone waiting at home for you, when you had someone to laugh with and share your day with. He'd learned that because of Shay, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. “You're cold,” he said, when she shivered against him. She let out a slow breath, like she wanted to say something, but then she squeezed his arm. “Let's go.”
She nodded and he dropped his arms from around her. She grabbed his hand and he lead her out of the park, careful to walk slow through the accumulating snow. The white blanket on the ground made it easier to find their way out and he didn't bother with the flashlight. She took a few more sips of the wine and then tossed the bottle in the garbage at the entrance of the park while he unlocked the car and turned on the engine. Then she slid into the passenger's seat and slammed the door behind her, rubbing her hands together in front of the heat pouring out of the dashboard vent.
“Is this a city car?” she asked, randomly. “It looks like the boring kind of car that cops always drive.” He looked around at the clean but plain black interior and shrugged. She was right, he supposed. The car was nondescript and had a decent engine. That was all that really mattered. “What kind of car would you have if you could choose?” she said, not waiting for him to answer. He stared at her, trying to figure out what she was trying to get at. He honestly didn't care what kind of car he drove around in. As long as it got him from point A to point B, he had no preference.
“This one's fine,” he said with a shrug.
“Just wondering,” she said, sitting back in her seat. He shifted into drive and pulled carefully out of the cul de sac, the fresh snow crunching under his tires. He drove slowly, taking his time, partially because of the slippery road and partially because he didn't want to get her home any sooner than he had to. “So you don't have a dream car? Like, if Steve McQueen's Mustang from Bullitt was suddenly available and you could have it, would you want it?”
“Would you?” he asked, slowing to a stop at a red light. “Because if you wanted it, I would get it for you.”
“No,” she murmured, playing with her seatbelt. “I wouldn't want a Mustang.”
“Come home with me,” he said, as they neared the street he would turn down to head toward his apartment. “I'll drive you to work in the morning.”
“I told Gina I would be home tonight,” she said, dropping her head back against the headrest. He sighed, wondering what was going on in her mind. He'd asked her point blank if there was someone else and she'd said no. She'd seemed sincere. He wanted to believe her. He'd never been the jealous type before and he'd never been possessive over a woman. But the thought of Shay wanting someone else other than him did something strange to him. The thought of Shay letting someone else touch her, or fuck her... his brain short-circuited before he could even imagine it. But she didn't seem to want him anymore, that was for sure.
“What did I do?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “Tell me what I did and I'll fix it.” She didn't answer him right away and he gripped the steering wheel, waiting for her response. When none came, he glanced over at her and found her fast asleep. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. She looked so peaceful that he didn't bother waking her. He knew she was probably dead tired, so he let it go. Driving silently through the snowy streets, he did exactly what she wanted.
He took her home.
***
It was hard to pretend.
It was hard to go about her day and pretend that a bomb wasn't about to explode in her lap. Gina had no idea what was about to go down and it was killing Shay to not warn her. But she had promised Sam she wouldn't tell. And, quite honestly, she wasn't sure that Gina would even agree to meet him. She didn't know why she had, especially since she hadn't gotten any damn answers for her trouble.
Pressing her palm against her forehead, she squinted her eyes closed, feeling a headache coming on. The most sleep she'd gotten in three days was in the front seat of Tate's car. When he'd driven her home from the park, the car had been so warm and the seat had been so comfortable that she'd gotten drowsy almost the minute she sat down. It felt good to be beside him as he drove, too, strangely. It felt safe because she trusted him. Then before she'd known what was happening, she was waking up beside him outside of Gina's apartment building. The car was idling and she was so comfortable she didn't want to move. His hand was on her thigh and she opened her eyes and he was looking at her and for a second she thought she was in his apartment and in his bed.
That's where she wished she was, anyway. She missed him. Even though he was sitting right next to her and touching her, she missed him. She missed his big bed and his big kitchen and his big dick. She missed it all. Being around him again just reminded her of all the things she was missing. She missed the feeling that things were actually getting better instead of worse. As it was, her feelings and her loyalties were all fucked up. And, as usual, her father was to blame.
As 6:00 p.m. rolled around, the stylists started to drift out the door and a heavy feeling of dread settled in Shay's stomach. She knew it was almost time, but she wasn't ready for it. Her aunt was pissed at her father for so many reasons and they were valid. Shay had her own valid reasons to be pissed as well. But the fact of the matter was that Sam had come back. He was family and family stood together. That was what she'd always been taught. Her grandmother, when she'd been alive, had been adamant that the Spears family stick together. Sam had been the one to break that bond, not her and not Gina. And yet, somehow it was up to her to try and repair it.
“Baby, wake up,” Tate'd said, his big hand warm on her thigh. She moaned and leaned toward him, not wanting to wake up.
“I'm so tired,” she'd mumbled, closing her eyes again. She'd felt his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, running a trail down to her neck.
“You want me to carry you upstairs?” he'd asked. “Because I will.”
“Of course you would,” she'd whispered, smiling in spite of herself. “Tate?”
“What, baby?”
“Thank you,” she'd said. “For taking me out. I had a good time.” He traced her jaw with his fingertips and she leaned into him.
“But it didn't change anything,” he'd said and she'd opened her eyes just as he leaned in and kissed her lightly. She felt herself melt as he sucked on her lower lip. She'd suddenly felt so weak. If he'd asked
, she would've gone home with him and said screw everything else. She would've buried herself in his bed and not come out for days. She would have done anything for him in that moment. But it didn't last. “What's going on?” he'd asked, his warm, wine-sweetened breath against her lips. “Is there something you want to tell me?” And just like that, reality had come crashing back in and she'd pulled away from his kiss.
“No,” she'd lied.
He hadn't believed her, she was sure of it. But he'd walked her to the door and kissed her goodbye like he did. She felt terrible for lying to him but it was a necessary evil. She had no intentions of lying to him forever; she was going to wait for her father to leave and give him a decent enough head start. Then she would tell Tate. Unfortunately, that meant she had to come up with something that would keep him from figuring it out. He was too damn smart and too damn observant, though. If she could just get through the holidays, she would be okay.
At least that's what she told herself.
“Are you going to head out?” Gina asked, surprising Shay out of her thoughts. Shay turned to look at her aunt, who was standing in the doorway of the office. Shay couldn't help but glance past her into the office, at the the corner of the desk that was visible. “I can close up,” Gina offered, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Shay said, tearing her eyes away from the desk and shoving the memories of what had happened on it to the back of her mind.
“About that cop?” Gina asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No,” Shay shook her head, wishing it were as simple as that. Gina knew about Tate now, so at least that was one last secret she had to worry about. Soon enough, she would know about the biggest one.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 28
