Finding Us

by S. K. Hartley

  She didn’t cry, she didn’t wince. No.

  She smiled. Smiled knowing no one could ever hurt her again.

  The scream from my throat kept on coming as I was dragged backwards from the room by a stranger’s hands. My eyes stayed trained on her as I was pulled from the room, watching as she slumped against the floor, bleeding out right in front of my eyes.

  My body jerked me awake. I opened my eyes, staring around the room, trying to get my bearings. I was safe. Well, to a point. But I was safe and alone. How I liked it. I wiped at my sweat-lined brow as I inhaled a large gulp of air, letting it swell within my lungs before releasing it. Sitting up, I reached for my cell. I had a couple of missed calls from Tate. Sliding my finger across the screen of my phone, I noticed a couple of text messages from Tate.

  Tate: Meet me? X

  Tate: Where are you? X

  Tate: You’re worrying me. Where are you?

  Tate: Answer your damn phone, Low!

  Tate: I’m coming to find you.

  The minute I read the last text message, a loud banging started on my door. I rolled my eyes: if he knew who I was he wouldn’t need to worry so much.

  “I’m coming!” I said, standing and walking to the door.

  I opened the door, smiling as I saw a very unhappy Tate on the other side. He was panting as if he’d been running again, but I knew it was too late in the day for one of his runs.

  “You okay?” I asked, chuckling slightly as his eyebrows pinched together.

  “Am I okay? Low, you haven’t answered a single one of my calls for the last six hours. So, no. No, I’m not fucking okay.”

  Six hours? Shit, had I been out that long? I watched him as concern gripped at his features, his eyebrows pinching further together as his gaze drifted from my eyes and landed on my lip.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Within an instant, Tate had me wrapped in his arms, his face diving into my neck.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist.

  He pulled back, looking at me like I had lost my god damn mind.

  “I hate not knowing where you are. Answer your damn phone.”

  Okaaaay. This was a new side of Tate I hadn’t seen, he was almost… desperate.

  “Okay. I’ll answer my phone, I’m sorry.”

  “Good,” he muttered, turning and shutting the door behind him.

  Grabbing my hand, he led me to the bed, pushing me back so I was sitting on the edge.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he knelt down in front of me.

  Taking my right foot in his hands, he slid off one shoe then went to work on the other. It was slow and meticulous as he came to my bare feet. His large, warm hands cupped my right foot and slowly started rubbing it down.

  “Wow.” I groaned, falling back on the bed.

  If he wasn’t careful, I would fall right back to sleep with the slow way he was working the soles of my feet. I had no idea what had gotten into him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to stop him. If this is what he needed, for whatever reason, who was I to deny him.

  He worked my right foot for twenty minutes, moving onto my left foot, giving it the same care and attention he had with the other.

  “Tate, what’s going on?” I asked the minute he dropped my foot and stood.

  “Just let me do this, okay?” he said, turning and walking into my bathroom.

  I sat utterly bewildered, my head snapping towards the bathroom door as the sound of running water caught my attention. Was he… was he running me a bath?

  Standing from the bed, I walked into the bathroom, only to stop at the door frozen to the spot. Tate’s shirt was discarded on the floor as he crouched beside the bath, his arms in the water as he swirled it around with his hands.

  I was transfixed on the way his back muscles contracted with every movement he made. If he moved his arm to the right, the left side of his back muscles strained against the movement. My mouth watered uncontrollably. Dammit.

  “Strip, Low,” Tate growled from his spot, never turning around to face me.

  He wanted me to strip? Right here? In front of him? Fear quickly gripped every fiber of my body at the thought of him seeing the ugly beneath. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready.

  “I… I,” I stuttered. Jesus, get a grip woman. “I can’t.”

  Tate’s head whipped around, staring at me long and hard until he stood, stalking his way towards me with a new intensity in his eyes. An intensity I hadn’t seen before.

  “Need a hand?” he asked, slowly sidestepping around me until he stopped at my back, resting his head on my shoulder.

  I gulped. Hard.

  “I’m not going to touch you, Low. I’m not going to give in to the raging hard on in my damn pants. I’m just going to wash you. Okay?” he whispered against my neck, pressing a soft kiss right on the spot that pretty much ignited my panties.

  My hands shook as he slowly removed the left strap of my dress, letting it fall from my shoulder. I almost convulsed on the spot the second his lips came to the spot where my strap was previously sitting. Jesus.

  I closed my eyes. I was breaking my rules. I shouldn’t be doing this. But, right then, I was too far gone to try and stop it. This was what I was afraid of, falling in too deep. My god, was I in deep. I was in so fucking deep I could no longer see the damn sunlight anymore. I was in complete darkness, not knowing which way was up or down, not knowing if I was walking or floating. I suppose that’s what love is. Love. Fuck.

  Seconds rolled by as I tried to get my nerves controlled, all while Tate was slipping the second strap off my shoulder, placing another soft kiss there. I let out an involuntary moan. My head said “Run” but my body and heart said “If you move, we’ll cut you.”

  “Jesus, you smell so good.” Tate groaned from behind me as he inhaled against my neck.

  I felt his hands wandering, coming down to my breasts as he pushed the material down my body. My dress pooled at my feet and I was suddenly bare, only wearing a black lace bra with matching panties.

  I gulped.

  I gulped again.

  It was as if I couldn’t swallow, my tongue thick in my mouth. I closed my eyes tight. The minute he walked around my body he would see it, he would see why sex was just not on the cards for us, that it would be dangerous if we tried.

  His hands moved down to my waist, skating down from the top of my rib cage until they came to a complete stop.

  Fuck.

  He had found it.

  His finger traced the deep jagged scar that sat just below my last rib, his breaths coming in hard pants against the skin of my shoulder. He lingered and I gasped. He didn’t deviate from the scar and it had my hands shaking far worse than they had in a long time.

  My eyes suddenly flashed open as I felt Tate’s tongue against the sweat-lined skin of my shoulder, and that’s when I saw them. My eyes locked on the mirror in front of me, taking in everything that was happening.

  I almost cried out in agony as I realized what was exposed. Me. I was fucking exposed. Staring me right in the face were the scars I had been covering for years. The fragmented scars that sat just below my lips were out in full force for all to see. What the fuck? Then it clicked: my little flashback, my nightmare. I had been sweating, my makeup able to run freely from my face.

  I wilted, my body almost buckling beneath my weight. Tate’s arms quickly caught me, holding on to me as he placed a soft kiss just below my ear.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, his words telling me he had seen them, that this was the reason for the shift in him.

  I whimpered. He’d seen my scars.

  With quick movements, he stripped my bra from my body, my panties following swiftly behind. He lifted me into his arms, cradling me like a small child as he sat me down on the edge of the bathtub. He reached over, turning off the water before stripping off his own jeans and boxers.

  The mood had shifted. No longer was I feeling an animali
stic need to be close to him, to want him to take me. Now I was vulnerable, and something told me Tate knew it.

  He lifted me from the edge, carrying me as he climbed us into the heat of the water. He opened his legs, placing me between them as he leaned us back into the soothing heat. We sat in silence for what felt like forever, my eyes completely closed as I leaned against the hard ridges of Tate’s abdomen. Then, suddenly, the silence was broken.

  “You don’t have to tell me, baby,” he whispered. “Only what you want me to know. If anything.”

  I responded to him with silence. I didn’t want to tell him, I couldn’t tell him. How could you tell the man you were falling for that knowing about those scars, about the ugly side of me, could potentially kill him?

  “I can’t, Tate. Not yet,” I whispered after a beat.

  “Then let me bathe you,” he said into my ear, a shiver rolling through me.

  I gasped as I felt the soft sponge against my skin. It only occurred to me right then that no one had done this for me, ever. I was built to be self-sufficient, built to be strong and unemotional. Having someone bathe me wasn’t just intimate: it was loving. He was loving. I was loving.

  With gentle caresses, Tate washed my body from head to toe. I noticed his breath catch as he washed the valley between my breasts, the evidence of what it was doing to him pressed against the curve of my back. He never acted on it: not once did he move up the pace, not once did he move to a place where I wouldn’t take him.

  His hands moved to my shoulders, drifting to my armpits.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Turn around and face me, baby.”

  With a gentle lift, I was positioned back into the heat of the water, facing Tate.

  His eyes roamed, taking me in as he held the sponge in his hand, suspended in the air.

  “Breathe, Tate.”

  “Right, yeah. Breathing,” he said, sucking in a hard breath and closing his eyes as if in pain.

  When he opened his eyes, his attention went back to the sponge, dropping it into the water. Pulling it out from the warmth he rung it out before moving to my face. I stopped breathing. He started wiping my cheeks, then my eyes, finishing at my lips. He was wiping away my makeup. He was removing my mask.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  Nowhere to run.

  Exposed didn’t even cover what I was feeling in that moment. I closed my eyes as I felt his boring into my skin, seeking out every little scar that lay upon my face: fragmented ones below my lip, the one that stood out against my eyebrow.

  Scars from lessons.

  Scars from rules broken.

  Scars from the way of life.

  “Come here,” he whispered, holding out his right hand.

  Without hesitation, I dropped my hand within his. He pulled me towards him, my cheek resting against the smooth skin of his chest. I sighed deep, holding on as he cupped the water and let it trickle down my back. He washed my hair using my apple-scented shampoo, running his fingers through my wet locks before rinsing and moving on to the apple conditioner. He didn’t miss a beat: between bathing me, he… loved me. Was this love? Was holding onto the man who had seen you for your scars and lovingly cleansed them with soap love? If it was then I had fallen, head first, with no chance of coming back up for air.

  The water started to turn cold and I shivered as it sat against my skin.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s get you out.” He placed a soft kiss against my wet hair before standing with me in his arms.

  He grabbed two towels from the cabinet beside the sink, wrapping one around my shoulders then wrapping the other around his. Walking us into my dorm room, he bundled me up on to the bed with him. Pulling back the covers, he lay me down beside him, the silence of the room our only witness.

  “Sleep,” he whispered, slowly drying my hair with the towel.

  He worked the towel into my hair, drying every strand. Within minutes, my eyes were fluttering closed, darkness surrounding me as Tate lulled me into a deep sleep. Thoughts, memories and flashbacks filtered through my mind, trying to make me remember, to let Willow out of her cage. But something suppressed them, something pushed them back.

  “I love you,” Tate whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  “Mornin’, beautiful,” Tate’s gravelly morning voice rang in my ears.

  I opened my eyes, blinking back the sleepy glaze. Where the hell was I? Then it clicked, it all fell into place, pretty much like throwing an ice bucket over my body. I was in my bed, but I wasn’t alone. Then I felt it. Tate’s body wrapped around my own. His very warm, very naked body. I wiggled slightly, gasping as I realized he wasn’t the only one who was naked. He groaned out as I registered the hardness of his morning erection sitting thick and heavy against my hip bone.

  “Er. Mornin’.”

  I cast my gaze around the room, eyeing two white towels on the floor. Oh, Jesus. Everything came back to me like a freight train derailing in front of me. The nightmare. Tate turning up at my door. The makeup that had left my face. The bath. Tate holding me while he wiped away the remnants of my mask. The whisper as I fell asleep.

  And out of all that, the only thing I could think of was…

  He had seen me without my mask. He had seen my scars.

  I groaned out, rolling over onto my other side, away from Tate’s sleepy eyes.

  I pushed my face deeper into the softness of my pillow, as if it would help hide my true self. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

  “Baby?”

  I could feel the fresh morning breeze as I realized the sheet had fallen away from my body, resting on my waist and exposing my chest. Exposed and fucking vulnerable, not something that was in my mind’s capacity. I needed to get out of here.

  “Hmm,” I said into my pillow.

  I quickly understood my mistake when I felt Tate’s hardness against my ass, resting there like it was made to. No. I couldn’t do this. I needed to get out.

  “You okay?” he asked, placing a small kiss on my shoulder.

  I trembled from the contact. I wanted his touch, I wanted it more than anything, but I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t let him go there. I wasn’t made to be loved, to be touched, to be held. I was made to… well, I didn’t know what I was made to do, but it certainly wasn’t what Tate clearly wanted. Me. All of me, in every way possible.

  “Yeah.” I yawned, trying to mask the lie. “What time is it?”

  The bed dipped, indicating Tate had rolled over. His morning erection moved from my skin and I breathed a sigh of relief; the longer it was there the more likely it was I would throw myself at him, not thinking about what the consequences would be.

  “Nine-thirty,” he said after a beat.

  “Crap,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, moving back into a spooning position, his leg draping over mine, locking me in.

  “I said I would meet your sister for coffee. She wanted to do the girl thing today,” I lied. My god, I completely lied. Even worse I lied about the one person who was pretty much Tate’s everything.

  “I’ve got to go for a run anyway,” he said, his arm snaking around my bare chest. “Although, this seems more enticing.”

  I gulped. The feeling of utter bliss overcame me and I wanted so desperately to bask in the silky smooth feeling of Tate’s body. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t cleaver and I had no doubt that it would ruin us both in the end.

  “Tate.” I groaned, pushing my ass against him.

  Okay. That wasn’t smart. Jesus. I was trying to push him away, trying to distance myself from him so I could get the hell out of there. The only thing it did was send a shockwave of lust right down to my core. Fuck.

  “Be careful, Low,” he growled, pushing against the crook of my ass. The temptation to stay put was so freaking strong, the moan that quickly escaped my lips evidence of it.

  Okay, time to get the hell up!

  I literally jumped up from the bed, lea
ving behind a very relaxed looking Tate, wearing one hell of a smirk on his lips. Ugh. The sheet was pooled at his waist, tented and standing proud. Holy hot Jesus. He was like a work of art, a sculpted piece of utter perfection. I averted my eyes, no need to ogle the poor guy.

  “I’m grabbing a shower then I’m going to head out and meet your sister,” I said, opening my closet and throwing myself inside it. If I didn’t look at him it would be easier, right?

  “’Kay, I’ll call Logan, see if he’s got his whiney ass up and ready for a run,” he grunted.

  I grabbed a tank top and some jeans. Turning, I closed the closet door, nearly dropping my clothes in the process. Tate was no longer lying in my bed; he was standing. Naked. Deliciously naked.

  My eyes instantly located that sexy V, my tongue itching to explore it. Dammit.

  “My eyes are up here, baby.” He smirked, grabbing at his jeans and roughly pulling them on. No boxers. Oh dear lord.

  My head snapped up, locking with those green eyes of his that did amazing things to my panties. I coughed, trying to hide my embarrassment. Sucking in a lung full of air, I stepped towards him, placing a short but chaste kiss on his lips.

  He groaned. I immediately pulled back, biting my lip.

  “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” he asked after a moment.

  Hell no. He already knew too much. I need to keep him safe.

  I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the floor between us.

  “Soon, Low. Soon,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my hair before throwing on a shirt and leaving the room.

  I exhaled. I hadn’t even noticed the lack of oxygen to my brain until I felt dizzy.

  “What are you doing?” I grumbled out loud to myself. “You know the rules. Stop thinking with your vagina.”

  With that, I threw a text to Neva before leaping into the shower, trying my hardest not to think back to how much I wanted Tate.

  Me: Coffee and the girl thing in an hour?