“Tate,” she said, her voice reverberating through her chest. “Let me do something,” she said, squeezing him tighter.
“You can't handle me cooking these eggs, can you?” he said, lightly. “I fed myself before you came around, you know.” He put his hand over hers on his stomach. He actually didn't mind being there like that with her, clinging to him like she needed him to keep standing.
“Idle hands are the devil's playthings,” she replied and he snorted out a laugh despite himself.
“You can slice up those green onions,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the bunch of green onions on the counter.
“Okay,” she nodded, loosening her arms. He didn't drop his hand though, and he held her in place for a few seconds. Then she pulled away and went to the counter. She dug underneath for a cutting board and went to work on the onions, slicing them thin just like how he wanted them. The rhythmic chopping, the hum of the microwave, and the low sizzling of the eggs in the pan made up for the silence between them. Tate took the pan off the burner when the eggs were done. “Is this good?” she asked, motioning to the pile of bright green onions on the wood cutting board. Then she cocked her head and stared at his chest. Then she dropped the knife with a clatter and stepped close to him.
“I hurt you,” she said.
“What?”
“I hurt you,” she repeated, placing her hand on his stomach. He glanced down at his chest and noticed there were several purplish bruises on his chest, along with faint smears of red lipstick. “I did that.” She traced one of the bruises with her fingertip. She furrowed her brow and glanced up at him.
“I don't mind,” he said and that was the truth. Every time she bit him or scratched his back he only got harder for her. He liked seeing her marks all over him after she was gone. He ran his thumb over the small bruise on his rib, remembering how it felt when she'd given it to him. He'd never had a better foreplay in his life. “It's good,” he said, reaching around her, he grabbed the cutting board and sprinkled the thin onions over the eggs. She pressed herself against him, her cheek to his shoulder, watching him add the finishing touches to the food.
“So you like it?” she asked, her fingers on his back. His skin felt sensitive under her touch, and he knew there were probably nail marks all up and down his back. He ran the spatula around the edge of the pan, wondering if he should tell her the truth. It only took him a second to decide.
“Yes,” he said, turning off the heat to the burner. “Anything you want to do to me, I'll like it.”
“Anything?” she asked, softly, like she was thinking about the all the possibilities contained in that statement.
“Anything,” he repeated. You can hurt me everyday, he wanted to say. Just don't leave me. He stopped himself from saying that though, because he didn't want to scare her. “Go sit. I'll make you a plate.” he said, opening the microwave and pulling out the bacon. She nodded and wandered around the island. She perched on a stool and he slid the plates across the countertop, the scraping sound of the ceramic against the granite bringing her back to life.
“It smells good,” she said, like she was surprised.
“Don't be shocked,” he said, handing her a fork and leaning on the counter, wanting to watch her eat a few bites at least. She stuck the tines of her fork in the yellow mass of eggs, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “I didn't starve before I had you to cook for me,” he said. “Just eat a little bit,” he prodded. She nodded and took a small bite, and then another. She smiled up at him, a little bit of life coming back to her eyes.
“It's good,” she said.
“No shit,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You should trust me.”
“I trust you,” she said, nibbling on a crispy slice of bacon. He clicked his tongue and went to work on his own plate. They ate quietly, but Tate didn't care that she wasn't talking. He just cared that she was eating. She finished her slice of bacon and made a small dent in her eggs.
“You like the green onion?” he asked, just to get her talking.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured. She set her fork down and stretched her arms over her head. He heard the bones crack in her back and she moaned like it felt good. Then she leaned forward, reaching out a hand towards him. He took it with his free hand, entwining his big fingers with her smaller ones.
“You're full?” he asked, nodding toward the food still on her plate. She nodded, working her bottom lip with her teeth.
“I'm so tired,” she said. “All I want to do is sleep.” She clenched her fingers around his. “Or bake a cake. Maybe I want to bake a cake.”
“I just used all the eggs,” he said.
“Oh.” Her face fell.
“I'll go out and get more,” he said quickly, immediately pissed at himself for speaking so quickly. “What kind of a cake do you want to make?”
“I don't know...” she trailed off, then glanced around like she was looking for something. “Where's my purse? I should call Gina.”
“On the couch,” he said. She nodded and stood, her eyes on the living room. He held her hand for a moment too long before letting her go. She headed for the couch without another look at him. He watched her as she plopped on the couch and dragged the heavy bag over to her. She rifled through until she found her phone and then she scrolled through the long list of messages and missed calls. Then she dialed a number and put the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” she said after a moment and stood, wandering back into the bedroom. “It's me.” He chewed another bite of eggs, slowly, although the food had lost all flavor. He kept his ears pricked, even though he knew he should give her privacy. It was an old detective habit, and besides, when it came to her, he was nosy as hell. He just wanted to make sure she was talking to someone, even if it wasn't him. “I'm doing okay,” she was saying, her voice muffled by the walls between them. She sniffled a bit as she paced past the open doorway, her head down and her eyes on the ground. “I'm in Washington Heights.” A brief pause. “Mm-hmm. He came and got me at the station.” She glanced up and he didn't bother dropping his eyes. He didn't care if she caught him staring and she did, stopping as she was framed in the doorway. “He's been taking care of me,” she said, the glance between them seeming to last forever.
Then she dropped her head and continued pacing, stepping out of his line of vision. “I know. I know...” she was saying, but then she dropped her voice and he couldn't make out any more words. He took another bite, her muffled voice like a soundtrack to him in the background, as much a part of the fabric of the room as the constant roar of the city beyond the walls. He finished up the eggs she left, then carried their empty plates to the sink. He turned on the faucet and rinsed them, wondering what she was planning on doing. She needed to go home at some point, he knew that. But he didn't want her to. It was selfish as hell, but it was what it was.
The fact was, she hadn't returned his words yet. She hadn't said she loved him back.
It hadn't mattered at the time, but all of a sudden it did. He had no right to demand an answer from her, not with all the other shit going on. Besides, he had a feeling he wasn't going to get an answer any time soon. In fact, she would probably head back to her aunt's in the morning. She had no reason to stay. A shiver, like a cold fingertip, ran down his spine. He didn't like thinking about his apartment being empty again. He didn't like thinking about her as being anywhere but in his bed at night. Every night.
He'd always been scared to let people get close to him. He'd always been afraid of losing and the pain of being without. But he was done walking away from people that he cared about because of the past. The past was over and done. He and Shay had both lost enough people. The future was all that mattered and the only future he saw was with her. He knew instinctually that it would be up to him to make it happen, and for once, he wasn't going to back down. He was going to be strong, because she deserved it.
They both did.
***
“Happy New Year,” Tate whispered c
lose to her ear. His husky, honeyed voice cut through her unconscious and she moaned in response. She felt the bed beside her dip with his weight and she involuntarily moved her body closer to him, despite being trapped under the blanket.
“Did I miss it?” she mumbled. She'd forgotten all about the holiday after her grueling phone call with her aunt. Gina was pretending to be better than she was, but she was with Thalia, at least. Shay knew she should've gone back to Harlem to be with her aunt, but the fact was that she didn't want to leave Tate. So she hadn't. And now it was officially the new year and she'd missed the ball dropping. She cracked open her eyes and more disappointment hit her when she realized that Tate was fully dressed in his typical uniform for work—black jeans, T-shirt, black hoodie.
“Yeah, baby, you slept right through it,” he said.
“What time is it?” she pushed herself to sitting and rubbed at her eyes.
“It's three,” he replied, squeezing her thigh through the thick blanket.
“And you have to go to work,” she said, not able to keep the disappointment from her voice. Of course. She should have known that real life would eventually intrude. Earth kept turning, no matter how much she wished it would stop. Reality was pushing into their little cocoon and she didn't like it. She wanted to stay in bed with him forever, her limbs tangled around his and his body keeping her warm. She frowned as a heavy feeling settled over her like a thick fog.
“I got called in,” he said with a light shrug.
“And you have to go,” she said, trying not to sound as depressed about it as she felt. When she thought about it, she figured New Year's Day was probably a busy day in his line of work.
“Double homicide,” he said matter-of-factly. He clicked his tongue, his fingers roaming down her leg. He didn't want to go, she could tell. He didn't want to leave her alone. But there was something else. Something was hanging in the air between them and she had a good idea as to what it was. In the past day and a half, he'd done more for her than most people had done for her their whole lives, Gina notwithstanding. He'd held her when she needed to be held, wiped her tears, and fucked her when she'd needed that particular distraction. He'd been quiet when she didn't want to talk and he'd talked when she couldn't stand the sound of silence. He'd cooked for her, for God's sake. He'd been wonderful and she didn't deserve him.
And he loved her.
His words still hung in the air between them as if he'd just said them. When he said he loved her and it had almost been too much, but it was exactly what she'd needed in that moment. If she was honest, maybe she'd needed it for a long time. But they hadn't talked about anything, really. They technically weren't even together, she supposed. They were broken up, although the fight seemed like it had happened a million years ago, in a completely different time. However, it was impossible to deny that Tate had become someone she didn't want to live without. All of the obstacles between them could go away, she knew. All it would take is for her to forgive him. Fucking him was easy, but moving on from her shitty past was an altogether different thing. Unfortunately, Tate couldn't do that for her. Only she could.
“German chocolate,” he said, breaking through her heavy thoughts.
“Hmm?” she murmured, furrowing her brow in confusion.
“I've never had German chocolate cake,” he said.
“Is that a request?” she asked, mulling the idea over in her head.
“Merely a suggestion,” he replied, raising his hand and cupping her left breast through her night shirt, which was actually one of his thermals. It smelled like him. He ran his thumb across the bud of her nipple through the fabric. “I don't want to go,” he said quietly.
“I'll be okay,” she said, leaning closer to him.
“Text me if you need anything,” he said.
“Can I text you dirty pictures?” she joked lightly.
“Yes,” he deadpanned and she smiled slightly, reaching out to play with the drawstring from the collar of his hoodie. “If you want to bake, I'll bring home whatever you need. Just text me,” he said, serious again.
“I will,” she said, leaning even closer, close enough to kiss him. She ran her nose along his jaw. He'd shaved in the shower and the mixture of the scent of his aftershave and his clean skin was sharp and fresh. He smelled so good she wanted to bite him, but she didn't.
“I'll be thinking about you,” he said. “All day.” She snorted out a laugh and rolled her eyes, pretending that his words hadn't caused her stomach to roll and her pussy to clench.
“What a line,” she scoffed, letting herself fall backwards onto the pillow. “I bet that works on all the girls.”
“I don't know. I've never tried it.” He cocked his head nonchalantly. “Did it work?”
“Yeah,” she said, after taking a second and pretending to think it over. “Yeah, it worked.”
“Good.” He dragged his eyes from her chest to her face, and then flashed her an almost shy smile. “Because I meant it.” She hissed in a breath and shook her head in awe as her stomach did another flip-flop. The man was so damn good, it was killing her.
“German chocolate it is.” she said and it was his turn to laugh then. Then he kissed her again, lowering himself on top of her, chest to chest. She dragged her hands up and down his back, just like he liked, and he kissed her lazily, like he didn't have anywhere to be, even though they both knew that was a lie. “Tate,” she whispered against his lips, loving the sound of his name on her lips.
“I can stay,” he responded and she sighed. She couldn't hide away in Tate's arms forever, she supposed, no matter how perfect that sounded.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll be okay.” He pulled back to look at her, and she put on her best 'I'm okay' face. She didn't know how convincing it was, but, after a moment's hesitation, he grunted and pushed himself off of her. She sat up and threw the blankets off of her legs. Immediately the cool air of the room hit her and she got goosebumps.
“What are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I'll walk you out,” she said. He shook his head, leaning forward to grab the edge of the blanket and toss it back over her legs.
“No. Go back to sleep, baby.” He squeezed her knee before turning and heading for the door.
“What time will you be home?” she asked, realizing how needy words sounded as they left her mouth. He froze in the bedroom doorway and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.
“A few hours probably,” he said, finally. “Go back to sleep. Rest.” She nodded, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She wanted to tell him to stay again, but she knew he couldn't. Besides, eventually, she would have to learn to deal with the sadness. Tate couldn't take that away, not fully. His presence lessened the pain, but it would always be with her. She had to learn to live with that. He tapped his fingers on the doorjamb, like he didn't know what to say but he didn't want to leave, and she didn't blame him. She'd made things awkward. But really, he didn't have to say anything. He'd said enough already.
She curled over on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, feigning sleep and giving him permission to leave. She could feel him lingering in the doorway, but after awhile he left. She opened her eyes and listened as his heavy boots thumped down the hallway toward the door. She heard him grab his keys and leather jacket. She heard him open the door and then close it firmly, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.
She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She let herself drift for awhile, good thoughts and memories mingling with bad ones. There were things she was putting off doing. There were so many things that had to happen, people that needed to be called. She had to go to the funeral home. She had to find a suit for her father to be cremated in. She had to buy a black dress. And black shoes. But before any of that, she had to go down to the coroner and identify the body. Even though the thought of it was horrifying, she didn't tell Tate because he wo
uld have insisted on going with her. She had a feeling it was something she should do without him. She needed a chance to say goodbye, a true goodbye. Sam Spears was dead and a part of her life had died with him.
If she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't just mourning her father. She was mourning all the years she'd spent waiting for him, the years she'd spent trying to get his approval, and the years she'd wasted in jail for him. So many years that she couldn't get back. Now that he was gone, there was no making up for it either. He was gone and it was done. Before she knew it, she was crying, her hot tears rolling down into her hair. She threw her hands over her face and sobbed at the unfairness of life. It was stupid and she was mad at herself for crying, because it was so useless, but she couldn't stop.
The jingling of bell on the cat's collar broke through Shay's thoughts and she sat up in time to see Char slink into the bedroom, her orange face as cool and collected as ever. She swiped at her cheeks as the cat sat in the rectangle of sunlight on the floor like she didn't have a care in the world. The cat blinked in the bright light, flicking her tongue out lazily. Shay hung her hand over the side of the bed and clicked her tongue, calling the cat to her. Eventually, Char wandered over at her own pace and brushed her soft furry cheek against Shay's hand.
“Little princess,” Shay murmured, her throat thick with tears. “You think you run things around here, don't you?” Leaning over the side, she picked up the cat and lifted her onto the bed. She scratched the cat's ears and Char threw back her head, forcing Shay to pet her under her chin as well. In response, Char purred and rolled over, pressing her little body into Shay's. Laughing softly in spite of herself, Shay ran her fingers through the cat's soft fur, doing exactly what the cat wanted. Char was a little diva, but she was cute, even Shay had to admit. Her mind began to drift again as she continued stroking the cat, the rhythm lulling her back into her thoughts. She didn't know if she would ever get over the fact that she was an orphan. For the rest of her life, she would be parentless.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 37