Where we left off, p.13
Where We Left Off, page 13
“I wanted to tell you,” he says, and my veins instantly tighten with nerves. What the hell do you want to tell me, Tate? “Your mom is going away this next week, but she doesn’t know about it because it’s a Christmas gift from my dad. They’re going to stay at a cabin at Pine Hills. I didn’t know if he would have told you yet but I wanted to let you know because…”
He trails off and I feel the shift as he rubs at his neck or his shoulders with his right hand. It drops back so that it’s next to my waist again and my stomach flutters at the proximity.
“It means that you’ll have the house to yourself,” he finishes.
This time when I slosh the water out of the sink it’s not deliberate. It makes a huge wet patch on the front of my school trousers, causing me to jump backwards because the water is burning hot, and I smack right into the planes of Tate’s chest. He steadies me, and then I reposition myself so that I’m facing him.
He’s giving me a wary smile, like he’s nervous about how I’m going to respond. He should be.
“And?” I practically shout the word. I really need to calm to fuck down. Regardless of what happened between us I need to start being more level-headed about everything. I can’t change the past but I can change how I respond to it. “What are you implying?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
He drops his eyes to the floor between us and he shakes his head, his breathing unsteady. He mutters something that sounds a lot like “not presumptuous, I’ve been praying” but I don’t think he was saying it for my ears. He keeps his head tilted down but he lifts his eyes to mine, and they’re burning with the unspoken things that he’s obviously dying to say. “My dad told me not to come over whilst they’re gone,” he explains, his voice deep and controlled. “And I won’t.” He pauses momentarily as his eyes search mine. Then he finishes, “Unless you want me to.”
I’m angry with him for suggesting it, but I’m angrier with myself for wanting it. Hell, I was the one who suggested it in the first place. Even though part of me wants to kick him out of the door and tell him to stay away from me until I leave for college, another side of me wants to get him to lock that door and forbid him from leaving until our parents return from their vacation.
Tate’s behaviour right now doesn’t align with the person I grew to hate – instead, it’s completely in sync with the boy I was falling in love with. Can people change? Can they have moments that are so perverse and bad, but it’s just a moment of insanity that they never slip back into? I have never believed that people change. Their behaviours only alter if there’s something in it for them, which takes me back to the original thought that triggered my sadistic sex agenda: Tate wants my body, and my ability to provide or deprive it will be the screw in his neck.
But is that the case? Maybe I completely misunderstood everything. I hate second-guessing myself because it feels like I’m betraying my intuition, but not every thought that passes my mind is going to be right or true. Maybe Tate’s motives weren’t what they seemed at the time – and maybe, like Kit suggested, I can allow myself to indulge in his goodness whilst it’s being offered up to me.
I scroll my eyes down the tan skin of his neck, over his tensed pectorals and stomach, and all the way down his denim-clad thighs until I’m looking at his huge black biker boots. If this was three years ago…
Just as I’m about to open my mouth Tate shifts slightly and lifts me out of my appraisal.
“Are those candles bleeding?” he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in… I’m going to say concern.
I look over at the black pillar candles which are flickering next to the draining board. I’d forgotten that I had lit my vampire’s tears candles. Red wax is oozing over the tapered tip in a frightening, provocative way.
I move my eyes back to Tate with a nonchalant expression on my face. “No,” I say.
He breathes out a laugh and drops his eyes again, the toe of his boot now rubbing back and forth in the gap between us. “You’re so weird,” he murmurs, and then he straightens up and locks me in with his penetrating stare. “Do you want me to be here?” he finally asks, straight to the point.
I can see in my peripheral vision that his hands are gripped tightly around the leather of his belt and as I look up into his eyes my tummy does a sparkly flip.
I swallow a little and make my expression resolute. It’s no more than a whisper but I choke it out before I can stop myself.
“Yes,” I say.
Tate instantly closes the gap between us but, just as he does, the lights from Mitch’s work truck flash up the driveway. Tate turns his head, groaning in frustration, and then he zones back in on me. He places his hands on my cheeks and I try not to shiver as his warmth seeps into me. I can feel it pooling in my belly and he’s nowhere even near there.
Yet.
He dips his head to my throat and presses his mouth against me hard, quickly sucking at the soft skin before grazing it with his teeth. The sensation drips down my body like the molten wax on my candles and my stomach starts lapping with heat.
“As soon as they’re gone, I’m yours,” he murmurs quietly, the words warm and hushed against my neck. I shiver as he runs the tip of his tongue over the skin that he just claimed and his words press into my body with as much pressure as his hands.
I’m yours.
He really said that.
I. Am. Yours.
Before Mitch is out of the truck Tate pulls away and leaves the kitchen without a second glance.
I fall back against the sink and think about what the hell I just started.
Chapter 20
Three Years Ago
The last day before school closes for winter break also ends up being Tate’s last day before he transfers. As soon as he told me that he was moving, he no longer let me keep up the pretence of not being with him at school, stealing me away to his table every lunch break and meeting up with me by the bleachers after the final bell, and I haven’t minded one bit.
Okay, no-one around him can believe that he would pick me to be his girlfriend, but Tate is way too cut for them to argue with him about it. Even Hudson has shut his mouth, although I seem to be bumping into him in every corridor that I walk down and he really gives me the creeps. If only he was the one transferring schools.
It snowed last night so there’s a sugar-icing dusting of it all across the sports ground, the grass blades sparkling with frost as I make my way across the yard to get to my next class. I spot the sophomores on the field doing their double Gym lesson so I stop to watch, knowing that Tate will be there. As it’s the last day of term classes are basically all frees, so the girls have evidently taken it upon themselves to “observe” like I am, dressed in their gym clothes but sat on the bleachers to watch the boys.
On the field the guys are kitted out in their football shorts and jerseys, and they’re currently split into two teams, huddling as they discuss their plans of attack. When they all stand back up, clapping their hands to pump each other up, I spot Tate on the farther side and I clutch my books tightly to my chest.
Wow. Even with that helmet on he looks to die for. And those shoulder pads? I want him to tackle me.
I push my glasses back up my flushed pink nose and start making my way to the door of the tech block when I hear a voice call out, “Hey!”
I turn my head, trying to squelch my smile as Tate comes bounding up the field, whipping off his helmet and heading in my direction. I step away from the door and walk tentatively towards the grass, stopping just as I breach the twinkling green border, brimming with both nerves and joy at Tate’s display of attention. As soon as I’m within reach he wraps his arms around the back of my skirt and heaves me up, his fingers cupping my behind. I let out a surprised but delighted oof as he squishes me to his chest and bounces me up and down in his solid tan arms.
He grins up at me before lowering his eyes to my mouth and he gives me a light but long kiss, his lips frozen but soft as silk.
I giggle as he pulls back and he tilts his head to look up at me, his hands slowly slipping into dangerous territory.
“Hey quarterback,” I tease and he gives me a cocky flash of perfect white teeth.
“Hey wife,” he says, and he presses a firm kiss into my neck.
I bite back my startled gasp and I dig my teeth into my lower lip. He’s never called me that before, but my body really, really likes it.
“I want you to stay back after school tonight, okay?” he asks, leaning back so that he can look into my eyes. “I’m staying out here with the team for the rest of the day, but I want you to meet me at the entryway after the bell so that I can give you your present.”
My heart clenches. “My present?” I ask, eyebrows pinching in wonder.
He bounces me up again and I try to ignore the friction that’s happening as the apex of my thighs meet the muscles beneath his jersey. “Yeah, your present. It’s almost Christmas baby,” he says, and then I realise, of course Tate makes a big deal about Christmas. My eyes fall to the chain just sticking up around his collar and I think of the pendant that is currently being nestled between his pecs. “You’ll meet me?” he urges, bringing my mind back from the gutter.
I nod adamantly and, with another grin, he clasps the back of my neck so that he can bring my lips back down to his, slipping his tongue inside of my mouth and making a flurry of sparks jolt down my belly. He groans quietly as he slides himself over and around me, drinking me up as his hands start squeezing me gently.
“Coleson! Over here, now!”
I pull back, startled, embarrassed, and a thousand brain cells lighter, and I watch as his coach starts marching our way. Tate fluidly sets me down and he runs the backs of his fingers over my flushed cheek.
I take a step backwards, not wanting to get him in more trouble, but he pulls me into him again so that he can kiss me a couple hundred more times.
I laugh and push at his chest, hastily back-stepping before his coach can give us both a last-day-of-term detention. Tate does the same, that knowing smile playing on his lips as he watches me pull the door open to head back inside.
He watches me through the windows until I turn the corner and disappear from sight completely.
*
After the final bell rings I quickly run-walk to my locker, ready to shrug on my coat, stuff a term’s worth of paperwork into my bag, and then go to meet Tate at the entrance. But as soon as I’ve almost emptied it I see one last thing laying on the metal base, as if it was just slipped in through the crack under the door.
I cock my head at it and slowly slide it to the front, aware that it could be something that fell out of my folders but, for some reason, I don’t feel like it is.
I pick it up and feel a shock run down my spine.
It’s another note.
This time it hasn’t been typed in one of the computer labs – instead it’s handwritten, a font more slanted and elaborately cursive than I was expecting, and it looks as though it was torn from a lined homework book. I immediately glance to the bottom of the page and see the name that I was hoping for. I relax a little and smile as I read the note.
Meet me at the changing rooms after final bell
I’ve got something for you baby ;)
Tate
I blink at the note and read over it a few times, a confusing anxious feeling settling into my gut. I turn the paper over to see if there’s anything written on the other side, and then look back at the words again.
The main thing that makes me pause is the fact that he now wants to meet me at the changing rooms. I mean, for all I know, maybe that’s what he actually meant when he said that he wanted us to meet at the entryway – maybe he wanted to meet at the entrance to the locker room. And he did say that he had something for me, and he does call me baby sometimes.
But for some reason, it just feels… off.
I fold the note into a few squares and then slowly close my locker, turning the key in a slightly numb haze. Why do I feel a bit uncomfortable? Maybe it’s the winking face. Tate and I have never texted before, so maybe he’s a winking face type of person, but it doesn’t match the picture of him that I’ve been building in my head. It doesn’t seem very… him.
I head down the stairs with the rest of the mass exodus, naturally overanalysing my own paranoia. Honestly, what is my problem? So what if he used a winking face? So what if his handwriting isn’t as… buff as I expected it to be? For a reason unbeknown to me, a chill settles in my gut as I reach the bottom of the science block, and I pause.
If I continue going to the left, I’ll reach the foyer and the main entrance in less than twenty seconds, give or take. If I go up and to the right, I’ll be heading to the Gym and I’ll be able to go to the changing rooms, which seems to be where Tate wants to see me now.
I stand at the wall of the corridor, glancing back and forth between the two directions.
I pull the note back out of my bag and read it one more time.
I’m being stupid. It definitely says the changing rooms, so obviously that’s where I need to be.
I shove the note back into my bag and take the exit to the right, not knowing how wrong I was about to be.
Chapter 21
Present
When Mitch and my mom leave, I don’t know what the protocol is going to be with Tate so I choose to go about my day as usual. It involves preparing food, eating food, and then reading until my next meal. After a while I realise that I’m behaving like a self-imposed inmate so I decide to do something that I haven’t had the confidence to do on my own in a long time. I put my book down, slunk out of my quilt fortress, and I pull open a drawer. Once I have the necessary items, I change out of my in-the-house clothes and slip into the more fitted, purposeful pieces. I go downstairs, drink half a glass of water, and then head outside, locking the door and slipping the key into the pocket on the side of my leggings.
And then I start to run.
It’s really more of a jog because I don’t want to burden my lungs, but it’s fast enough to get my heart-beat racing. I focus on the muscles in my legs and on controlling my inhalations and exhalations, trying to distract myself from the heavy burn that quickly settles in my chest. I count the houses on the street and then I count each truck that I run past, segmenting them in my mind by make.
The one thing that I didn’t count on was deciding where to run to, but my feet seemed to find their way there all on their own.
I have been jogging for a while with a couple of walk breaks in between, and now I’m standing outside of my mom’s soon-to-be-former home. My soon-to-be-former home. I can’t see any of Mitch’s changes from the outside so I walk up the driveway with the nervousness of an intruder and peer in through the window at the front. I feel a cold, sharp sensation spread across my chest, but it isn’t anything serious – it’s just because it looks different in there. It matches up to the photographs my mom had been leafing through the night that she told me that we would be moving in with Mitch. It looks nice in there, but it doesn’t look like my home.
I don’t know if it ever did really.
I walk down the driveway and I count how many steps it takes to get to the bottom of it from the porch. It’s less than I expected. Then I stop my stalling and bite the bullet. I look up at Tate’s former home.
It’s basically the mirror of my mom’s. They aren’t big houses but they have all of the important bits. They look kind of quaint and it gives me a funny feeling near my heart. Nostalgia. I can’t believe that, after three years of not seeing Tate, I am now feeling nostalgia. How can he still evoke these feelings in me? I thought that our bond had been severed.
It’s after dinnertime when I dawdle back to Mitch’s place, so the air is extra cold and it’s getting dark enough for people to switch on their Christmas lights. I mull over what Tate must have done in the time between him leaving and then re-entering my life. Obviously he lived with his mom and step-dad for a bit. Then, at some point before he could legally live on his own, he lived with his dad. Where did he go to school? Technically, once he was back with Mitch, he could have come back to his former high school with me. Why didn’t he?
I startle when I reach the curb in front of Mitch’s driveway. Tate is sat on the step in front of the door just beneath the porch, with his elbows resting atop his knees, and he’s looking down at his open palms. He’s wearing denim jeans with a biker jacket and he has a large box packed in a white grocery bag on the floor to his left. On his right sits a small bouquet of roses.
He notices me when I’m halfway up the drive. His head snaps upright, and then he picks up the bag and the flowers as he stands, his eyes never leaving mine. I don’t know what the protocol is for this moment because I don’t even know what this moment is, so I walk up the porch until I’m right next to him – my shoulder to his chest – and I fish the key out of my pocket.
“I thought you had a key,” I say as I slide my key into the lock, twist, and pull down the door handle. I open the door and step inside, and then I look back at Tate over my shoulder to silently invite him in. He has to walk in side-ways to accommodate the box bagged up in his hand and – let’s be honest – his giant shoulders.
“I didn’t want to come inside whilst you weren’t home. This place is more yours than mine,” he replies. He closes the door with a backwards push from his deltoid and then he starts following me into the kitchen. I feel weirdly wired. I’m nervous because I don’t really know what’s going to happen whilst our parents aren’t here, but I’m excited too, which makes me embarrassed for myself, because I’m not sure if I’m being strong and self-indulgent or simply weak-willed.
I also can’t help the liquid heat that swirls in my stomach when I realise that Tate didn’t deny still having access to a key. I kind of thought that Mitch might have confiscated it from him, so the knowledge that he can freely enter this house whenever he wants is alarming – but, for some sick and twisted reason, I like it.
