down, slowly, like he needed the touch, that light, physical contact to stay grounded.
“Chrissie was shivering, shaking so bad. Every time I went to put her down and go out there, tell them to shut up or chill out, she just squeezed me tighter. I figured I’d let them fight it out. Chrissie needed me and they wouldn’t listen to me anyway. So while my dad was being ugly as hell, I just stayed in the room with the girls and listened. He said the worst things. I’d never heard him talk like that. I hated it.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t know what.
Tate reached up to brush her hair back. “He didn’t touch her. Dad never lifted a hand to any of us, not even to spank us. Well, except Chrissie. She got her butt swatted more than once. But she was Chrissie. Mom was more likely to do it than Dad, though. With all of us. He always said she was too strict, yelled too much, demanded too much…” He lowered his head, shoulders slumped.
Unable to stay still, she reached up and pushed her hand through his wet hair. Tate caught her wrist and turned his face into her hand. Her skin shivered as he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her palm.
He never stopped speaking.
It was like the words had been trapped inside, behind a flood wall. That wall had broken and they were spilling out of him now.
“She yelled. But she loved us. A lot. Dad only yelled when things were really bad.” A scowl twisted his face as he looked away. “If Dad started to yell, we were ready to run for cover. Dad was always the scariest when he was mad. That night…” He stopped, his throat working.
She could see him fighting with the words.
“Tate, you don’t have to tell me this,” she said gently.
“You wanted everything. You wanted all of me. This…” He paused, shifted his gaze to hers, and she saw the hell that lay within. “This is me. All of it.”
He slid his hands up her thighs, absently kneading her hips. “That fight was a bad one, but I wasn’t really worried, exactly. Not about Mom, not even when she left. She was … tough. If that makes sense. She could look at a person and make them back down. Even that old bastard Theo Miller wouldn’t mouth off long when she told him to shove it. I wasn’t worried when she left. Not at first. But I was pissed at Dad because he made her feel like that. Made her feel so bad she had to leave, even for a while. What he’d said. How he’d said it. He was so fucking ugly and every time I saw him, I wanted to punch him. Chrissie couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get her some warm milk—it always helped when Mom gave it to her, so I figured I’d try. I saw him in the living room. He was getting his keys and I just wanted to hit him. Hurt him for saying the shit he’d said. He wouldn’t even look at me. Just left. Didn’t say a word. He came back a little later. Mom hadn’t come home.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head to her knee. She reached up and pushed her fingers through his hair.
“Hours go by. She’s not home. I realize something is wrong. I’m scared, and I’m mad, and getting madder. I could almost understand, then, the things he’d said, how ugly he’d gotten, because I wanted to do the same thing, only to him. I wanted to hurt my father, Ali.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair. “You were mad, Tate. He’d been unkind to a woman you loved. That’s just how you are.”
“That’s part of the problem. That’s how I am.” Slowly, he lifted his head and the look in his eyes made her heart skitter in her chest. Burning, full of an intensity that all but stole her breath. “I’m thinking, all this time, that he killed her. Not on purpose maybe. He just caught up with her, or ran into her somewhere. He lost his temper … he was angry, like I was. I’ve always believed that he killed her.”
His dark eyes bored into hers and he covered her cheek with his hand. “Ali, I’m just like my father. I’ve always worried …
“Chrissie was shivering, shaking so bad. Every time I went to put her down and go out there, tell them to shut up or chill out, she just squeezed me tighter. I figured I’d let them fight it out. Chrissie needed me and they wouldn’t listen to me anyway. So while my dad was being ugly as hell, I just stayed in the room with the girls and listened. He said the worst things. I’d never heard him talk like that. I hated it.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t know what.
Tate reached up to brush her hair back. “He didn’t touch her. Dad never lifted a hand to any of us, not even to spank us. Well, except Chrissie. She got her butt swatted more than once. But she was Chrissie. Mom was more likely to do it than Dad, though. With all of us. He always said she was too strict, yelled too much, demanded too much…” He lowered his head, shoulders slumped.
Unable to stay still, she reached up and pushed her hand through his wet hair. Tate caught her wrist and turned his face into her hand. Her skin shivered as he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her palm.
He never stopped speaking.
It was like the words had been trapped inside, behind a flood wall. That wall had broken and they were spilling out of him now.
“She yelled. But she loved us. A lot. Dad only yelled when things were really bad.” A scowl twisted his face as he looked away. “If Dad started to yell, we were ready to run for cover. Dad was always the scariest when he was mad. That night…” He stopped, his throat working.
She could see him fighting with the words.
“Tate, you don’t have to tell me this,” she said gently.
“You wanted everything. You wanted all of me. This…” He paused, shifted his gaze to hers, and she saw the hell that lay within. “This is me. All of it.”
He slid his hands up her thighs, absently kneading her hips. “That fight was a bad one, but I wasn’t really worried, exactly. Not about Mom, not even when she left. She was … tough. If that makes sense. She could look at a person and make them back down. Even that old bastard Theo Miller wouldn’t mouth off long when she told him to shove it. I wasn’t worried when she left. Not at first. But I was pissed at Dad because he made her feel like that. Made her feel so bad she had to leave, even for a while. What he’d said. How he’d said it. He was so fucking ugly and every time I saw him, I wanted to punch him. Chrissie couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get her some warm milk—it always helped when Mom gave it to her, so I figured I’d try. I saw him in the living room. He was getting his keys and I just wanted to hit him. Hurt him for saying the shit he’d said. He wouldn’t even look at me. Just left. Didn’t say a word. He came back a little later. Mom hadn’t come home.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head to her knee. She reached up and pushed her fingers through his hair.
“Hours go by. She’s not home. I realize something is wrong. I’m scared, and I’m mad, and getting madder. I could almost understand, then, the things he’d said, how ugly he’d gotten, because I wanted to do the same thing, only to him. I wanted to hurt my father, Ali.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair. “You were mad, Tate. He’d been unkind to a woman you loved. That’s just how you are.”
“That’s part of the problem. That’s how I am.” Slowly, he lifted his head and the look in his eyes made her heart skitter in her chest. Burning, full of an intensity that all but stole her breath. “I’m thinking, all this time, that he killed her. Not on purpose maybe. He just caught up with her, or ran into her somewhere. He lost his temper … he was angry, like I was. I’ve always believed that he killed her.”
His dark eyes bored into hers and he covered her cheek with his hand. “Ali, I’m just like my father. I’ve always worried …
Similar Books
