if he could do that…”
Confusion danced across her face and then abruptly, comprehension dawned.
“Tate.”
She cupped his face in her hands and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. That soft, light kiss somehow was a balm to the bleeding, gaping hole that was his heart.
“You stupid, stupid man,” she murmured against his mouth. Then she sighed and pressed her brow to his, slipping from the porch swing to kneel in front of him.
He curved his arms around her waist. The feel of her was both comfort and torment. Turning his face into her hair, he breathed in the scent of her. Let me fix this …
“You honestly think that you could hurt me. Is that why you try so hard to keep a distance?”
Why did he feel so foolish about this now? Foolish, and oddly relieved, as he felt her heart beat against his own. A weight had been lifted off him some time in the past few hours. A weight he’d been carrying around for too long. Maybe even for fifteen years.
He kept his face buried against her neck. “Intentionally, no. I don’t think I ever would … but a huge part of me…”
She eased back and covered his cheek with her hand. “Tate. Don’t take this wrong. Because I love you, dearly. But you’re an idiot.” Temper flashed in her eyes and she surged upward so suddenly, she knocked him off balance. He ended up sitting on his ass while she started to pace.
He shifted around to keep her in his sight as she moved.
“All this time.” She glared at him as she reached the end of the porch and wheeled around. “For three years, we played friends, all because you’re afraid you’re going to pull some weird Jekyll and Hyde bit?”
“ Jekyll and Hyde ?” He climbed to his feet, staring at her while his temper started to kick up inside. Okay, he could take feeling like an idiot, but he’d held back because he wouldn’t risk hurting somebody—hurting her . “You know, this might sound like a fucking joke to you, and maybe I’m being stupid, but I lost my mother. She was our world . Our dad was our rock. And for the longest time, I looked at him and saw only the man who I thought killed her. I saw a man who is just like me .”
“Did it ever occur to you that you were wrong?” she shouted. “About any of it?”
“Yes!” He spun away and sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. He moved to the edge of the porch and leaned against it, his weight braced on his hands. Heedless of the pouring rain and the wind, he closed his eyes. “But … shit. I didn’t let myself think about it. Until today.”
He hadn’t let anger get a foothold in his life, not since he’d lost his mom. He’d blamed her death on anger, after all. When he felt too angry, or too close to slipping there, he funneled all those frustrations into his art, into a hard, driving run … or sometimes, into sex.
Right then, though, he was caught, hovering between anger, self-disgust, and other emotions he couldn’t name. When Ali came near, he caught her arm and she crashed into his chest, glaring up at him.
This. He closed his eyes, let himself revel in the feel of her pressed against him.
Just … this.
He hadn’t felt whole since she’d walked away.
And even when they’d been together, he’d held back. Always.
This was probably the closest to whole he’d ever been. Slowly, he twined her hair around his fist, holding her gaze with his. “I know it might not make sense,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t let myself think it, because I couldn’t. Even if I was wrong, at least it was an answer. Can you understand that? Do you understand what it’s like … living with that? Not having any answer?”
Something flickered in her eyes and the tension that had held her rigid drained away. The hands that had been pushing him away curled into the fabric of his shirt and she sighed, gazing up at him. “Yeah. I think I do. You lost your mom—the answer, right or wrong, was something you needed. I get that. But you spent fifteen years
Confusion danced across her face and then abruptly, comprehension dawned.
“Tate.”
She cupped his face in her hands and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. That soft, light kiss somehow was a balm to the bleeding, gaping hole that was his heart.
“You stupid, stupid man,” she murmured against his mouth. Then she sighed and pressed her brow to his, slipping from the porch swing to kneel in front of him.
He curved his arms around her waist. The feel of her was both comfort and torment. Turning his face into her hair, he breathed in the scent of her. Let me fix this …
“You honestly think that you could hurt me. Is that why you try so hard to keep a distance?”
Why did he feel so foolish about this now? Foolish, and oddly relieved, as he felt her heart beat against his own. A weight had been lifted off him some time in the past few hours. A weight he’d been carrying around for too long. Maybe even for fifteen years.
He kept his face buried against her neck. “Intentionally, no. I don’t think I ever would … but a huge part of me…”
She eased back and covered his cheek with her hand. “Tate. Don’t take this wrong. Because I love you, dearly. But you’re an idiot.” Temper flashed in her eyes and she surged upward so suddenly, she knocked him off balance. He ended up sitting on his ass while she started to pace.
He shifted around to keep her in his sight as she moved.
“All this time.” She glared at him as she reached the end of the porch and wheeled around. “For three years, we played friends, all because you’re afraid you’re going to pull some weird Jekyll and Hyde bit?”
“ Jekyll and Hyde ?” He climbed to his feet, staring at her while his temper started to kick up inside. Okay, he could take feeling like an idiot, but he’d held back because he wouldn’t risk hurting somebody—hurting her . “You know, this might sound like a fucking joke to you, and maybe I’m being stupid, but I lost my mother. She was our world . Our dad was our rock. And for the longest time, I looked at him and saw only the man who I thought killed her. I saw a man who is just like me .”
“Did it ever occur to you that you were wrong?” she shouted. “About any of it?”
“Yes!” He spun away and sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. He moved to the edge of the porch and leaned against it, his weight braced on his hands. Heedless of the pouring rain and the wind, he closed his eyes. “But … shit. I didn’t let myself think about it. Until today.”
He hadn’t let anger get a foothold in his life, not since he’d lost his mom. He’d blamed her death on anger, after all. When he felt too angry, or too close to slipping there, he funneled all those frustrations into his art, into a hard, driving run … or sometimes, into sex.
Right then, though, he was caught, hovering between anger, self-disgust, and other emotions he couldn’t name. When Ali came near, he caught her arm and she crashed into his chest, glaring up at him.
This. He closed his eyes, let himself revel in the feel of her pressed against him.
Just … this.
He hadn’t felt whole since she’d walked away.
And even when they’d been together, he’d held back. Always.
This was probably the closest to whole he’d ever been. Slowly, he twined her hair around his fist, holding her gaze with his. “I know it might not make sense,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t let myself think it, because I couldn’t. Even if I was wrong, at least it was an answer. Can you understand that? Do you understand what it’s like … living with that? Not having any answer?”
Something flickered in her eyes and the tension that had held her rigid drained away. The hands that had been pushing him away curled into the fabric of his shirt and she sighed, gazing up at him. “Yeah. I think I do. You lost your mom—the answer, right or wrong, was something you needed. I get that. But you spent fifteen years
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