Page 24 of Broken Warrior
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
She’s onto me.
Theo may be concerned about my health, I’m sure she is, but I know that tone. She doesn’t think it’s fucking allergies, and if I’m not careful Theo or her sister—because Tate notices every fucking thing and has seen me high enough to question it—are going to figure things out and I can’t have that happen.
“Maybe,” I grunt as I grab the rest of my purchase from the counter and head out the door. “Went for a ride, was probably too cold tonight for it.”
“Uh huh...”
God I hope she doesn’t say shit to Zak or Jackal. Those two are one wrong move away from an intervention and they don’t even know what they’d be intervening on.
“Gotta go, Blondie. Heading back now...” I suck in a lungful of the crisp March air, trying a little harder to sober the fuck up. “I’ll talk to Tate, try to fix things.”
“Ok.” She sighs, defeated and accepting I’m lying through my teeth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Will she?
For what?
Oh right... supposed to help at the new house.
Here’s hoping I’m sober by then.
“See ya, Blondie.” I go to end the call but she stops me.
“Be careful, Fin. We like having you around.”
Fuck.
I get on my bike and start it up, then lie again to one of the only people who genuinely cares about me. “I’m always careful.”
We disconnect and I sigh, trying like hell to get my head right, but between the drugs and Tate, that shit isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
By the time I get home, it’s almost two in the morning so I enter my house as quietly as possible.
The drive, which was longer than it should have been because I had to stop a couple times so I didn’t crash, helped bring my high down to a maintainable level, one that will keep me from getting sick until I wake up in a few hours and need to use again.
It also provided some clarity.
Maybe Tate can’t be mine but I don’t have to treat her like shit because of it. We can coexist in my house civilly, live under the same roof without it making things hard on either of us. I can still try to be a nice guy, embrace the friendship Tate mentioned before and be supportive of her choices to make a life for her and James. And when she moves out, when that life no longer includes me in any way, that’s when I can go back to being an asshole junkie and watch from the sidelines as my dark angel lives the life she deserves to have.
I toe off my boots, shrug out of my jacket, then start toward my room but stop when I hear movement in the living room.
With my hand on my piece, I take a few steps and when my eyes land on the couch, my heart bleeds a little more.
Tate is curled up in a ball asleep, her hands folded under her cheek. She’s wearing pajamas—a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt—her gorgeous face tear-stained, eyes a bit puffy even while they’re closed. There are three empty beer bottles on the coffee table and a bunch of wadded up tissues, a book, and cellphone sitting amongst the mess.
Fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful.
And that, coupled with the fact that I’m still kind of high, is why I set my boots and jacket in the recliner, lay my cut over the back of it and hide my SIG in my boot. It’s why I walk over to her silently and look down at her sleeping form, a tightness to my chest that makes it hard to breathe as I grab the afghan from the end and cover her up. It’s also why, instead of leaving her be or carrying her to bed, I adjust her slightly and cram my big ass on the couch with her, wrap her in my arms and bury my nose in her hair as Tate nuzzles into me with a sleepy sigh.
“I’m sorry,m’eudail,”I whisper as I thread my fingers through the plum-colored spirals. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please forgive me.”
Tate doesn’t respond, probably doesn’t even hear me, and chances are she won’t remember this tomorrow, but she does move closer and turn her face into the crook of my neck.
I know I’m a selfish bastard, one that isn’t even good enough to share her air, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting Tate with every fiber in my body, needing her with every beat of my heart. It doesn’t stop me from falling for her when I know it’s going to leave me even more broken in the end, and I welcome it. I welcome the heartbreak because it’s what I deserve, another punishment I can relive over and over until I’m lucky enough to stop living completely.
