Page 6 of Broken Warrior
She’s thoughtful and kind, compassionate and caring. She’s unexpectedly funny, smart as fuck, and selfless to a fault. Tate is still pretty shy and skittish, but those things shine through regardless, especially when she’s with James. She’s one hell of a mother and her son is a little badass, but the two of them are a temptation and a reminder—awarning—living and breathing in my house that I can never have them or anything like what they represent no matter how badly my battered heart wants it,wants them.
And I do really want them.
Two months was all it took for me to see what I’ve been missing, to make me realize the hole in my chest won’t be filled by anything but the love of a good woman and the family we create. Two months with Tate and the walls around my dead heart began to crumble, started to crack and fall down because she is everything I didn’t know I wanted, the perfect fucking woman, the savior I had no idea I needed, and every day spent with her is the most beautiful kind of torture because I now know what I want but I can’t fucking have it.
I can never have Tate or James because they don’t need someone like me.
They’ve been through enough without the disease of bullshit my life consists of spreading to them, infesting them too.Iam a disease and I’d rather rot alone than let myself drag them to the pits of hell with me.
“Sounds good.” Another grunt as my mouth sides with the unused organ in my chest instead of my brain. Despite the pressing need to do so, I can’t seem to stop myself from spending whatever time I can with them.
Fucking torture and I’m a glutton for punishment.
She smiles, though small, and fuck me if that doesn’t make that unused organ flutter like crazy. “James wanted French toast and bacon. I hope you don’t mind.”
I shake my head as I push off the door and follow her into the kitchen. “Haven’t had that in a while. Looking forward to it.”
The smell that meets my nose the closer I get to the kitchen is phenomenal, makes my mouth fucking water and reminds me that I haven’t eaten since Tate made me lunch yesterday.
I was the one who volunteered to have them stay with me, all but demanded Tate and James move in until they get their bearings and back on their feet. It made the most sense since my house is more secure than any government building, especially after she told us about her ties to the Valetti family, the bastards that are no doubt hunting her down.
James and Tate are safe here and not entirely unwelcome, but she seems to think she has to earn her keep, so Tate is constantly cooking meals that consist of way more food than her and James can eat, and cleaning the house top to bottom every day; even my mother’s room when I manage to get her out of it.
My room is off limits though.
No one goes in there but me.
I let Tate use my credit card to order groceries and whatever else she needs online, give her free reign within the brick and barbed wire walls on my property, but again, she feels like she needs to do things to make up for infringing on my space regardless of how many times I tell her it’s not a problem.
She orders groceries but cooks for all of us, doesn’t get herself anything she might view as a necessity but notices when I’m in need of new socks or t-shirts. Her and James sometimes spend hours in the yard, the little boy playing until his heart’s content while Tate secretly takes care of the horses and goats.
Everything I try to do for her is somehow turned into a way to repay me for allowing them to live here, and even though it drives me crazy because I don’t deserve it, I’ve accepted that’s just how it’s going to be until they move out.
Tate is just as stubborn as her sister, in a more passive-aggressive way.
And fuck me for liking that about her too.
“Hi, Spider.” James beams at me with a mouthful of French toast. “Mommy made breakfast.”
I ruffle his shaggy locks as I slide onto the stool next to him. “I heard. How is it?”
“Asfum.”
“Awesome, huh? Think I should have some?”
He nods like crazy. “Oh yah.”
“You heard the man,m’eudail, lay it on me.” I inwardly cringe over the term of endearment, something I can’t fucking stop myself from calling Tate. I’ve barely even thought in Scottish Gaelic since my dad died, and all of the sudden I start spitting it right and left because the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen moves in with me—temporarily, of course.
And she knows it’s something a little more than platonic too because every time I call her that, Tate blushes, like right now as she sets a plate loaded with food and a piping hot black coffee on the counter in front of me.
“Thank you.” I manage to refrain from grunting that, solely because I am appreciative and don’t want her to think I’m an asshole, but it doesn’t keep me from repeating my mantra over and over in my head.
She is not yours. Tate is not yours. Tate will never be yours. She’s too young, too perfect, too pure. She could never want someone like you. She deserves to be with someone who isn’t as fucked up as you. Your secrets will destroy her just like they’re destroying you. Tate can never be yours.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” I look at James as I stuff a bite of my breakfast into my mouth and barely stifle the groan. Tate can fucking cook, that’s for damn sure.
He shrugs as he clears his plate. “Dunno. Auntie Dori said I could come over later to play with Fabio and GTO.”
