Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
TATUM
The drive to Oklahoma City is short, but we expected as much since the weather has been a bit on the unsafe side today. Last night, we agreed to keep today’s drive limited because of the chance that there would be more ice than snow heading further west, and boy, we were right.
The snow is falling in rapid flurries, mixing with sleet that smacks against the windshield as I drive. It’s a little hard to see, even with the windshield wipers at max speed, but the hotel is two minutes away, so I don’t panic. I can’t panic, more like.
Maeve is nervous, and the only reason I know this is because her entire body is rigid in the passenger seat next to me.
Her fingers dig into the leather seat as she holds on, her eyes trained on the road as if she looks away, something might happen.
I haven’t seen her like this before, and I don’t like it.
My chest squeezes with the urgency to comfort her somehow, but I don’t know how to do that.
The wheels slide lightly, pulling me from my thoughts and making her squeak in surprise, her right hand releasing its death grip on the seat to hold onto the door.
“Tate,” she rasps.
The hotel is only a mile away now, so I know it will be okay, but that doesn’t help Maeve right now.
“It’s okay,” I say.
The roads are slick, I can feel the way the tires slip every so often against the ice, but I know we’re right there. I’m nearing the entrance to the hotel parking lot. The steering wheel jolts in my hand again, but I squeeze it tighter to keep control.
As I’m turning into the parking lot, the back end of the truck slides a little, and her other hand flies over to clutch my jacket in her grasp.
“Tate.” She sounds like she could cry.
“It’s okay,” I repeat.
Is that all you can say?
If there was ever a time to man up, it’s now. Come on, Tatum. She’s practically hyperventilating in the seat, gripping onto my coat so tightly that her knuckles are the same color as our surroundings.
“Just breathe,” I coax.
“I can’t,” she breathes.
I know what this is. I used to have panic attacks when I was younger, especially when I knew one of my mother’s boyfriends was going to hit me. They always surge when your anxiety is high or when you feel out of control, like now. She’s just scared, and she needs me.
Say something.
As soon as I pull into a spot and shift the car into park, I turn to face her, my knee lifting into the seat as I do. What I don’t expect is the violent flinch that coils through Maeve’s body at my sudden movement, and almost immediately, my stomach churns uneasily.
She just flinched because of me. Away from me.
What the hell did that guy do to her?
“Sorry,” she whines, her brows furrowing as she shakes her head and presses her fingers to the cinched spot, as if she’s trying to make it go away.
This side of her is different; her happy facade is slipping. Like a mask falling from her features. It was bound to happen with us being around each other every day like this; she can’t keep the mask on the whole time. I don’t want her to.
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her.
Reaching up slowly, I put my hand over hers, still gripping onto my jacket. She’s panting as I give her hand a gentle squeeze, brushing my thumb across the back of it in steady, soft strokes.
“I can’t…”
“Take a deep breath,” I encourage. “Slowly. In… Out. In… Out.”
“I can’t—”
I tug her fingers from their grip on me, placing her palm against my chest, surprising myself as I hold it there and take a deep breath.
“Follow my breathing. Breathe with me. In… Out. In… Out.”
We breathe together for a while, her hand on my chest, mimicking the rise and fall of it as she tries to keep up with me weakly. After a few minutes, the tension in her hand fades and her fingers relax against me, her shoulders sagging as she realizes everything is going to be okay.
She tries to laugh it off, her hand falling from my grasp as she goes to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Well…this is embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not.”
I don’t mean to sound so serious, but I can’t help myself. Something about the way she flinched away from me… It stung. I know it’s not because of me, but it makes my chest tighten just thinking about what had to have happened to her in order for her to react that way.
Her face falls when she realizes I’m not smiling at her joke. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you apologize for things that aren’t your fault?”
She blinks at me, taken aback by my question, and so am I.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me, making me react and respond so quickly without overthinking it, but I don’t want it to stop.
I’ve never felt more at ease before, but maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins at helping her navigate her panic attack.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’m a little more fucked up than I let on, Tate.”
“You’re not—”
She shifts suddenly, grabbing her things. “We should get checked in.”
I said something wrong, I did something wrong…
She’s shutting down on me in a matter of seconds, the mask flying back up like nothing ever happened.
I understand if she doesn’t want to talk about this stuff; I know I didn’t for a while after.
It took me years to open up to a therapist about what I was feeling.
How could I ever expect her to talk to me so openly about whatever it was that was giving her panic attacks, if I wasn’t fully open with her, either?
So, I don’t say anything as she climbs out of the truck; I just help gather our overnight bags and follow closely behind her as we head into the hotel, careful to make sure she doesn’t slip on the ice coating the pavement.
She doesn’t say a single word as we get checked in; she just stands off to the side, looking around but not really looking at anything.
In a fog that’s clouding her mind. She doesn’t say anything as we step into the elevator and reach our floor, not even when we get the door open to our room to find one bed instead of two.
Oh, no.
There must have been a mix-up. I know we were supposed to have two full-sized beds, and this… I don’t want to scare her away even more by having to sleep in the same bed as me.
“I can take the floor,” I say.
“It’s okay, Tate.” She enters the room, dropping her stuff onto the bed before she walks toward the bathroom. “We’re both adults. Just get in the bed.”
Maeve closes the door behind her before I can even say anything, not that I was going to, anyway.
I’m too busy standing here like an idiot, my lips parted slightly, and the door to our room still hanging wide open.
Clamping my mouth shut after a few seconds, I swallow as I close the door and lock it.
I feel bad and hate that I don’t know how to express that.
Laying our bags by the bench near the window, I pull out my clothes to change into for bed, and bump the air conditioning down because I know she can’t sleep when it’s too warm.
It has to be cool enough to bundle up in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, and I’ve already prepped for this after the first night by making sure I always have my own pair of sweats and a hoodie.
It’s a while before she comes out. I’ve already turned off the lights and crawled into bed, on top of the comforter with my hoodie on, before she steps out of the bathroom. It’s quiet as she gets into bed, facing away from me, until a few minutes pass and I hear a few sniffles.
A few sniffles turn into full-blown sobs, and soon, the bed shakes with her crying, and I’m left staring up at the ceiling feeling like a jerk because… What do I do? I can’t just let her cry, but what if she doesn’t want me to acknowledge it? What if she thinks I’m sleeping?
You have to do something.
She’s crying so hard that she’s gasping for air, and I can’t just lay here.
I can’t be that guy. So, I tuck my legs, climbing underneath the cover as I turn toward her and place my hand on her back.
Softly at first, just letting her know I’m here, before I start to rub my palm back and forth more firmly. She only cries harder.
“Maeve,” I whisper.
“I’m a mess,” she cries, her voice cracking.
Taking a deep breath, I pull her shoulder, forcing her to face me. Her red-rimmed eyes don’t even look up at me before she’s burying her face into my chest, and it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up before I’m wrapping my arms around her.
“You’re not a mess,” I murmur into her hair.
“I let someone take away every piece of me,” she croaks. “Let him stomp on me over and over again until I didn’t recognize myself.”
Speaking those words out loud seems to release another wave of sobs from her chest, and she’s clutching onto me like she’s scared to let go. Scared that I’ll see her cry. Scared that I’ll be looking at her differently.
“Let him…hit me. All those times and I never said anything. Now, I… I can’t…”
The oxygen in my chest feels like it evaporates completely at her confirmation. My skin pricks with heat as it slides up the back of my neck, enveloping me as I envelop her.
I’m not an angry person, but I’m so angry right now.
I’m angry that he did do this to her. That he made her feel like this.
That he made her scared and skittish and doubtful of herself.
But I refuse to let my anger overshadow her sadness right now.
This isn’t about how I feel at all. She’s vulnerable and open with me, and she’s holding onto me like I’m her one saving grace, so I have to do something.
Say something, distract her, something.
“My mother isn’t dead,” I blurt.
She stops crying as she looks up at me. I can hardly see her in this dark room, but I can feel her dark eyes staring at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
“She’s not?”
“No,” I say, “but she may as well be.”
It’s quiet for a moment, but I know I have to keep going. I have to explain it to her because I told her my mother was dead. When she isn’t. I lied because I’ve never told anyone about her before, but I can’t lie now; I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want to hide.
“My dad left when I was a baby. My mom was…is an alcoholic and an addict.”
I stare at the ceiling as the words leave my mouth because I can’t bear to see how she’s looking at me right now.
“She brought home a lot of…bad guys. I was too young to protect myself,” I whisper. “She let them h-hit me.”
Maeve sniffles in the darkness, and I know she’s trying not to cry again because I can feel her fighting the tears against me. Can feel her chest shuddering as she holds them back.
“The flinching eventually stops,” I mumble. “The fear of loud noises. It goes away. It takes time, but it goes away. I promise it won’t be like this forever.”
“Tate,” she whines in a whisper.
I finally look down at her.
“It’s okay,” I say softly.
She seems reluctant to accept that response, but she lays her head down on my chest anyway, pressing her cheek against me as she snuggles deeper into my side.
It’s unspoken, but it’s like we better understand each other.
There’s a veil over us now that I can’t quite explain, but I know that it feels… good.
“Is it cold enough in here?” I rasp after a while.
She nods. “Yes. Thank you, Tate.”
I don’t say anything, unsure of what I should say, and by the time I muster up the courage to rub her back in slow, comforting circles, despite my hand trembling, I hear the soft sound of her snoring.