Chapter 32 Tate #3
“If you’re representing the sellers, you have a fiduciary responsibility to put the house on the market.
” Tate smiled hugely, keeping his tone light, a professional Irishman, his barkeep voice.
“Not doing so creates a pocket listing, you understand. I would think you know that. It’s not explicitly illegal in this state, but you’ll lose your license for it. ”
He was well-versed in the real estate laws in the state where he owned his own properties. The counsel in Greenbridge Glen had given him every manner of obstacle they could come up with, and he had needed to know the statutes and bylaws frontward and backward to outmaneuver them.
Tate saw the flicker of panic move through the woman’s eyes. He had no idea who this cunt Jack was, but Tate was about to ruin his fucking day.
“I’m extremely interested in this property. I’d be willing to make an offer right now, if it were officially on the market. Are you representing this other interested party already?”
Her movements were tight when she shook her head no. His eyes twinkled.
“That’s fortuitous. I was hoping you’d be able to represent me, in that case.”
Another slow blink. “Represent . . . you.”
Tate gave her his most dazzling smile, keeping his teeth tightly reined in. “Aye. I’ve no agent of my own. But I want to ensure the listing is properly registered so nothing jeopardizes the escrow process. And if you’re representing both the buyer and the seller . . .”
He spread his hands in an expansive gesture, letting her connect the dots. She would make full commission, a fact she understood by the way she blew out a hard breath, the chipper smile falling at last.
“Look. I don’t want to make enemies at City Hall.
Are you paying in cash? Taking it as is?
Because look at this thing. If you want to go over it with a fine-tooth comb and bring in your own inspector, let’s save ourselves the hassle now.
Because he’s going to come to the table with cash, and I can be done with this tomorrow. ”
“And earn that whopping three percent for your trouble. I can pay in cash as well. What’s the asking price?”
The price she named made him swallow hard.
It wasn’t out of reach. He wouldn’t even need to disrupt his accounts here, Tate reminded himself.
He had never touched a penny of his inheritance, not when he’d bought the Pixie, not even when he’d moved Caiomhe into her posh Malin Head facility, preferring to let it molder in a vault in Cork City rather than acknowledge the fact that his grandparents were gone by spending it.
That was the price for the land, he understood.
The land alone, because the house was a teardown to everyone else.
But he could turn her into something.
He could take her when she was broken and make her gleam.
And if he could take this broken-down relic of a house and turn it into a proper home for his little girl, then maybe he could fix all that was broken within him for her as well.
He was just another relic. Nothing that a proper project couldn’t help.
And when it was done, this old girl would be worth twice the value, and Aelin would own her own little piece of this posh community her mother called home.
“Cash offer, as is. 10% over asking. You’re my agent. But I want to know that it’s all on the up and up. You might want to discuss this with your partner. And if Jack wants to take it to a bidding war, I’m prepared to meet him there.”
The troll pursed her lips, nodding. “Give me two days.”
Tate closed his eyes when he was back in his car.
The same car he’d sold once before, when he bought the Pixie.
The same car Rukh had managed to track down, so that he could buy her back.
We might be selling you again, he thought, dropping his head back.
He had calls to make. He could afford this easily, but it would take maneuvering to have that much cash on hand in forty-eight hours without upsetting the delicate balance of his accounts on this side of the ocean.
You shouldn’t bother with that. Just have it wired.
They left it for you to have a family of your own.
A project at last.
He returned to Greenbridge Glen feeling rather chuffed.
A project had been his therapy homework, and he managed to find one right within Cleghorn Crook.
He hoped he was up for the challenge, because a challenge she would be.
She was likely in a sorrier state than even the Pixie had been, and nothing but perfection would suffice before she was ready for Aelin and Silva.
Tate sucked in a breath at the thought.
A new start. A perfect little house for his perfect little family, the first he’d had in nearly two hundred years on this side of the veil.
Sorry, Jack. Whoever you are.
* * *
He’d barely been back in the apartment above the Pixie for a half-hour before there was a knock at the door.
Tate swung around, his hackles raising instantly.
There was no access to the staircase that led up to the apartment unless one came in through the back alley, or in through the pub itself, which they shouldn’t have been doing.
Unless it was Rukh. Rukh or Elshona. His shoulders dropped, his posture relaxing as his head fell back.
You’re too fucking paranoid, boyo. Who do you think it’s going to be?
You killed the cunt. There’s no one else who’s a threat.
It was with that thought that he swung open the door, realizing how wrong he was the instant he did. The orc on the other side of the threshold was a bigger threat to his peace of mind than his grandsire ever had been on his most terrifying day.
Ainsley looked different.
Different hair, yes, a bit older, of course, but it was more than that. He looked wounded. He lost his sparkle, because of you.
Tate felt the ocean of grief he carried within him rock, nearly knocking him off balance for a moment.
It was always there, always churning, a maelstrom of regrets threatening to drag him down if he succumbed to its blackness.
He knew what the shape of regret felt like. He carried it with him always.
“Hi, Ains.”
Ainsley’s eye twitched, but he said nothing.
“You look good.”
“Don’t.” Ainsley’s voice was strained and raw-sounding. “Don’t you dare fucking start with small talk.”
Tate nodded, his grip on the doorframe tightening. He motioned minutely. “In?”
“No.”
He watched his best friend suck in a shuddering breath. He knew what that felt like as well, control balanced on a knife-tip, your very lungs trying to betray you.
“You left.”
He nodded again, slowly.
“And you knew. You knew before it happened. Why didn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t you tell me?”
He had begun to understand what Zola meant by identifying his physical triggers.
It was a creeping sensation up his spine, a clawing at his chest, his heart rate increasing until the muscle beneath his eye jumped.
His muscles clenched, his entire body tightening, as if he were armouring himself for attack.
He was meant to remove himself from the situation and regulate himself before making his defensiveness the world’s problem, but there was no way to remove himself from this.
Tate knew if he took even a step away from the door, Ainsley would leave, and he’d never see him again.
“I didn’t know how, Ains.”
His voice was a whisper, holding on by a thread. It was the most honest answer he could give. He could tell Ainsley that it would have been too dangerous, that he wouldn’t have understood the compulsory tether of it, but he understood that mattered little.
He hadn’t known how to disengage himself from the relationships he’d been foolish to form in the first place. No. Not foolish. Ainsley and Silva hadn’t been foolish attachments, easily cast off, much as he would have wished he could pretend they were.
“Well, that’s great. And you couldn’t figure it out? You know, you didn’t spare us anything by just vanishing. You left us holding the worst version of the story. And you can’t give me anything, still?”
“What would you like me to say, Ainsley?”
“Something that’s real.” Compared to his own choked whisper, Ainsley’s shout filled the space, reverberating off the tiles above. “Give me something that’s real, Tate.”
He nodded, heat burning his eyes. “You want to know something real? I was lying on the forest floor, bleeding. Probably bleeding out. I was going to die there. I didn’t see any way out, and I wasn’t strong enough to find my way to a doorway that would get me there, so I just laid there and waited to die.
” Tate was aware that his voice was breaking, but he had no intention of stopping.
“And then I saw it there, above me. It was a boot, and there was something written on it. And I realized what it was. Fucking Ainsley’s phone number.
Just hanging there in the middle of the forest on the other side of the veil.
I still have no idea how it got there. But there you were.
You. Like an arrow, leading me home. And I knew I had to follow it, because it was Ainsley’s.
Nothing bad had ever come from following you.
And it worked. If it hadn’t been for your fucking phone number on the bottom of my shoe, I’d be dead on that forest floor. ”
His voice was raw when he broke off, a pain behind his eye throbbing.
Ainsley’s eyes were wide, his jaw clenched, tears running down his face. Tate wiped away his own with the back of his hand.
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
A choked burst of laughter escaped his throat, wrapped in what might have been a sob.
“You wanted to hear something real, Ainsley. That’s the realist fucking thing I have.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I know that doesn’t mean fucking anything.
I didn’t know how. And I know that doesn’t make it better, but I’m sorry. ”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“Ris said you looked pretty beat up.” His words were stiff, his jaw still barely moving, but it was something, Tate thought. It wasn’t an accusation; it wasn’t shouted in anger.
“Yeah. I picked a fight with my grandfather and he nearly beat me to death.”
Ainsley still had tears running down his face, but he couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, nearly choking him. He nodded, as if that made perfect sense in some warped reality, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, that’s probably what you deserved.”
“Probably so.”
The silence of the hallway had a weight to it, the walls of the old girl herself listening.
“And you’ll get a warning the next time, too.” He didn’t ask it as a question. Tate saw the test in his friend’s words.
“No. No next time. They can’t find me again.”
“How can you know—”
“I made certain.” His voice was hard, thinking over what he’d done to earn the certainty. Ainsley swallowed. “If I’m wrong and they come for me, it’ll be a shock to me as well, Ains.”
Ainsley took a step back, glancing over his shoulder. “I – uh, I need to go. The dog is in the car. We have a dog now.”
Tate nodded, understanding. “I have a kid now.”
Another small huff of swallowed laughter, Ainsley’s eyes still wet. He turned, his movements jerky, moving down to the first landing before he swung around, his hands balled into fists. “If I ask, will you tell me, Tate? Will you tell me what I want to know?”
He nodded, sucking down the emotion that wanted to overwhelm him before he could answer. “Yeah, Ains. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I hope you give me the chance to do so.”
He stood there, listening to the thump of Ainsley’s boots on the staircase, not turning back into the door until the hallway was silent. When he closed the door with a click, it seemed too loud in the silent apartment.
Tate moved like a sleepwalker, up the hallway, straight to the bedroom, climbing under the duvet and burying his face in the pillow.
His whole body hurt. His head ached. He wanted to do nothing more than sleep, dissociating for the rest of the afternoon, giving himself distance from the confrontation in the doorway . . .
But he couldn’t. He understood what Silva meant, now, by saying she had to get up every morning and brush her fucking teeth. Because it didn’t matter what he wanted. There was a tiny girl with nothing but trust in her eyes who would be waiting for him in just another two hours.
It didn’t matter what he wanted to do. That was the point of all this. A project.
And he needed to be better for her.