10. How Much is that Piper in the Window?
”WHAT ARE YOU doing down here?” Myra’s whispered question sends me spinning away from the kitchen window where I”ve had my nose pressed against the glass for the better part of two hours.
I jump up from the cushioned bench, smoothing down my hair, as if looking less messy will make me less messy. ”I came down to get something to drink and noticed there were a whole bunch of lights on next door and I wondered what in the hell Tate was doing this late.”
It”s a version of the truth. I did come downstairs. At one point I also had a beverage. There are lights on at Tate’s house. And I was curious about what he was doing.
Did things happen exactly as I’m claiming? Not quite, but I”m comfortable stretching the truth. No one needs to know this is the third night in a row I’ve parked my ass in this same spot to watch this same thing.
Myra stands at the edge of the island in Christian’s kitchen, lower lip pinched between her teeth. After a few seconds, she leans forward, peering out the same window I”ve been in front of for way too long. ”Did you figure out what he”s doing?”
I shrug, like I don”t know exactly how Tate’s spent the last two hours. ”It looks like he might be hanging some drywall with Simon.”
Myra stands a little bit straighter. ”Really?” She slowly steps around the island, fingers lightly sliding over the backs of the stools pushed up against the outer side as she comes my way, eyes glued to the glass. ”Are they getting a lot done?”
I”m a little surprised at Myra’s interest in Tate’s drywall progress, but who am I to judge? I”ve been sitting here for way too long, staring like I don”t have anything better to do while Tate scowls and sweats, the muscles of his body flexing as he lifts the heavy panels over his head. ”They”ve got almost the whole ceiling finished, so they”re getting way more done than I would have.”
But it”s not just sweaty, straining Tate that has kept me parked in place. I”m also hoping to figure out why he’s suddenly working on his house. After my first visit to his place, I managed to get out of Lydia that Tate’s lived next door for years, and his house has been pretty much the same the whole time. Christian’s offered to help him a number of times, and they’ll accomplish a little—like buying a pile of drywall that’s apparently been stacked in his future dining room for the better part of two years—but Tate always ends up stopping the progress for one reason or another.
It”s confusing. I work at his business, so I know Tate is doing well financially. It”s not lack of funds that”s keeping him from completing his renovation. It”s also not a lack of time. He leaves work at the same exact time every day, giving him four good hours to work every night, not counting weekends. He”s also got a shit-ton of dudes willing to help him, so it”s not like he’d have to do it on his own.
My eyes drift back to the window, watching as Tate stands in the center of his living room, hands on his hips as he gazes up at the newly drywalled ceiling. ”I”m not sure why he”s working on it at midnight though. Especially when he has to be at work in the morning.”
”That is kind of strange.” Myra settles onto one side of the window seat I”ve been parked on, tucking her knees against her chest. She leans a little closer to the blinds, all her attention glued on the newly uncovered windows of Tate’s family room. ”Maybe they just don”t have anything better to do.”
I slowly lower back to my still-warm spot, figuring she can”t judge me for watching now that she”s obviously planning to do the same thing. ”I mean, they could be sleeping.”
Myra”s eyes peel away from Tate’s house, coming to my face. ”So could we.”
I press my lips together, realizing Myra might know exactly why I”m sitting here. ”Touché.”
She wiggles around in the seat, crossing her legs before motioning to my braced foot. ”Prop that up on my knee. You’ve gotta keep it elevated or it”s going to keep hurting.”
I roll my eyes but do as she says. ”Yes, mom.”
Myra gives me a little smile as she helps me get into position. Once we’re both settled, we shamelessly stare across the side yard, watching as Tate and Simon move on to the walls. Their conversation hasn”t been continuous, but it has been somewhat animated at times. Makes me wish I was just a little closer so I could try to read their lips. ”What do you think they”re saying?”
Myra shakes her head. ”I don”t know. Probably something about what a pain in the ass it is to renovate a house.”
I huff out a little laugh. ”That”s probably why it”s taking him so long.”
Myra”s expression falls a little, and her eyes drift back next door. ”I don”t think that”s why.”
My brows lift in surprise. ”You don”t?”
She shakes her head. ”I think his house is a reflection of how he feels. How he sees his life.”
I turn back to the window, assessing the state of the home next door. ”He sees his life as unfinished?”
”He sees his life as empty. Lonely.” Myra lifts one hand, pushing up one of the slats to give her a better view. ”He probably expects it will always be that way.”
I was sort of following her right up until that last bit, but I can”t imagine Tate thinks he will always be lonely. The man can be pretty dense, but there”s no way he can”t recognize how much he has to offer. He”s more than a little good-looking. Has a successful business. He”s stable and smart and driven. ”I don”t think Tate would have a hard time finding someone to keep him company.”
”You might be surprised.” Myra”s voice takes on a sad edge. ”I”m not sure how easy it is to find someone who understands him. When you’ve been raised a certain kind of way, it can be hard to assimilate. No matter what you do, it feels like you”ll never quite belong. Like you”ll never genuinely be understood.”
”But Christian was raised kinda the same way and he found Lydia.” I don”t like thinking of Tate being lonely. I definitely don”t like the thought of him struggling to feel understood. I’m already struggling with him living in that house like it is, and thinking of him feeling isolated and misunderstood on top of it makes my stomach twist.
”But Christian didn”t find someone who simply understands his past. He found someone who shares his past.” Myra”s face turns back to the window. ”If that”s the case, and Tate has to find someone who was raised the same way he was, the chances are pretty slim it will ever happen.”
”Then maybe you and Tate should get together.” The words fly out of my mouth, jumping off the bite of jealousy.
Is that why Myra came down here? To stare at Tate because she thinks he’ll understand her and she”ll understand him? That they could be happy like Christian and Lydia?
The possibility has me wondering how hard it would hurt if I kicked someone with my ugly-ass brace. Not them, me. My foot is already aching, but a little added pain might help distract me from the thought of Myra and Tate together. They would probably make a perfect pair, and that has my insides churning.
Myra seemed to have a stubborn streak when she first came here, but as time passed, she started to be sweeter and softer like Lydia. She knows how to cook. She knows how to clean. She”s gentle and calm and everything I will never be. And maybe she”s everything Tate would ever want.
My eye starts to twitch and my ears get hot.
Just as my reactive nature has visions of violence swirling through my head, Myra snorts.
”No offense, but Tate doesn”t do it for me.” One side of her nose scrunches up like she’s grossed out by the suggestion. ”At all.” She goes back to watching out the window. ”I”m sure he”s a nice guy, but he”s a little hotheaded, and I”m not sure I would handle that well.”
My own hotheadedness simmers down, doused out by Myra”s admission. ”Just because he”s hotheaded doesn”t mean he”s a bad person.”
”I know.” Myra gives me a sly smile as she turns my way. ”You”re hotheaded and I know you”re a good person. I”m just not at a point where I think I would deal with a man like that well. I want someone who’s careful with me.” Once again her focus goes back to the open windows across the yard. ”Someone gentle and calm.”
I follow the path her eyes keep taking and discover she”s not tracking Tate. Myra”s attention has always been on the man I”ve barely noticed was there. It makes me relax a little more and feel a small sense of camaraderie with her. Like we both have the same sort of secret.
And strikingly similar reasons we want to keep it.
But while Myra has decided someone like Tate isn”t who she wants, this conversation makes me think someone like Tate is who I need. I know Myra would be surprised to discover my past isn”t as different from hers as she thinks. I just chose a very different path of escape.
And a very different way of moving forward.
”So Tate, huh?” Myra lifts her brows, leaning my way without moving her eyes. ”I can”t say I didn”t see it coming.”
”Really?” I frown as I try to understand what could have given it away. ”But we fight all the time.”
Myra”s lips tip up at the corners. ”That”s why I saw it coming. You both love to fight. It”s one of your favorite things to do, and you love fighting with each other. I knew it wouldn”t take a big jump for you guys to love doing other things together too.”
I press my lips together, because not only is Myra way more observant than I thought, she”s also guessing my little secret pretty accurately. ”Sleeping with Tate would be a terrible idea.”
It”s an argument I”ve made to myself over and over again, both before, and after I accidentally fucked him. Both times. He”s technically my boss. He’s also my next-door neighbor and a member of the family I”ve accidentally inherited.
I have all the same concerns now that we’ve fucked, but now he’s ruined me and I will never again be satisfied with single orgasm sex. Definitely not no-orgasm sex, which is the majority of the interactions I”ve been a part of. So the quality of the screwing has made it a little more difficult to keep arguing with myself.
”Probably, but you should still do it.” Myra”s eyes widen a little, and I glance out the window to see why. Simon’s got the hem of his shirt lifted up, dragging it across his forehead, exposing a pretty impressive set of abs.
”Does that mean you”re going to sleep with Simon?” If she can call me out, then I”m not gonna feel bad about calling her out.
Myra lets out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping. ”No.” After one last look, she turns away from the window, carefully setting my braced foot on the floor before standing. ”It wouldn”t be fair of me. He deserves someone who isn”t a fucking mess.”
I watch as she quietly pads back through the kitchen. I know I should follow her up to bed, but I can”t stop myself from turning back to the windows. My eyes follow Tate as he continues working. “What if some men like messes?”
Myra pauses, huffing out a quiet laugh. ”Right.”
”I”m serious.” I am actually. ”Think about it. These guys go out of their way to take care of women. To help them. Wouldn”t it make sense that they might seek out the same thing in a relationship?”
If Myra notices my excitement, she doesn”t mention it. Instead, she squints across the side yard to where Tate and Simon work. ”Maybe?” Her attention swings to me. ”Wouldn”t they feel used?”
I see where she”s going with this, and understand the parallel she”s trying to draw, but the situation I”m thinking of isn”t one-sided. ”Not if they”re appreciated and valued.” I turn back to the window, nose nearly pressed against the glass. ”And if they’re with someone who gives them something they need too.” I don”t know what she could give Simon, but I have a few guesses about what I could give Tate.
Watching him work on his house makes me think maybe I”ve already given him something. He hadn”t touched it in years, and now he”s stayed up late working on it with Simon the past few nights.
I would know. I”ve been watching.
Myra gives me a sad smile. ”I guess that could probably work.” Her expression falls. ”If the other person has something to offer.”
My heart breaks for her. When she first came to Memphis it seemed like she was going to grab life by the horns and make it her bitch. But then the man who”d held her back for so many years showed up on our doorstep and knocked every bit of positivity and hope out of her. I thought she would bounce back, but it doesn”t seem like that”s going to be the case.
I take one of her hands, giving it a squeeze. ”Everyone has something to offer, Myra. Sometimes it”s as simple as understanding, or being their safe space. We all have different needs.” I sound like I know what I”m talking about. Like I”ve not been a train wreck for years. Like I don”t go around biting everyone before they can bite me.
Myra”s soft smile returns as she grips my hand back. ”I”ll try to keep that in mind, oh enlightened one.” She pulls her hand from mine and stands up. ”I should probably go to bed. Sitting here isn”t doing me any good.” She starts to walk away, but turns back. ”It is probably doing you some good, though, since the reflection from the light on the garage means they can probably see in that window the same way we can see in theirs.”