24. Never Give Up On Your Dreams
I LET OUT a long, relieved breath as Tate pulls into the driveway of his house. “Holy shit. I am so glad to be back.”
I actually enjoyed our short stay in Amlina a surprising amount. Part of me almost wished we were in a position to stay longer. The lodge was gorgeous. The sisters were some of the kindest, warmest people I”ve ever met. They were also the best cooks I’ve ever met, and the breakfast spread they put out the morning we left was unbelievable.
Of course, I got car sick a couple hours later and hurled it all out onto the side of the road, but at least it tasted amazing going down.
“Me too.” Tate eases his large SUV into the ramshackle garage at the back of his lot, shutting off the engine and rushing to climb out like he’s just as glad to be home as I am.
I”m a little slower moving. The trip home wasn”t as strenuous as the one there, but spending three days driving is tough, even when you stop to sleep at night.
Not that we did an excessive amount of sleeping. Now that Tate’s moving past his fear that allowing me to touch him will somehow magically turn him into a man who uses women, we’ve struggled to keep our hands off each other.
Technically, that’s a struggle we’ve had for a while. But now there”s no reason not to touch each other. Tate’s not the only one who got past their own hangups, and fear is no longer holding me back either. That”s why when he opens my door, I smile out at him in spite of the lingering upset in my stomach. “When can we go get my stuff out of Christian’s house?”
The broad smile he gives me lights up his whole face and sends my stomach flipping and my legs clenching, because holy shit is he good looking. So hot I can see how I was initially worried over becoming obsessed with him.
I’m not worried anymore. Not because I’m not obsessed with him—I’m pretty sure I am—but because he’s equally obsessed with me. It”s almost a competition between us, seeing who can do the most for the other person. Whether it’s getting them food, getting them comfortable, or getting them off.
And I”m ready to do it all day, every day. Especially now that I don”t have to worry about constant car sickness ruining my fun.
“I have a little bit of a confession to make.” Tate reaches in and scoops me out of my seat, hauling my body across his as he kicks the door closed behind me. “I might have arranged for your staff to be brought to my place while we were gone.” His smile takes on a hesitant edge. “As soon as you said you”d stay with me, I called Levi and Nico and they packed it all up and brought it over.”
My eyes widen, because I can only imagine their faces as they opened the top drawer of my nightstand. “Everything?”
Tate looks a little sheepish. “I had them bring most of your furniture over as it was. I didn”t want them digging through your panties.”
“Panties are the least of my concerns.” I huff out a little laugh. “They carried a full chest of drawers down Christian’s stairs, across the yard, and back up your stairs?”
Tate flashes me another grin as he scales the cement steps leading to the back door. “It”s good for them. They”re both getting soft. They needed the exercise.” He shuffles my weight around, balancing me with one knee while unlocking the door and pushing it open, angling us through. “And I didn”t make them carry it upstairs. I told them they could leave it in the entryway. Our room isn”t ready anyway.”
I lift my brows, unsure what he means when he says our room isn’t ready since none of the house is what most people would call ready. My eyes catch on something over his shoulder, and I lean to look around his head, shocked at what I see. “Are you shitting me?”
Tate carefully lowers my feet to the floor. “I made a few other calls while we were gone too.”
I walk toward the kitchen—the actual, functioning kitchen—not really believing what I”m seeing. “We”ve only been gone a week.”
When we left, Tate had all the drywall in here hung and finished, but that was it. The room still isn”t done, but now the walls are painted in the deep, burgundy red I chose.
Cabinets in the same color line the wall the kitchen shares with the dining room, then turn to follow the short path of the hall leading in from the entryway. A gigantic island sits in the center of the space, offering a huge work area, complete with a deep, wide sink. The room is set up almost exactly like Christian’s, but the painted cabinets and simple butcher block counters give it an entirely different feel.
Tate follows me as I move around the space, running my hand over the smooth, woodgrain surface of the island. “I wasn”t sure about hardware, so I just had them install the cabinets and paint everything the color you picked out. I did guess on the counters because I wanted this room to be functional when we came back, but if you don’t like them—”
I turn to face him. “They”re perfect.” Even though the room is huge, it still has a warm, cozy feel thanks to the darker paint colors and the richness of the countertops. LED can lights set into the ceiling keep it from feeling dreary and serve as great task lighting while giving the room a comforting glow. My eyes lift to a set of wires dangling above the island.
“I didn”t know what to put there either. I think islands usually have some sort of a light that dangles over top of them, but I haven’t got a fucking clue what it should be.” Tate steps close, pulling my body against his. “There are a lot of decisions to be made, and I’m glad you’ll be here to make them.”
“Me too.” It’s kind of crazy to me how fast I’m ready to move now that I’ve moved past everything that used to trip me up.
But right now, I’m mostly ready to move up the stairs and go the fuck to bed. I turn toward the entryway. “You said our room wasn’t ready. Does that mean it’s currently under construction?”
“It does. I decided the kitchen and bedroom were the two most important rooms to get finished.” His hands slide up and down my spine. “I want you to be comfortable here. I know it’s not perfect, but—”
I lean up to press my lips to his, sealing off the rest of his words. “It’s better than perfect.” I look around us. At the place that will be the kind of home I’ve always wanted. A place where I can be comfortable without having to worry I might ding a cabinet or spill a drink. Tate living the way he did for so long shows me he’ll never lose his shit over something like that.
I’ll also never have to worry about losing myself to him. He won’t let that happen. He likes me too much. Which is why I know I need to tell him the rest of why I am the way I am.
Was the way I was.
Rubbing my lips together, I take a deep breath, preparing to dig into something I try my best to keep buried. “Remember how I told you I grew up in a house like Christian’s?”
He slowly nods. “I remember.”
I swallow hard. “It was my mother’s husband’s house.” I don’t call him my stepdad. Never did. Never will. I’ve called him lots of other things though. Things I’m sure will pale in comparison to what Tate calls him before this conversation is through. “She married him when I was around ten and we moved from Nashville to Memphis to live with him.”
My words stall out for a second. I fucking hate telling this story. I hate remembering how excited I was to move into a big fancy house and all the fucking rainbows and butterflies I had in my eyes at the beginning.
But life isn’t always rainbows and butterflies. Sometimes it’s storm clouds and cockroaches.
I know which one my mother’s husband is.
Tate holds me a little tighter. “We don’t need to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
I manage a smile, hoping it might ease the worry written on his face. “We do though. It’s an important part of my life and will explain a lot.” I hesitate, knowing he’s not gonna like this next part. “Including why I didn’t freak out when Rick had me trapped in the laundry room.”
Tate’s blue eyes darken and I can feel his body tense. “I mean it, Piper. We don”t have to talk about it.” His voice carries an edge of the same barely controlled anger I witnessed when he put his fist through Rick’s face. I know he wanted to do more than he did. There”s not a doubt in my mind that if time and circumstances had allowed, no one would have ever seen or heard from Rick again.
And that amount of anger was nothing compared to what flashed through his eyes when he asked why I wasn”t more upset. Almost as if he suspected the answer.
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t asked me again. Maybe deep down, he already knows what I’m about to say. If so, hopefully it’s given him time to prepare.
“Her husband never wanted kids, so having me in his pristine life was a fucking buzz kill for him. Any time I made noise, any time I made a mess, he was on my ass. Yelling until I was positive he’d either pop a blood vessel or stroke out.” That was probably wishful thinking on my part. “And my mom let him. Actually, she kind of started to act the same way. Like I was an inconvenience. Like having me around interfered with her new life.” That had been the hardest part to deal with. The change in her. “She’d been such a good mom until then, and when she decided he was all that mattered to her, I was devastated. It probably led to me acting out more than I should have.” I huff out a breath that carries the frustration I still feel. “But I was a kid and I didn’t understand right away that I’d been replaced.”
One of Tate’s hands comes up to smooth down my hair, the touch gentle and caring and kind. Offering me everything I lost all those years ago. “You’re irreplaceable, Sugar.”
Knowing he genuinely believes that eases a little of the hurt I still carry. “I should have been, at least to my mom, but she became so focused on him she didn’t want to have to deal with me at all. He was the only thing she cared about. It was almost like an obsession. And he fucking loved it. Ate that shit up. I swear sometimes it seemed like he got off on her loving him more than she loved me.” A bitter laugh slides free. “That guy hated my guts.” I hesitate, knowing this will be the hard part. “For a while.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” Tate’s voice is a low growl that borders on a threat.
Not for me. Never for me.
But I keep going. If I don’t get all of this out now, I never will. And I want Tate to know me. To know what made me into the person I am. Even the ugly parts. “I was kind of a late bloomer, so I looked like a kid until I was fifteen. That’s when I started to notice things changing.” I remember thinking initially that her husband was finally warming up to me. That he decided having a kid around wasn’t as terrible as he expected.
That was not at all the reason for his change in attitude regarding me.
“I remember the first time he hugged me. It was not long after I finally started to fill out and look like I do now.” His dumbass wasn’t slick either. His attention on me was so blatant and obvious, the memory of it would make me laugh. Except it’s not even remotely funny.
“He started wanting to watch movies with me when my mom was gone and he’d sit real close to me on the couch. After a while, his hand would be on my knee. Then my thigh.” I swallow down the disgust trying to turn my stomach. “Then he’d try to slide it higher.” That’s when I’d jump off the couch and he’d pretend to be all innocent and almost make me think I was overreacting.
He was ‘just trying to be nice to me’. To ‘show me he cared’.
But his version of caring included ‘accidentally’ coming into my bathroom while I was in the shower. ‘Accidentally’ putting his hands places they didn’t belong. ‘Accidentally’ trying to get into my bed at night. The man deserved a medal for surviving as long as he did considering how ‘accident’ prone he was.
“I started showering in my swimsuit. Sleeping dressed head to toe. Dodging him anytime he got too close. As soon as I could get a job I did, just so I could be out of the house as much as possible.” But that wasn’t my only motivation. “I started saving all my money because I was sure when I told my mother what was going on, she would leave him and I wanted to be able to help out as much as I could.” I pause, bracing for the most painful part. “On my sixteenth birthday, I decided it was time to tell my mom, so I did. All of it.” I lift my eyes to Tate’s. “And she called me a liar. Said I just wanted to steal her chance at happiness. Said I was jealous and ungrateful and a whole list of other things.” I shrug. “So I left.”
Tate takes a slow breath, blowing it all the way out before asking, “Did you report him?”
I shake my head. “No. At sixteen I thought he would only get in trouble if he’d tried to rape me.” It never came to that, but I think that was only because I left. There’s not a doubt in my mind he was working his way up to something awful. “Plus, I didn’t want anyone to know I was on my own. I barely managed to find someone willing to rent to me and I didn’t want to risk being forced to go back there again.”
“Is your mother still with him?” Tate’s question has an odd edge to it and I chalk it up to anger.
I get it. I’m angry too. I thought maybe I’d get over it someday, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen.
“Yup. Still as far up his ass as she can get.” I lean into Tate’s touch as he smooths down my hair again. “I haven’t talked to her in years, but sometimes one of my old friends from high school sends me screenshots of her Facebook posts about how she has the best husband in the universe, blah, blah, blah.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s disgusting.”
Tate’s eyes move over my face. “Want me to kill him?”
I laugh even though I know he’s dead serious. Or maybe because of it. “Nah. He’s not worth the effort.” I sigh. “I would love to tase him in the nuts though.” I smile at the thought. “Sometimes I dream about it at night. I can almost imagine what a fucking baby he’d be about it.”
Tate’s hand continues smoothing down my hair in slow, calming strokes, making the trip back in time less painful than it usually is. “It’s important to have goals in life.” He traces my jawline. “Never give up on your dreams.”