28. The Insignificance of Bullet Holes
“PIPER, I SWEAR to God if you move again, I’m going to tie you to the fucking bed.” Tate’s threat reaches me a second before he does, giving me a split second to brace for what I know is coming.
I roll my eyes as my feet lift off the floor and I’m spun in place before being carried back toward the stairs I just came down. “I’m tired of laying in bed. I wanted to come see how everything’s looking.”
“Then you tell me you want to see and I’ll come get you.” His jaw is set as he takes me back to the room I’ve occupied for almost four days straight. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”
“I know I wasn’t entirely with it when they released me, but I do know no one said I couldn’t walk.” I point one finger at my bandaged shoulder. “Pretty sure this hole doesn’t affect my mobility.”
Tate’s scowl tightens and his expression goes dark. “If you keep reminding me about what happened, you’ll be lucky if I ever let you out of that room again.”
He’s still mad. I knew he would be. I don’t really care though. If I had to pick mad or dead, I’d pick mad every time. “Me? I’m not the one who’s trying to argue that it would have been better if I’d just let him shoot you.” I lean closer so he can’t ignore my glare. “I should be the one who never lets you leave.” There’s not much in this world that bothers me, but knowing Tate would rather be dead than for me to have to deal with a tiny, insignificant little bullet hole in my shoulder chaps my ass to no end. “Besides,” I snort, “I think at this point the twats in the IGL know they shouldn’t fuck with me.” Sure, I’ve got a few battle scars from our run-ins, but I’ve always come out on top while they ended up in jail or, in Rick’s case, dead.
Tate reaches the smaller room we’re using until the carpet I picked for our bedroom is installed, and carefully lays me across the mattress. He props my back against the stack of pillows that keeps me upright then drapes the blankets across my legs. “I’m not worried about someone trying to come fuck with you, Sugar.” He picks up the lap desk Amazon delivered two days ago and settles it onto my thighs. “I saw how well you listened after your ankle was broken, and I don’t want you to do the same thing with this. Especially when your body is already working overtime.”
I blow out a long breath, because I can’t argue with his reasoning for being such a pain in my ass. I probably didn’t do what I was supposed to do while my ankle was healing and it might have been the reason it took so long for the thing to finally stop aching.
But I don’t use my shoulder to walk, and it’s not like I’m trying to lift freaking weights. I just wanted to see how the tile was coming along in the kitchen. Maybe get a peek at the light fixture going in over the island. Possibly measure the windows to see how long the curtains I want to order should be.
“I’m just excited about the house.” I’m whining, but I think between a bullet wound and morning sickness, I deserve to complain a little. “I don’t want to be stuck up here where I can’t see what’s happening.”
Tate sits next to me, one hand tracing along the curve of my cheek. “Let me take care of you, Sugar. Just a little.” He leans in, resting his forehead against mine as his eyes slip closed. “I need it. Just for a few days.”
Ugh. He knows right where to hit me. I groan. “Fine.” I wait for Tate to open his eyes. “But only if you agree to stop being mad at me for what happened.” My need to look out for the people I love—or those who can’t look out for themselves—is just as deep-seated as Tate’s need to take care of them. It’s how we remind ourselves of who we really are. How we make sure we don’t repeat the same mistakes that caused us so much pain.
Tate’s lips press into a frown. “I’m not mad at you for that Piper.” His hands cradle my face, thumbs stroke my skin. “I’m fucking terrified over it.” The intense blue of his eyes moves over mine. “I could have lost you.” His attention dips to my belly. “Could have lost—” The way his voice breaks hurts way more than my shoulder ever could. “I know you aren’t the kind of person who would ever walk away when they saw someone else in danger, and I fucking love that about you.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “But it’s gonna take me a little time to come to terms with it. Especially now that it’s not just you I have to worry about.”
The admission makes my throat tighten. Not because of guilt over his fear, but because I’m just now realizing I didn’t just put myself in harm’s way. I haven’t had much time to consider what I want to be like as a mother, but I do know I never want to put my child in danger. I certainly don’t want to do it and then pretend I’m not responsible. I know what that feels like. The way it sticks like tar to everything you say or do, tainting it.
“I want to tell you I won’t do something like that again, but if someone tries to hurt you or,” one hand goes to rest against my stomach, “Peanut, I can’t guarantee I won’t try to beat them to death with a wrench.” I plan to stop but feel like I should be fully transparent. “Or a claw hammer.” Again, I should leave it at that, but I want to cover all my bases. “I might also shank them with a screwdriver.”
“And I want to tell you I’m not going to spend most of my days trying to do everything for you, but then we would both be liars.”
I scoff, sitting up straight, fake outrage dropping my jaw. “I didn’t lie. I said I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t shank someone.”
“Knock, knock.” Lydia peeks her head through the door of our temporary bedroom, giving us a hesitant smile. “Are we interrupting anything?”
“No.” I hook one finger in the neckline of Tate’s work shirt, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “We’re just arguing over which one of us is more difficult.”
Lydia grins as she comes into the room, her arms full of bags. “Sounds very on-brand for you two.” She hands one of the bags to Tate. “I think these are yours.”
He takes it and peeks inside, looking over the contents before lifting a brow at me. “You were supposed to be shopping for the house.”
“You live in the house.” I grab the bag from him, dumping the T-shirts out onto the blankets next to me. “And you’re the one keeping me locked up here like freaking Rapunzel, so you have to deal with the consequences.”
“Speaking of Rapunzel,” Lydia motions at my hair, “did you get an appointment to have your highlights put back in?”
“I booked her an appointment for the same time I’m getting mine done next week.” Myra lowers her own armload of bags to the floor and gives me a sheepish smile. “We’re going to have lunch and do a little shopping while we’re out.”
Tate’s brows lift higher.
I roll my eyes. “She said next week.” I cross both arms over my chest, forcing myself not to wince at the twinge it causes in my injured shoulder. “By then I’ll be able to throw a football.”
Lydia cackles. “You couldn’t throw a football before you were shot.” She stacks the rest of the bags onto the bed beside me. “So I wouldn’t use that as the determiner of recovery if I were you.”
“Fine.” I peek into one of the bags she and Myra picked up for me after I spent the morning putting in online orders for everything from pots and pans to bathmats. “Then by next week I’ll be able to taze an idiot in the nuts with a full range of motion.”
Lydia grins. “Much better scale.”
Myra thumbs over one shoulder as she starts backing toward the door. “I’m going to see if Simon can help me bring the rest of the stuff up. Some of the boxes were pretty freaking heavy.”
“She’s not kidding.”
Lydia starts unloading and organizing, separating out the kitchen items from the bathroom stuff. That’s where I started since those two rooms are the closest to being done and the ones we’ll be using the most.
“Oooh.” She holds up the set of dish towels I chose, looking over the selection of tan, teal, and brown. “I like these.”
I purse my lips as I look over the piles of stuff. “They match the runner I picked out. It should have been in the same order.”
She and Tate spend the next few minutes making sure everything I ordered is there while Simon and Myra make three more trips bringing it all upstairs. It’s a lot of extra trips to the second floor when more than half the stuff has to go back down, but since Tate won’t let me leave the bed for anything besides trips to the bathroom, he’s just gonna have to haul it all back down later.
I don’t think he’ll mind.
His dark mood from earlier seems to lift more and more as he sifts through all the things I chose for our home. And when he finally gets to the bags Myra carried in, I think all the scary shit that’s happened recently is totally forgotten. At least for a minute.
I watch his expression as he gently unfolds the gray and yellow printed sleeper I bought, his calloused fingers running over the brushed cotton fabric. It’s both so tiny and shockingly huge. I don’t have much experience with babies so it’s hard to imagine such a small human.
It’s also hard to imagine shoving something that big out my fun hole. That’s why I decided to buy just a few items. I’m struggling to wrap my head around the knowledge that in thirty-four weeks, I’ll be a mother.
Tate’s eyes lift to mine and there’s so much lingering in those blue depths. Love. Excitement. Hope.
He’s the main reason I haven’t had a single second of panic or fear over the discovery that a person is growing inside me. Because no matter what happens, I know that little person is going to be loved so fucking much it won’t be able to stand it. And not just by me and Tate, but by all the people around us.
Peanut will never feel the abandonment or shame Tate and I were both burdened with so early in our lives. They’ll never have an uncut grilled cheese. Or have to question if their mother loves them. Because I will fucking destroy anyone who tries to hurt them and burn down the world to protect them.
And they’ll never carry the weight of our mistakes or the pain of our rejection.
“I’ll run some of this downstairs to the kitchen.” Lydia backs toward the door, averting her eyes as she hurries out into the hall, leaving us alone as Tate continues to stare at me.
I press my lips together, holding my breath as I wait for what I know is coming.
I don’t have to wait long.
The lap desk he put in place thinking it would entertain me while he worked is shoved away and Tate’s big body takes its place, hovering over me on his hands and knees. “You bought baby clothes.”
My heart starts to race at his nearness. Tate’s always attentive, but between the nausea and that whole pesky bullet wound, he’s been almost scared to touch me the past few days. That was fine for a couple of them, but now that the aching sting is starting to subside, I’m finding I could stand to have an orgasm.
Or three.
“I know it’s early, but they were so cute and I figured we’ll need them eventually—”
Tate leans closer, sliding his nose alongside mine. “Buy anything you want, Sugar. Whatever makes you happy.”
I smile. Not because he’s given me free rein with his credit card. I don’t really give a shit about that. Not in the unlimited spending sort of way.
I’m happy because he’s finally letting himself have a home. Finally realizing he deserves it. That saving his pennies and doling out unlimited climaxes aren’t what’s keeping him from being someone he’s not.
Not that I mind the second part.
“I’m not buying it because it’s what makes me happy.” I grip his T-shirt, tugging him a little closer as I scoot down the bed, thinking maybe I can get him to touch me a little before he goes back to work downstairs. “I’m buying it so Peanut has a comfortable home when they get here.”
To my disappointment, Tate slides away from me, resting on his side next to me. One wide palm curves over my belly, fingers spread wide over an area that will grow exponentially bigger over the coming months.
Can’t really wrap my head around that either.
He nuzzles against my ear, the heat of his hand sinking into my skin so deep I can almost imagine Peanut might be able to feel it. “I love the fuck out of you, know that, Sugar?”
A smile curves my lips even though it’s clear I’m not getting the orgasm I was gunning for until he’s decided I won’t break if he plays with me. “I love you too, Caveman.” I tip my head to meet his gaze. “And our little Peanut makes me extra glad I didn’t taze you in the nuts that day.”