Chapter 42 - Tate #2
“No! I hated it. God, do you not see anything?”
His eyes narrow. “I see clearly, Tate. Believe me. I make hard decisions because I can see the consequences of what can happen if we are too weak to make them. If we allow ourselves the indulgence of wanting something we cannot have.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He told me he had to end things because he couldn’t give me more than what we had. That him and Molly had to stay as they were, and that he can’t love me the way he wants to.
It was all just a fancy bullshit way of saying he didn’t want to try.
That what we had wasn’t special enough.
He purses his lips, his eyes blazing into mine.
“Nothing,” he clips.
Ashley’s carried on serving the slow stream of customers, throwing me glances every few minutes, checking if I need back up.
But Sullivan is all mine. I’ve had weeks to think about what I’d like to say to him, given the chance. Time to pore over the words he used when he ended things. I’ve tried to make sense of them. But no matter how many ways I look at it, they don’t.
They never will.
I lower my voice, grateful that it’s quiet and no one’s bothering to pay attention to the two of us. “You bought Liberty Records and got them to make me an offer no sane person could refuse.”
“And yet here you are, back in New York, giving up,” he says, arching a brow.
I step closer to him, my head threatening to explode with how much he’s hurt me.
“Giving up?” I snort. “You’re one to talk.”
He blanches momentarily before his mask of indifference slides back into place over his face.
“You made me think they believed in me. That they thought my songs were good and I had talent. When you paid for it all with your billions of morally bankrupt dollars.”
His nostrils flare and he stares down his nose at me. “Morally bankrupt?”
“Money can buy a lot of things. But it sure as hell can’t buy basic human decency. I thought Liberty Records were interested in me, not your money.”
His lips twist into a grimace. “They already produced your song, didn’t they? When they thought your shithead ex wrote it? Why would they do that if they thought it was trash?”
“Because—”
He lifts two fingers in the air, signaling me to let him finish. Arrogant ass.
“Why would they sink hundreds of thousands of dollars into getting every radio station to play it?”
“They did what?”
“Why would they fight like hell with me when I told them that if they wanted their record label to continue to exist, then they’d make sure every single copy of that girl your ex fucked behind your back, singing your song, was destroyed?”
“What?” I gasp.
“Why would they do all of that for something mediocre written by someone with no talent?”
My eyes burn, tears building in them.
He leans closer, his eyes roaming over my face intently, like he’s finally allowing himself to accept that I’m back and standing right in front of him.
“They wouldn’t, Tate,” he breathes. “They fucking wouldn’t.
And if me telling you that isn’t enough, then what about all those screaming fans at the concerts?
The ones who sang along, reciting every word of your music as you performed?
The ones holding up homemade banners with blue eyes on?
What about them? Were they all fake, too? Were they all lying too?”
“How do you know about the banners?” I choke out in a strained whisper.
Sullivan moves back, creating more distance between us.
“How do you know?” I press.
He remains silent, refusing to give me anything. Something I should be used to from him by now.
“Why can’t you just admit it, Sullivan?” I sigh, my fight seeping away and leaving me deflated and empty.
“You wanted me gone because being with me was too complicated. It meant opening yourself up. You wanted me to leave so you could go back to The Lanceford and fuck on schedule. In fact, it’s Thursday.
” I shrug. “If you leave now, you can have an extra-long evening with whichever woman you select for the night.”
I give him a sad smile.
“You got scared about how close I was getting to you and Molly. So you got rid of me in the easiest way you knew how. You used something dear to me to manipulate me. Well, congratulations, you won. We’re over, and you don’t have to pretend anymore.
You don’t have to worry about what could happen. Because we are done.”
“Tate,” he murmurs.
I ignore the pang in my heart at the emotion that’s crept into his tone.
It’s all an act. But I don’t see why he’s insisting on dragging it out.
He can walk out of here and forget about me.
Just like he planned to do all along. He has no reason to stay.
No reason to be staring at me from where he’s towering in front of me like a dark-suited inferno, brimming with tension that makes it appear like he’s barely holding himself together.
If he’s going to stay here, prolonging it, then he can listen to my next words. Maybe he needs to hear them as much as I need to say them.
I whisper softly, sadness overtaking the hurt in my voice. “You’re a coward, Sullivan Beaufort. A beautiful coward who doesn’t know how to let someone love him and his daughter.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyes penetrating deep into my soul.
But I’ve locked him out of it now.
I won’t let him hurt me again.
He speaks slowly through gritted teeth. “You’re right, Tate. I am a coward.”
I inhale sharply as he reaches up and brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek with aching tenderness.
“I am a coward,” he repeats. “Because I was fucking terrified of you. Terrified of what you staying could have done to me.”
I freeze as he leans closer, his breath fanning over my face. He pauses with his lips inches from mine.
“Happy now, Baby?” he asks in a strained whisper.
My mouth falls open, and I struggle to take a breath, let alone answer him.
His eyes burn into mine, and he licks his lips, making me shiver like an idiot.
Then he storms off, throwing open the door with a punch as he leaves.