Chapter Seventeen #2
People used to say I was smart, back when I was in school and had my whole life in front of me. My current circumstances were proof that having good grades didn't mean I had any common sense.
I left my room, wishing the day were already over and I could crawl back into bed and sleep for a year. Maybe by then, this would all be over. Voices filtered down the hall from Jacob's office. Jacob, sounding cold. Tate, angry and frustrated.
Moving closer, I heard Tate demand, "Why do you have a crime scene picture of my parents’ murder? What the fuck is going on? Does this have anything to do with what happened downstairs? And why do you have a woman living with you that none of us have ever seen?"
The picture. I hadn't realized Jacob had left it out. Tate shouldn't have seen it. He'd only been a child when he'd lost his parents.
"Would you relax?" Jacob asked, his voice icy and unyielding.
He'd sounded the same way when he'd walked out on me after I'd shown it to him. It hurt him to look at it. The idea that he hadn't protected Tate from it would make him furious.
"No, I will not relax," Tate shot back. "I want to know what's fucking going on. My girlfriend just broke up with me over that bullshit in the garage."
"Your girlfriend? Since when do you have a girlfriend?" Jacob asked, sounding as if he were laughing at Tate. I eased away and went back into the kitchen to make Jacob something to eat.
I didn't want to get caught listening to their conversation. With the office door open, I could hear them easily. They weren't making much of an effort to be quiet.
I tried not to smile at the sulk in Tate's voice when he said, "Since this morning, but it didn't last very long, thanks to you."
I heard the sound of a drawer slamming shut, then Jacob say, "I'm not going to talk about the picture. Not yet. Come back in the kitchen. It's been a long fucking morning, and I'm starving."
They came into the kitchen, Tate sitting back down at the island in front of his empty plate. Jacob came around the island to stand beside me as Tate asked, "Are you going to introduce us?"
Jacob slid his arm around my waist, the woodsy scent of him making me lightheaded. He dropped a gentle kiss on my neck just below my ear.
"Are you all right?" he asked, nuzzling me, his arm pulling me against him.
Tate seemed nice enough, but at that moment, I wished he were anywhere else. I wanted to stay exactly where I was, leaning on Jacob, his lips warm on my skin.
"I'm fine," I said. "Did you get everything straightened out?"
"Yes. Everything is locked up tight. They won't get that close again."
He stepped back from me, leaving me cold without his arm around me, and said, "Abigail, you've met my cousin, Tate. Tate, this is Abigail Jordan. She's my guest, and while she's here, security has been tightened."
"It's nice to meet you, Abigail," Tate said, sending me a charming smile I imagined got him his way more often than not. To Jacob, without a smile, he said, "Where have you been all morning? What happened in the garage?"
Jacob took the coffee I handed him and sipped before he said, "Abigail has an unfortunate situation that is none of your business.
As part of that situation, someone tried to shoot me in the garage this morning.
We're still not sure exactly how he got in, but he's in police custody and I'm fine.
When she got here, I increased security, but I did it quietly because we didn't want to broadcast her location.
After this morning, that's no longer a concern. "
"The Sinclairs are on it?" Tate asked.
Jacob nodded. I was grateful for his discretion. I was ashamed enough about my situation. I didn't want to stand there while Jacob laid out my dirty laundry for his cousin. He went on.
"You, Holden, and the other residents will get a briefing this afternoon. Traffic in and out of the garage will be personally checked. It's going to be slow, but it should prevent the kind of scene you dealt with this morning."
"And you're not going to tell me why someone was shooting at you?" Tate asked.
I started to speak, feeling like he deserved some kind of explanation, but Jacob flashed me a glance that clearly ordered me to stay silent.
"It's not your business," Jacob repeated. "Despite what happened this morning, I don't want anyone to know Abigail is here, so don't tell Holden or your brothers."
With a mischievous grin on his face, Tate said, "What about your brothers?"
Jacob's spine went straight and he glared at Tate. "Don't fucking tell Aiden anything."
I didn't want Tate to goad Jacob into a fight. Interrupting, I asked, "Your girlfriend broke up with you because of what happened in the garage?"
"Because of the reporters," Tate explained. "They were like a pack of wolves, shouting and taking pictures. Emily has problems with anxiety and panic attacks, and it was too much. She freaked out, and then she broke up with me."
Jacob didn't say anything, just narrowed his eyes, but I frowned and considered. I knew a little bit about anxiety issues. My freshman year roommate had social anxiety disorder and panic attacks.
I asked, "Did she freak out or did she have a panic attack?"
"She had a panic attack," Tate admitted. "It was pretty bad."
I could imagine. I'd seen Christine suffer through several, and they'd been miserable.
"I had a friend in college who had panic attacks," I said quietly. "I always felt terrible for her when they happened."
Tate said, "Emily was a victim, in a mass shooting, when she was a kid, the only survivor, and the media was relentless. She said the panic attacks started because of that."
"We know what that's like," Jacob said, his annoyance with Tate softening. The Winters family knew too much about how bad the media could get. I could imagine the rabid excitement of the press at the prospect of a new Winters scandal to chew on.
Poor Emily. I felt a fresh wave of guilt. I'd brought this on them when I'd come to Jacob.
"Walking into that garage this morning must have been horrible for her," I said. "Is she all right?"
Tate shook his head. "I don't know. She told me she couldn't deal with me anymore and kicked me out."
"She kicked you out? And you just left?" Jacob demanded.
"You don't understand," Tate said, sounding lost and miserable.
"So what are you going to do?" Jacob asked. "Or is this going to be the shortest relationship in the history of relationships?"
"What am I supposed to do?" Tate asked, sounding irritated.
"I don't know," Jacob said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Go apologize? Beg her forgiveness and tell her you can work things out? Or is her condition too much and you don't want to deal with it?"
"It's not too much," Tate protested. "But I can't force her to want to be with me. And she's right, we do have to deal with the media. I can try to keep her safe from that, but I can't make any promises. I won't lie to her."
"Do you love her? Or are you just having fun?" Jacob's eyes were hard, and he looked angry, surprising me.
It wasn't like Jacob was all about love and happiness. He'd taken me on as his sexual pet, though he'd been oddly sweet lately. But it wasn't like he was the king of commitment.
He, himself, had admitted that he didn't do love or dating. Who was he to make Tate feel worse?
"We haven't been together that long," Tate said. "I've never been in love before. I know I don't want to lose her. I've never felt like this about any woman. I just don't know how to fix this."
Wanting them to stop sniping at each other so I could go lie down, and wishing I could help Tate, I said, "Tell her how you feel.
Be honest with her and tell her how you feel.
She had a shock this morning, and she probably regrets breaking up with you.
I'd give her a little space to get over the panic attack, but not too much, and then go talk to her. "
If I were Emily, that's what I'd want. A little time to get over my shock, and then honesty. Especially if the honesty came with a confession of love from the man I wanted.
I shook my head at myself and turned to make myself some tea. I wasn't getting a confession like that from any man. Especially not from the one I wanted.
But I hoped Emily did. Someone should get a happy ending around here. I knew better than to think it might be me.
After all the mistakes I'd made, I didn't deserve one.
Tate pushed his chair back. Saying to me, "Stay here," Jacob put down his sandwich and walked Tate to the door of the penthouse.
This time, their conversation was nearly silent. All I caught were low murmurs. My tea finished brewing, and I poured in a generous dose of honey, stirring slowly.
The familiar scent of Earl Grey teased my senses. It was still early, barely lunch, but it felt like midnight. All I wanted was to go back to bed.
Cradling the mug in both hands, I sipped, letting the honey tinged hot fluid soothe my throat.
Jacob's footsteps sounded on the floor behind me. "When were you going to tell me you have a fever?"