Chapter Eleven
Ayda
Iwas bent at the waist, practically hyperventilating into a paper sack when Janette found me, only moments later.
From the look in her eyes, she’d seen my marvelous self-control in the face of my enemy.
I hated myself for being so impulsive and, most of all, defensive.
It was stupid, and I was putting, not just myself, but Tate in danger.
“Please. Just… don’t,” I said, putting my hand up in shame. “I fucked up. Like royally. He’s gonna kill me in my sleep. Jesus, Jan, what the hell was I thinking?”
“I wasn’t going to say a thing, darlin’. You look like you beat yourself up enough for the two of us,” she said with a small smile. “Look, Ayda, you ain’t doing yourself any favors out there, so how about I let Sam—”
“No!” I looked up and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing desperately through the trembling. “Men like that loathe weakness. If I chicken out, it’s only going to make matters worse. Just let me get those coffees out there and I’ll try and get through this with my mouth shut for once.”
“You’re shaking like a leaf, Ayda. Do you think that won’t be the first thing he notices when you go back out there?
” Janette shook her head and looked at the tray with a dozen mugs all waiting for me to go.
I’d attempted to work through the sudden panic attack, but had to stop.
“You’re a proud girl, I understand that, but there’s nothing wrong with accepting help from the people who love you. We can get you through this.”
“Oh, I’m going to fix it alright. I’m going to kill Tate myself. Right this problem at the root.”
The huff of air from the kitchen, accompanied by the mumbling about more balls than brains, had me looking at Janette and shaking my head. Rusty obviously knew and had been listening to everything I’d said.
“No, you’re not going to kill that boy, Ayda. Don’t talk like that. It was a mistake. What he did was stupid, granted, but it was from a good place.”
“It really was, A.”
I turned, almost violently, to find Tate at the back door of the restaurant, looking like a puppy in trouble, his tail thoroughly between his legs.
I was my mother’s daughter, and that look he gave me struck me square in the chest. A dozen knives would have been less effective.
Straightening out, I gave him a look, tipping my head to the side as I opened my arms, breathing out in relief as my little brother scooped me up into an embrace.
Tate looked so much like an adult it was easy to forget how young he was most of the time.
He’d barely lived. All of the responsibility from our parents’ deaths had fallen on my shoulders.
I hadn’t wanted him to be forced into growing up to the point where he’d resent his childhood.
So I’d sheltered him. Not as much as I should have, but as much as I could.
In his defense, he was normally quite mature for his age.
This shit he’d pulled was because he’d been drunk and worried, and it was a volatile combination.
It was out of character, and no matter how upset I was, I knew that.
“I’m so sorry.”
I probably looked ridiculous trying to comfort someone that was quite a bit larger than I was, but I couldn’t let him go.
When he was emotional like this, all I could see was that twelve-year-old boy that stood next to me at the funeral of our parents, gripping my hand as tears streamed down his cheeks.
It was at that point that the overwhelming relief that he was safe seemed to just take over everything else.
As long as it stayed that way, I could live with anything Drew Tucker decided to do to me.
“It’s okay, kid, but how about you lay off the liquor until you’re capable of making rational decisions while fucked up, eh?”
His indignant grunt of laughter made me smile. Any other time I think he would have challenged me to see just who could hold their liquor better.
“I promise. I’ll fix this.”
“No,” I said, pulling back and slapping his chest gently with my hand. “Absolutely not. I’ll take care of this. I just need you to stay away from those guys. They’re dangerous, Tate. I mean it. I can look after myself, but if you’re involved in any way…”
Tate’s eyes widened as mine moved to the main part of the diner. Looking between Janette and me, he slid past us and to the window of the swinging door, staring out at the sea of tables, easily finding the group of bikers at the back. “They’re here?”
“Yes, but go to school, T,” I said, moving in between him and the door, my hands planted firmly on his chest. “Nothing you can do. Just let me handle it.”
“But—”
“They’re having breakfast. That's it. Now go, before you miss second period and get barred from your game tonight.” I moved away from him to the tray where I’d started putting the dozen coffees together.
My hands weren’t as shaky now that I’d seen Tate.
His appearance had fortified me enough that I knew I could get through this.
“No more buts. I’m going to be home by five tonight and I want you there.
Alone. We can talk before your game. Understand me? ”
Hoisting the tray onto my shoulder, I looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer even though his eyes were still locked on the scene through the circular window.
“Tate!”
“Fine, I’m going. No Sloane after school.” He started toward the back door as I pushed my ass against the swinging ones.
“And Tate?”
“Yeah?” he asked, turning to look at me.
“Not a word about any of this to anyone. That includes Sloane. Don’t ever forget her father is the chief of police.”
I didn’t give him a chance to answer as I pushed through the door and plastered a confident smile on my lips, weaving my way to the tables where Drew and his friends were sitting expectantly.
Sliding a mug in front of each of them, I straightened up and looked the formidable Drew Tucker in the eyes with all of the strength I could muster.
“Did you decide what you’d like for breakfast, sir?
” I asked in my most professional and genuinely polite voice.
I was certain he wasn’t going to let me get away with just doing my job, but seeing Tate had really helped.
He was the reason I had to keep myself in check and why I had to control my impulses around this arrogant, cocky jerk.
There could be no more goading or fishing, certainly not in front of all of his friends.
For now, the insults had to be kept to my inner monologue, in the hope I could keep control of myself.
His face showed no emotion as he stared back at me.
No anger. No humor. No sadness. No joy. Not a single damn thing.
It was as if he was able to switch those moments of rage and amusement on and off like a light switch.
Dropping his eyes back down to the table, he surprised me by being the first to look away before he gave me his order in a quick breath.
“I’ll have Rusty’s meat mountain. Extra pancakes.
I want the bacon crisp, the steak rare and give me some eggs, hash browns, and beans on the side.
Make it quick.” Drew stopped to lean back in his seat again before he turned to flash me a sarcastic glare. “Please.”
My mouth stayed in the polite smile as he spoke, my pen scribbling along the paper as quickly as possible. Looking at the order, I peered up, attempting not to piss him off by asking too many questions. “How would you like your eggs?”
“Beaten,” he answered quickly.
“With the four meat, you have one more side. You can have double hash, mushrooms, double beans, grits, a fruit plate, side salad or those potato cubes that don’t really have a name.
” I tucked my hair behind my ears and smiled.
I could see the silent challenge there. He was as cool as a cucumber, but he was waiting for me to lose my patience—to be the one to throw the first punch, so to speak.
“How about a trade off?”
“What kind of trade off?” I asked, itching my eyebrow with the end of my pen thoughtlessly as I looked at the huge order on the pad.
“The kind of trade off where I forego the mushrooms in exchange for you.”