Chapter 5 — Tate #2
I watch Perry's blood spiral down the drain, brown water gradually turning pink, then finally running clear.
Perry's alive. His hand will heal eventually. He'll be back with the club when he's recovered.
I brace my forearm against the tile and let the water run over my head, my back, washing away the blood and the adrenaline and the specific weight of finding one of my brothers broken and bleeding on the ground.
Sometimes you get there in time to make a difference. Sometimes you don't.
Today I did.
The water finally runs completely clear. I turn it off, dry myself roughly with a towel, and pull on clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt.
When I get out of the bathroom, the smell of cooking food reaches me immediately. She's in the kitchen, working at the stove.
I walk to the doorway and lean against the frame, just watching her move through my space.
She's still wearing my shirt, still barefoot, cooking in my kitchen like she's been doing this for years instead of hours.
She brings two plates to the table and sets one in front of the chair I always use, then sits across from me with the other.
We eat together and the silence between us is comfortable rather than awkward. Just two people sharing a meal.
After a few bites she speaks.
"How bad was it?"
It's a direct question, asking for specifics.
"Bad. Multiple fractures that I could see on his hand. He'll need surgery. There's a chance he might not get full function back."
"But he'll keep the hand itself."
"Yeah, he'll keep it."
She nods and takes another bite, considering this.
"What about the men who did it?"
"Gone," I say simply.
She looks directly at me and holds my gaze without flinching.
"Good," she says.
That single word tells me everything I need to know. She understands exactly what "gone" means in this context.
Just accepting it as the reality of this world.
We finish eating and she carries both plates to the sink, washing them while I watch the way my shirt rides up slightly on her thighs when she reaches for things.
She turns around and leans back against the counter, looking at me steadily.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
The question catches me slightly off guard.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah… Why are you asking?"
"Because you walked in here covered in blood and now you're sitting at your kitchen table like it's just a normal Wednesday."
"It is a normal Wednesday," I point out.
She studies my face for a long moment.
"That's what you do," she says, and it's not a question. "You put it away. Function through it instead of processing it."
It's an observation, not an accusation, so I don't bother responding because she's not wrong.
She pushes off from the counter and walks over to me, stopping right next to my chair.
I look up at her, close enough now that I could easily reach out and pull her down onto my lap, slide my hands under that shirt and find out if she's wearing anything underneath it.
She reaches out and puts her hand gently on my jaw. The warmth and softness of the contact makes something tighten in my chest.
"I'm glad you're okay," she says simply.
"Me too."
She doesn't move her hand away and neither do I.
The air between us shifts, becomes heavier and charged with everything we've been building toward since last night on the couch.
"Tate?"
"Yeah?"
"Yesterday you said tomorrow. You said if I stayed for tomorrow, we'd finish this."
"I remember saying that."
"Well, it's tomorrow now."
Yeah. It definitely is.
I reach up and place my hand over hers where it rests against my jaw, holding it there.
"You're absolutely sure about this?"
She gives me a look that's half exasperation, half amusement. "If you ask me that one more time, I'm changing my mind purely out of spite."
I feel my mouth curve slightly. "Okay, point taken."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I'll stop asking."
I stand up and she doesn't step back, leaving us only inches apart. Close enough that I can see her pupils dilate. Close enough to see her pulse beating visibly at her throat.
I slide my hand from her jaw to the back of her neck, feeling her breath catch at the contact.
"Say it," I tell her. "Say you want this."
"I want this."
"Say you want me."
"I want you."
"Say you're choosing this deliberately. That you're not just running away from something, but running toward something."
She holds my eyes steadily. "I'm choosing you. Deliberately and consciously. Because I want to."
That's all I need to hear.
I pull her toward me and kiss her hard.
She makes a sound against my mouth and opens for me immediately. Her hands fist in my shirt while I walk her backward until she hits the counter, pinning her there with my body.
This kiss isn't careful or gentle.
She tastes like coffee and something sweet. She's soft everywhere I'm hard, her breasts pressed against my chest, her stomach yielding against mine.
I need my hands on her, need to confirm every soft curve I've been imagining.
I slide my hands under her shirt and up her ribs until I'm cupping her breasts. No bra between us, just warm soft flesh filling my hands perfectly. I squeeze and she gasps directly into my mouth.
I pull back and we're both breathing hard already.
"Bedroom," I say roughly.
"Okay."
"Right now."
"Okay."
I take her hand and pull her down the hallway into my bedroom, closing the door behind us even though we're alone in the house.
She stands in the middle of the room looking at me, waiting to see what happens next.
This is it. This is where we finally finish what we started.
I look at her standing there in my shirt, her bare legs, her hair loose around her shoulders, her lips already swollen from kissing.
"Take it off," I tell her.
She pulls the shirt over her head and lets it fall to the floor.
She stands there completely naked, letting me look.
I take my time looking at all of her. Her heavy breasts, soft stomach, wide hips, thick thighs, the dark hair between her legs.
She doesn't try to cover herself or apologize for her body. Just stands there and lets me see everything.
"You're fucking beautiful," I say, meaning every word.
She makes a small sound. "You don't have to say—"
"I don't say things I don't mean. Ever."
That stops whatever she was about to say.
I pull my shirt off and kick my jeans away, then my boxers, until I'm standing naked in front of her too.
Her eyes drop and take me in slowly, stopping when she reaches my cock. I'm already hard, have been since we were in the kitchen.
I kiss her again, hard and possessive, while walking her backward toward the bed.