Chapter 7 — Tate
I wake up before dawn and she's still in my bed.
That's the first thing I process. Not the wound pulling slightly when I shift position, not the soreness in my muscles from yesterday, just her.
Still here. Still breathing steady and slow beside me.
I've never wanted someone to stay before. Not like this. Not in a way that made waking up alone feel like a problem that needed solving.
She's on her stomach, face turned toward me, one arm stretched across the pillow. Her hair is everywhere, dark against the white pillowcase.
Her back is bare where the sheet has slipped down to her waist.
I can see marks I left. Bite marks on her shoulder. Bruises forming on her hip where my fingers dug in. The evidence of what we did, what I did, written across her skin.
Should probably feel bad about that. Don't.
She chose it. Asked for it. Took everything I gave her and came apart underneath me twice.
I shift slightly to see her face better and the movement wakes her.
Her eyes open, unfocused for a second before they find me. Small smile. "Hi."
"Hi."
"What time is it?"
"Early. Before six."
She makes a small sound. Closes her eyes again but the smile stays. "You always wake up this early?"
"Yeah."
"That's terrible."
"You get used to it."
She opens one eye. Looks at me. "Do I have to get used to it?"
The question lands different than she probably meant it. Implies a future where she's here enough mornings that my schedule becomes something she adapts to.
"You planning on being here enough mornings for it to matter?" I ask.
Both eyes open now. She's fully awake. "Are you asking me to stay or asking if I'm planning to leave?"
"Telling you I want you to stay."
"Then yes. I'm planning on being here enough mornings that your terrible schedule becomes my problem too."
Something in my chest that's been tight since I woke up loosens.
"Good," I say.
We look at each other for a moment. Then she shifts slightly and winces.
"Sore?" I ask.
"Very."
"I'll get you something for that."
"In a minute." She reaches out, puts her hand on my chest. Just rests it there. "Just lie here with me first."
I lie there. Her hand warm on my chest. Neither of us speaking. Just breathing together in the gray predawn light.
After a while she speaks quietly. "I've never done that before."
"I know."
"Not just the sex. I mean... I've never chosen something just because I wanted it. Never let myself want something that much. It's always been about what I should want, what makes sense, what other people expect."
I don't respond. Just listen.
"And now I'm lying in your bed covered in marks you left and I'm sore everywhere and I should probably be freaking out about how fast this happened. But I'm not. I'm just... here. And I want to be here. And that's enough."
She pauses. Her hand moves slightly on my chest. "Is that crazy?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I don't do crazy. If it was crazy I'd tell you."
Small laugh. "You would, wouldn't you."
"Yeah."
More silence. Comfortable. Her hand stays on my chest. I can feel her pulse through her palm.
"I need to tell you something," I say eventually.
"Okay."
"I don't do this. Don't bring people into my space. Don't let people stay. Built my life specifically so I didn't need anyone for anything."
"I know."
"You being here changes that."
"I know that too."
"And I'm keeping you anyway."
She lifts her head slightly to look at me. "Keeping me?"
"Yeah. You're mine now. That's how this works."
"Possessive."
"Already established that."
"Just making sure you know I heard it."
"You got a problem with it?"
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "No. I don't think I do. Is that bad?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I don't say things I don't mean. You know that by now."
She puts her head back down. Hand still on my chest. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay I'm yours. And you're mine. Because if this is possessive it goes both ways."
Fair enough.
The sky outside is getting lighter. Gray shifting to pale blue. I need to get up. Check in with Clint. See how Perry's doing. Start the day.
Don't want to move yet.
"You need to get up," she says like she's reading my mind.
"In a minute."
"You just told me you always wake up early."
"I do. Doesn't mean I'm getting up right now."
She makes a sound that might be a laugh. "Why not?"
"Because you're here and I'm not done lying here with you."
That stops her. When she speaks again her voice is quieter. "Okay."
We lie there.
The house is completely silent except for our breathing, the world outside starting to wake up but not reaching us yet.
Eventually I make myself move. Sit up. The wound across my ribs pulls but it's healing clean.
Another few days and I'll barely notice it.
She shifts when I move, watching me. The sheet falls further and I can see more marks. Her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
Everywhere I touched.
"Stop looking at me like that," she says.
"Like what?"
"Like you're thinking about doing it again."
"I am thinking about doing it again."
"I'm too sore."
"I know. Not thinking about right now. Thinking about later."
She makes a sound. "Later I might be able to move again."
"Good. Need you to be able to move."
"Why?"
"Because later I'm putting my mouth on you like I said I would. And you're going to need to be able to spread those legs."
Her breath catches. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm trying to be practical and have a normal morning and you saying things like that makes that difficult."
"Good."
I stand up and she watches me move across the room. I'm naked, don't care, it's my house and she's already seen everything anyway.
Pull on boxers and jeans. She's still watching.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. Just... looking."
"You can look all you want."
"Good to know."
I walk back to the bed. Sit on the edge. Put my hand on her face. "You need anything right now?"
"Water. Maybe coffee. Probably a shower."
"I'll start coffee. You can shower after."
"Okay."
I start to stand and she catches my hand. "Tate?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For stopping. On the road. For bringing me here. For asking what I wanted. For waiting when I wasn't ready. For not waiting when I was. For all of it."
I look at her. Lying in my bed. Covered in marks I put there. Looking at me like I'm something that matters.
"You don't need to thank me for any of that," I say.
"I know. I'm doing it anyway."
I lean down. Kiss her. Not deep, just contact. "You're welcome."
Then I go make coffee because if I stay there I'm going to get back in that bed and she actually is too sore for what I want to do to her.
The kitchen is exactly how we left it last night. Plates in the sink. The counter where I had her pressed before we made it to the bedroom.
I start coffee and while it brews I check my phone. Three texts from Clint.
Perry's stable. Surgery went well. Hand will recover.
Dutch is in the wind. We'll find him.
Check in when you're up.
I text back.
Up now. Perry's good news. I'll stop by the clinic later.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
You good?
Clint doesn't ask that unless he actually wants to know.
Yeah. I'm good.
The woman staying?
Yeah.
Good. About time.
I almost smile at that.
The coffee finishes. I pour two cups. Black for me, black for her because I don't have anything else and she didn't complain yesterday.
Carry them back to the bedroom. She's sitting up now, sheet pulled around her, hair wild.
"Coffee," I say, handing her a cup.
"You're perfect," she says, taking it.
"Not even close."
"Close enough."
We drink coffee in silence. She's got the sheet tucked under her arms but her shoulders are bare. More marks there too. I keep finding places I left evidence.
"You need to see someone about those?" I ask, nodding at the marks.
"No. They'll fade."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. They're just bruises. I've had worse from moving furniture."
"I was rough."
"I know. I asked you to be."
"It was your first time with someone new. I should’ve been more careful.”
"I didn’t want that. I wanted you. All of you."
She drinks more coffee. Looks at me over the rim. "Are you fine with it?"
"Yeah."
"You sure? Because you look like you're thinking about something."
I am thinking about something. About how she looks in my bed. About how I want her here tomorrow. And the day after. About how I let her in and it doesn't feel like a mistake.
"Just thinking about you staying," I say.
"I already said I'm staying."
"I know. Just making sure I heard it right."
Small smile. "You heard it right."
She finishes her coffee. Sets the cup on the nightstand. "I should probably shower now."
"Yeah."
"Will there be hot water?"
"There's always hot water."
"Good."
She stands up, letting the sheet drop. Completely unselfconscious about being naked in front of me in the morning light. Walks to the bathroom. Stops at the door. "You coming?"
"You just said you're too sore."
"I am. But you can still wash my back. Or just stand there and watch. I don't care which."
I follow her to the bathroom.
The shower is exactly what it needs to be. Hot water, soap, her body under my hands in a way that's not sexual but still intimate.
I wash her back like she asked. Careful around the marks. She leans into my touch, lets me take care of her.
When we're done I dry her off. She stands there and lets me.
When I'm finished she takes the towel and returns the favor. Her hands gentler than mine were last night but no less thorough.
We get dressed. She puts my shirt back on, nothing underneath. I put on clean clothes.
"You hungry?" I ask.
"Starving."
"I'll make food."
In the kitchen I make eggs and toast. Nothing fancy. She sits at the table and watches me work. Comfortable silence between us.
I bring plates over. Sit across from her. We eat.
"What happens now?" she asks after a while.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean practically. I have a dead car on Route 9. No phone. No job. Technically I'm supposed to be married right now to someone who's probably filed a missing persons report."
"Do you want to go back?"
"No."
"Then you don't go back. We'll get your car tomorrow. Get you a phone. Figure out the rest as it comes."
"That simple?"
"Yeah."
She looks at me for a long moment. "And what do I do here? Just... live in your house?"
"You live here. With me. You figure out what you want to do for work. You exist. Same as anyone else."
"And you're okay with that?"
"I asked you to stay. That means I'm okay with it."
"What about the club? What about Perry and the Marrow thing and all of that?"
"That's still happening. Will keep happening for a while. That's my world. You're in it now. You need to be okay with that."
She thinks about this. "I saw you come home covered in blood yesterday."
"Yeah."
"And that's going to happen again."
"Probably."
"And you're not going to tell me details about what you do."
"Some details. Not all. That's how this works."
She nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. I can live with that. As long as you come home."
"I'll come home."
"Promise?"
"I don't make promises I can't keep. But I'll do everything I can to come home. That enough?"
"Yeah," she says quietly. "That's enough."
We finish eating. She helps me clean up. Moving around the kitchen together like we've done this a thousand times instead of once.
My phone rings. Clint.
I answer. "Yeah."
"Need you at the clinic. Perry's asking for you."
"On my way."
I hang up. Look at Natalie. "I need to go."
"I know. I heard."
"You'll be okay here?"
"I'll be fine."
I grab my keys. Stop at the door. Turn back. "Natalie?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not leaving while I'm gone?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"I'm sure. I'll be here when you get back."
"Good."
I leave. Get on my bike. Ride toward the clinic.
But the whole way there I'm thinking about her in my house. In my shirt. Waiting for me to come back.
And for the first time in eight years, I'm not just going through the motions of living. I'm actually living. Actually wanting something beyond function.
Actually choosing something for myself.
Her.
And I'm keeping her.