Chapter 4 #3
“He was so proud that he knew so much about me, and he thought I’d be excited that he’d done his research. Even when I became visibly nervous, he just smiled and patted my hand. He told me the first time he saw me, he knew I was the one.”
Tate swore softly. “So what happened after that?”
“At first, I had hoped it was over, but he started sending me letters in the mail…to my address he should never have known.”
“Do you have the letters?”
“Will does.”
He nodded.
“Anyway, I’ve moved a few times since, and he’s always found me. I’m not even sure how bad it is because Will keeps some of it from me.”
Tate rubbed at his chin for a long moment. “I wish I would have done more at the wedding.”
My leg twitched back and forth. I drew in a breath. Here it was. The moment I’d been dreading since finding out Tate was the one watching over me.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Tate looked over at me curiously.
“It was my fault that I didn’t let you do more that night.”
He still looked confused. It was just better to get it over with.
“You were going to go talk to him or yell at him, and I stopped you because I didn’t want to make a scene.
But I’ve wondered every day if letting you do that would have made a difference.
I’m guessing it would have.” I blew out a breath, fighting back the layers of disgust at myself currently building up in my chest. I attempted a teasing smile.
“Anyway. As much as I hate to admit when you’re right about something, there you go. I wish I would have listened to you.”
We watched the hay before us being mowed into a row.
It was almost relaxing to watch, if not for the anxious silence that settled between us.
Or maybe that was just on my end. But I didn’t regret my words.
It felt good to get it all out in the open.
Suddenly, the tractor lurched to a stop.
Tate threw it into park before he turned to me.
My gaze remained fixed on the field in front of me.
“Hang on,” he began, holding up a hand somewhat incredulously. “This guy’s been terrorizing you for six months, and you’re taking the blame?”
I blinked. “No. Not all of it, but I probably could have prevented some of it.”
“What could you have prevented?”
“If I would have just—”
“Nope,” he interrupted. “Try again.”
“If I would have let you talk to him—”
He shook his head adamantly. “Nope.”
“What?” I cried out, exasperated. “Just let me say what I’m trying to say.”
“If you can say it without starting your sentence with the word if, then be my guest.”
I faltered. As a writer, I could have rephrased my statement a hundred different ways, but ultimately I was unable to stitch together in words this regret I carried.
On paper, Leroy was the bad guy. I knew that.
I felt that. But I carried the rest. At times, all the what-ifs pressed so heavily on my heart that it was hard to breathe.
Unable to help myself, I looked at Tate. His eyes were blazing with…anger?
“Alright, Rawlins,” he began, one arm resting on the wheel, “I see this a lot with victims, but I’m going to stop you right here.
Nobody can predict the future. We just have to use the best judgment we have at the time.
So let’s get one thing straight right now.
” He waited until my eyes locked onto his before he spoke again.
“You did nothing wrong with that guy. Not one damn thing. Not then, not now. This mess is all on him. Not you.”
I blinked, trying to reconcile the fact that it was Tate Walker saying these things to me. It was nice to hear, but that didn’t mean I believed him. I wanted to. But I knew different.
In the early hours of the morning, when some noise in the apartment wakes me up and I can’t go back to sleep, two alternate universes occupy the space in my mind.
In the first, I turned down the impromptu date with Leroy on the streets all those years ago.
I told him no and walked away. (Sometimes I kicked him and ran, depending on my mood.) If he’d never gone out with me, he would have never had the opportunity to latch on.
The second is at Will’s wedding, and I let Tate scare off Leroy.
If either had happened, I wondered if I’d be in my same predicament today.
But I’d silenced the red flags. The warning bells.
All the uncomfortable feelings I had on the street with Leroy had been pushed aside in the name of being nice.
Accommodating. Easygoing. Friendly. Sweet.
I’d told myself I was being dramatic–that the ick feeling coursing through me as I walked to the restaurant with him was an overreaction. That he was probably harmless.
I knew I shouldn’t have gone, and I went. Tate wanted to talk to Leroy, and I didn’t let him. This was nobody’s fault but my own.
But Tate was waiting for me to acknowledge his statement. To agree. So I mustered up a smile and nodded. But because he could never be easy, instead of starting the swather and taking us on our merry way, he picked another fight.
“Don’t do that.” His eyes were narrowed, and his voice was curt.
“What?” I asked, instantly defensive.
“Don’t pretend to agree with me. What do you want to say?”
“Nothing,” I lied, resting my head on the window next to me.
Suddenly, I was so tired. If someone had told me yesterday that I’d be fighting in a tractor with Tate Walker today, I’d have said they were crazy.
My whole life had been upended in the past few hours, and I didn’t have the strength to defend myself against his logic.
With how exhausted I was, Tate would definitely convince me that he was right, and then what would I have?
A deranged stalker but without all the unhinged guilt? I wasn’t ready to live like that.
“Liv,” he started again.
“Can we please just save your lecturing for another time?”
He stared at me for a beat before he sucked in a breath and got us moving again.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he said, like we were an old married couple pausing a debate.
“I knew I couldn’t be that lucky,” I quipped, giving him a look that softened the hard line on his lips.
“I’ve kind of missed fighting with you,” he said, looking over at me.
“Bossing me around, you mean.”
“Nah. You’ve always held your own. I just had the badge.”
He shot me a grin before turning his attention back to the field, lining up the swather just right so he wouldn't miss any hay.
For some reason, I couldn't stop stealing glances at him. At that backward hat. Those tufts of brown hair spilling out from the sides. There was something so effortlessly masculine about him.
Which was a disturbing observation to have on my first day here.
Plot Twist:
The backward hat is sexy.
Before I could stifle it, a large catlike yawn erupted from me.
With eyes gentler than I would have given him credit for, he handed me his precious donut pillow.
“We’ll stop for lunch in a couple hours. You should get a nap in while you can. Will said you haven’t been sleeping great.”
When I eyed the pillow but didn’t take it from him, he added stubbornly, “I’m not sitting on it, so get that out of your head.”
“I’m supposed to make sure that butt gets princess treatment.”
“Olivia,” he warned, but it only made me smile.
Blocking out all thoughts about writing, I propped the pillow against the window, leaned my head against it, and adjusted my position until I could feel the ray of sun across my face.
I closed my eyes. And this time, instead of re-living the moment on the street when I said yes to Leroy, I re-lived the moment just now, where Tate told me none of it was my fault.
And I slept.