7. TATE #2
Patrick frowns. I’m not doing a good job of hiding the fact that I’d love to strangle him right now. But my animal brain views him as a threat. Ryan’s not even here, but it’s as if Patrick’s stripped him from me. Because if I can’t control what Ryan does, how can I be sure he stays mine?
“Sorry, I’ve hit a nerve. You trusted me with something personal, and I’ve blown it. I’d see if I could find a compromise. Maybe he goes, but he messages you. Or maybe you can offer to take him another weekend?”
I nod. “Thank you, Patrick.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat unnecessarily. “Well, I’ll head out then. Good luck.”
Great. This is why I don’t share my personal life. Even what’s “safe” to share isn’t relatable. It chips away at my carefully constructed front. Patrick feels awkward now. He’s going to be weird next time I see him. I’ll have to smooth that over.
But I put all that aside, getting up to lock the door this time. If anyone else knocks, I’m pretending no one’s here. Or shooting them.
When I’m back at my desk again, I pull out my phone, anticipating the fury Ryan’s filled it with. He doesn’t disappoint.
Dollface
You don’t get to tell me what to do, VanCourt.
Fuck, is that what you mean by freedom? You tell me where to go and what to do?
No. I can’t do this. It’s off.
Five minutes pass between that message and his next one.
Fuck you’re an asshole.
I hate you.
You’re a psychopath.
If “it’s off,” why is he still messaging me? That’s a mixed signal. I might be forced to ask Patrick about that.
Are you still there?
You would text just to be a dick and leave. Is this what our marriage will be like?
He couldn’t have meant we were off if he’s leaving the marriage on the table. Maybe he’d like us to be off, but we’re not. We’ll never be off. Has he figured that out yet? I held back when we were at the ice rink, hoping to gain his compliance so he’d think he was willingly marrying me.
Me
I was interrupted, dollface. Are you finished with your tantrum?
Dollface
I’m not having a tantrum.
Me
Dollface
Yes. I’m done.
I smile. He’s fascinating. But I still don’t have an answer to the question I asked Patrick. None of his solutions were ones I liked. Fuck, I’m not used to being torn like this. I’m decisive. The answers are always clear. I don’t rely on the opinions of sheep or pay much mind to them.
So, what if Ryan goes? He won’t have time to hook up with anyone if he’s coaching his team.
There’s a far greater chance of him finding a hook-up at college than on my hockey rink.
When Patrick brought up jealousy, it was my knee-jerk reaction to go along with it because it’s not untrue.
I am severely jealous. But I don’t think that’s my main concern this time.
What is it then? Why is there a fucking knot in my chest, thinking about him there without me?
Me
I was fucking with you, dollface. You can go if you follow my rules.
The veins in my neck are ready to pop. I don’t want him there without me. How do regular people allow their spouses out of their sight? When Ryan’s officially my spouse, maybe I won’t.
Dollface
Rules???
Me
Aren’t you supposed to be showing me how pretty and obedient you can be?
Dollface
If you want pretty and obedient, you’ve picked the wrong man.
Maybe he’s right. And I don’t like the way he seems to turn my insides into chaos. But the idea of giving him up for any reason makes me murderous.
Know what? Fuck it. I’ll get there, even if I have to ignore all traffic laws to do it.
Me
I’ll be there by the end of the game. There’s shit I gotta take care of at the brewery.
It’s not a complete lie. There’s always something at the brewery for me to take care of.
Dollface
I gotta leave by midnight to make curfew.
Me
Then you’ll see me for thirty minutes. For those thirty minutes, you belong to me, dollface, and you’ll damn well show me how obedient you can be.
What the fuck am I doing? I have better things to do than drive an hour to be with him for thirty lousy minutes.
Dollface
Fine. I’m yours for thirty minutes.
Yeah, there’s no way I’m missing even one of those thirty minutes.
Me
Careful, Ryan. I like your edge, but I don’t have an issue dulling it.
Dollface
Go fuck yourself, Tatum.
Tatum? I bristle. I hate when people call me Tatum. Uncle used it to taunt me. Luke always full-named me when I was in trouble and when he was disappointed in me. But if I tell Ryan that, he’ll just use it more.
Ryan needs to be put in his place. That’s fine. Thirty minutes is all I need to do it.
The fundraiser was as expected. Getting my team to do what they were supposed to was like herding cats.
At least we had a good turnout. Shae McKinnon was there, and he’s more than just a hefty pocketbook.
He’s a treasured alumnus. The other would-be donors liked seeing him, and it led to some good conversations.
I did enough footwork to make Patrick happy, but then I tuned out.
All I’ve been able to think about is Ryan and what I’m going to do to him.
I’ve done a lot of thinking since that text exchange.
Ryan’s acting as if he holds all the cards just because I’ve given him an inch.
But there’s no way he does. The one thing all the players in my underground league have in common is that they’re desperate.
Ryan wouldn’t be playing in an underground hockey ring if he weren’t grasping at straws.
He wouldn’t even consider my proposal, knowing what it entailed, unless he was out of options.
I need to extract his motivation. I’ll use that to trap him.
Just because I’m speeding and playing chicken with a few traffic lights, that doesn’t mean I’m desperate to see him. I want enough time to see my plan through.
I spin my car into the parking stall, irritation climbing my spine as my head of security, Jane Takahashi, strides up to the car, flanked by two additional guards.
“He’s in your office as requested, sir,” she says, her dark, high ponytail swinging to a halt. “But Ethan wants to speak with you first.”
“Tell Ethan he can speak with me later.” I got here ten minutes ahead of schedule thanks to my reckless driving. Every one of those minutes is for Ryan.
Jane purses her lips, judging me. I lead the charge into the brewery, where Ethan’s waiting like an overprotective mother, trying to catch her son sneaking in.
“Not now,” I snap as he stands, following me down the hallway.
“We need to talk, sir.”
“About what?” I don’t slow down as I head for my office.
“In private.”
“Speak now, or it’ll have to wait.” I make it past the tall stainless steel, cone-bottomed fermentation tanks, Ethan’s shoes clapping behind me the whole way. The brewery is empty, our patrons far below, enjoying the third period.
“What are you doing with the hot beefy man in your office?”
My hand seizes his throat. I slam him against the wall, my chest heaving with angry breaths. “You do not talk about him that way, understand?”
He nods, but he doesn’t gasp for air or beg for it like most would when their airway’s been choked. I release him, and he closes his eyes briefly, raking in a slow breath, succumbing to a coughing fit.
“He’s none of your fucking business,” I say before he’s recovered. I meet Jane’s eyes. “Take him to his office. He doesn’t leave until I say so.”
Ethan glares. “You don’t have to get your goons to drag me. I’ll take myself like a good boy.”
I shake my head. “Too far, Ethan. We’ll be chatting afterward.”
“Fine, but you’re gonna wish you’d talked to me first. You’re carrying me, big boy,” he says to the larger man.
He winces. “Sir,” he says in my direction.
“Do it,” I demand.
He groans, lifting Ethan bridal style. Ethan transforms from murderous cat to pleased python. That’ll keep him happy till I’m done with Ryan.
Ienter quietly, calming the raging storm within me with a breath. It feels like it’s been an eternity since I last saw him, not a mere week. He’s at the window behind my desk chair, forehead pressed against the glass, a forearm braced overhead.
It’s as if he’s contemplating the world, the weight of it unevenly spread across those broad shoulders of his.
His careless fall of dark blond hair feathers sideways.
I want to sink my fingers into it and pull.
I want to drag him around by it. Ruin any traces of the styling he’s clearly spent time on before coming here.
The inky black of the spider etched onto the nape of his neck is meant to be a warning, but it’s where I want to kiss him first.
Sliding up behind him, I do exactly as I promised, expecting him to deliver.
For thirty minutes, he’s mine. For thirty minutes, he said he’d be mine.
So what if I’m a little early? The extra minutes are mine, too.
I wrap my arms around his waist. He leans back, resting against my firm body, threading his fingers into mine.
I don’t flinch, but I do freeze, the hyperawareness seeping in.
He didn’t ask if he could touch me like that, but I’m not getting the screaming sensation that usually comes when someone makes unauthorized contact with my skin.
I don’t focus on it. I want Ryan to touch me, but my brain might not be able to tolerate it for long.
Thankfully, I’m distracted enough. Something deep and primal stirs. Ryan’s fucking mine, and his body knows it.
My lips find the spider, pressing there, lightly sucking. I can’t wait to mark him as I please. I try to spin him around, but he refuses, putting strength behind his muscles, locking them into place. “Wait.”
All my internal warning bells sound. Something is very fucking wrong. It takes every ounce of control I possess not to flip him around anyway.
“You said anything I want, right? In exchange, I give you me, my freedom, and you give me anything?”
“That’s what I said. Marry me, and I’ll give you everything.”
“What if what I want includes protection for my brother?”