Reparation (23 page)

“That was very nice, I'm sure,” he breathed. She chuckled.

“'
Very nice
'!? Sandy, I think you just ate my tonsils,” she laughed.

“Yes. Just because I don't have sex, does not mean I am not
sexually frustrated,
” he explained, and she burst out laughing harder. He finally laughed, as well.

“Sandy, if you have sex the way you kiss, then you have
nothing
to worry about,” she laughed, fanning herself.

“Thank you. It was very lovely. But may I be honest?” he asked, finally opening his eyes. She smiled.

“Always.”

“I do not have any siblings, that I know of,” he started. “But if I did, I imagine that if I kissed one of them, it would feel very much like the kiss you and I just shared.”

Tate laughed even harder and started to slide again. This time he let her go, and she fell onto her butt at his feet. She laughed so hard she cried a little, and he had to help her get to her feet.

“Sorry, Sandy, I don't think you're getting any nookie from me,” she told him.

“Pardon me, but
thank god
.”

Later that night, after they had gone to bed, Tate crawled out from under her covers and crawled under Sanders'. Scooted up next to him and wrapped his arm around her waist. She settled her back against his front.

“No hanky panky,” she warned him, and he chuckled sleepily.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“But you will find someone, someday. I promise,” she whispered.

“You wouldn't have done it, you know,” he told her.

“Excuse me?”

“You wouldn't have actually done that, with me. You wouldn't hurt him, that way. You couldn't,” Sanders informed her. Tate sniffled. Nodded.

“
I know.
”

“Though I am flattered by the offer. And it was a very good kiss,” he assured her.

“It was one of the best I've ever had. Are you going to tell him?” she asked. He hesitated.

“Probably. Would you like me not to?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Whatever you think is best. I don't want to hurt him. And I wasn't using you, I promise,” she stressed. His arm got tighter around her.

“I know. You are confused. I understand. I thought maybe making a mistake with me, would help you realize the mistake you are making with Jameson,” he told her in a soft voice.

“You would do that? Jeopardize your relationship with Jameson, for mine!?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, I would, but the fear is unnecessary. When Jameson and I say we love each other, it is unconditional.”

She felt like such. Complete. Utter.
Shit
.

“Someday, Sandy,” she cried, “I hope I can be as good a person as you.”

“Someday, Tatum. Someday.”

*

She was gone. She had really left.

Three days later, Jameson watched the Bentley pull up the driveway. Sanders got out of it, alone. They hadn't spoken the entire time. Jameson hadn't called – if he had, he probably would've lost his shit and demanded Sanders drag her home. And he didn't want to do that. Sanders probably hadn't called for the very same reason.

“Nice little vacation you had there,” Jameson commented, taking in Sanders' rumpled suit. He had been wearing it for three days straight, obviously.

“I wouldn't say that,” the younger man replied, heading into the house and straight into the kitchen. Jameson followed him.

“I almost thought you had left with her,” he voiced his fear. Sanders stopped in front of a cupboard.

“I would never do that. I simply stayed with her till her flight left. Tried to reason with her,” he said.

“Oh really. And how did that go?” Jameson snorted. Sanders snorted as well and pulled open the cupboard.

“Not well. She is severly unbalanced.”

Jameson was a little shocked as he watched Sanders pull a bottle of Jack Daniel's out of the cupboard. He walked up next to him, watched as Sanders got a tumbler out of another cupboard and then poured about three-fingers worth of the amber liquid into the glass.

“She is also a bad influence. What are you doing?” Jameson demanded. Sanders handed the glass to him.

“This is for you,” he replied. Jameson took the glass.

“Oh god, why?” he groaned, then knocked back the liquid.

“She offered to sleep with me.”

Jameson started choking on the whiskey. Sanders pounded on his back, but Jameson waved him away. Stumbled over to the sink and turned on the faucet, stuck his mouth underneath it. He must have heard wrong. He couldn't believe it.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped for air, leaning against the counter. “You'll have to repeat that. What happened?”

“Sex. She offered to have
sex
with me.”

“I see. Did you take her up on this offer?”

Pause.

Oh my god. I have to kill Sanders. How am I going to do this!? That stupid bitch.

“I let her kiss me.”

I think there is a shovel, in the pool house. I can bury him under the roses. He likes roses
.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was
very
nice.”

Then I am going to fly to Arizona, and I am going to strangle her. Just a little
.

“And the sex? She is pretty fantastic.”

“She didn't actually want to do that. She discovered that I am a virgin. She wanted to do me a favor. The kiss was just calling her bluff. It worked. She was very upset at the idea of hurting you,” Sanders explained.

Oh thank god, thank god, thank god, thank god. Even I can only handle so much
.

“Somehow,” Jameson started. “I highly doubt that.”

“Regardless of what you believe, it's true. She said it. When are you going to go after her?” Sanders asked, pouring another drink. Jameson moved to stand by him.

“
I'm not
. Did you hear the things that were said between us? She doesn't want this, Sanders. She doesn't want
me
. I'm sorry. I gave it my best shot,” he said. Sanders shook his head.

“No. She is
scared
of you. Do you see what your actions have done? One act of cruelty, and you have caused her to doubt you forever,” he started. Jameson went to argue, and Sanders held up a hand and continued. “Her running away is not right. It is not fair. She made promises that she is going back on. I do not condone this. But
you know
that she wants to be here. That she wants to be
with you
.”

“Sanders, she said it was all a lie. This was her plan, ever since Paris. I don't think she ever forgave me, ever stopped wanting to do this. She said she loved me,” Jameson's voice fell into a whisper. “
And it was a lie.
All a lie. She got me. Finally won something.”

“No. It wasn't a lie. You know that.”

“I don't. I don't really wanna talk about this, I already feel like shit. I've got lawyers up my ass about this whole Pet thing, I've got clients I've been ignoring, and I feel like
shit
. Like
absolute fucking shit
. I'm so glad you spent the whole weekend making
her
feel better, while
I
had to stay in this goddamn house and wallow in my own self-loating,” Jameson snapped.

It was true. Paranoia and panic, for three long days, wondering if he had lost her forever. Wondering if Sanders had left him, too. By the third day he had somewhat come to peace with her being gone. He couldn't force her to love him. Couldn't force her to return any of his feelings. But Sanders. Sanders was family. He couldn't just walk away.

“Good. Sometimes I think you need a little of that. Pity it didn't help,” Sanders said, and handed Jameson the glass with the Jack Daniel's in it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jameson snapped.

“It sounds like you have given up on her. And the Jameson I know doesn't give up on something, not when he really wants it,” Sanders stressed.

“Maybe I don't want it anymore.”

“Now who is the liar?”

Jameson slammed the whiskey down in one shot.

“She doesn't want me, Sanders! Get that through your fucking head. She wants to pretend to have some nice, normal life, with her goddamn baseball player. I can't change that! What do you want me to do!?” Jameson demanded.

“I want you to go get her back.”

Jameson slammed his hand down on the counter.

“
I can't do that!
You act like I'm some kind of god, like I can just snap my fingers and she'll come back! That's not how it works, Sanders,
b
elieve me
. How often are we going to go through this!? How many times am I going to have to chase her down?” Jameson asked.

“As many times as it takes.”

“Takes to what?”

“Takes for her to realize where she belongs.”

Jameson poured his own shot that time around.

“Sanders,” he breathed after swallowing the whiskey. “I know this may be hard to believe, but I do feel things on occasion. She said she loved me. I believed her. I have believed it for a long time. I have pretended not to care. But now that she has taken it back, I have discovered that I care very much.
And it hurts
.”

“Do you see where pretending has got you?
Alone
. Maybe if you spent half the amount of time being honest as you did pretending, we wouldn't always find ourselves in these predicaments,” Sanders snapped. Jameson raised his eyebrows.

“Do you speak to Tatum this way, when you're trying to make her feel better?” he asked.

“No. She prefers cuddles.”

“Maybe I'd like a cuddle.”

“Forgive me, sir, but that is not going to happen.”

Jameson laughed, and took another shot.

“I miss her, Sanders. It's been three days, and I already miss her. Was it all a lie? Tell the truth,” Jameson said softly.

“Only what she said at the end; that was all a lie. Nothing else.”

Jameson dropped his head to the counter.

“
Fucking bitch,
” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn't matter, Sanders. Lie, or truth. She doesn't want me. So much so, that she was willing to lie and run away. I'm not going to force someone to be in my presence. I am better than that;
we
are better than that,” he gestured between him and Sanders. Sanders nodded and poured another shot. But this time, he didn't hand it to Jameson. He took the shot himself.

“One more question, sir,” Sanders' voice was barely above a breath.

“What?”

“Why do you think you are incapable of love?”

Jameson blinked, caught off guard.

“Excuse me?” he asked for clarification.

“You pretended to not care that she loved you. You pretended not to love her back. Why can't you just let yourself love her?” Sanders pressed.

“Since when did you become a fucking couples therapist?” Jameson snapped. Sanders shrugged.

“I don't think I even necessarily understand what love is, but I understand that it is very important between the two of you. And I see that you won't allow yourself to do it. I don't understand. You love me, yes?” Sanders asked. Jameson made a growling sound.

“
Yes
.”

“Then why can't you love her?”

“It's not that I can't ...,”

“Why
don't
you?”

“Sanders,” Jameson groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “Can we get existential another day? I am so fucking tired.”

But he thought about it, as he went to bed. Jameson laid in the middle of his bed, on purpose. Trying to erase the distinction of there being “
sides
”; her side, his side. She slept on the right side of him, most of the time. But it was
his
bed, so really, there shouldn't be sides.

Even you started calling it “our bed”, as opposed to “my bed”. You know what's going on.

Jameson didn't think he was incapable of love. He had loved his mother. He loved Sanders, very much. But he had never been
in love
with somebody. He certainly hadn't loved Pet, and he had never been with any other woman for too long, before her. Hadn't ever really liked any of the women he'd been with; he hadn't even been with Tate for that long, so he certainly couldn't love her.

Could he?

He loved her body. He loved fucking her. He loved her filthy mouth, and her sick mind. He loved how she would let him do
anything
he wanted to her. Loved that she was
never
scared of him. Loved that she had always allowed him to be himself, through and through. He loved that she was funny, and smart, and that sometimes she would look at him like she was so happy to see him, she couldn't even stand it.