Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (30 page)

Before I even finish my last sentence, his hand grips the back of my neck as he thrusts me forward, slamming the side of my face down on the top of his desk. Warm blood trickles from the corner of my eye as he angles his body over mine, his breath reeking of scotch as he speaks directly into my ear.

“You’ve forgotten your manners, boy.” His fingers dig deeper into my skin. “It seems the minute amount of space I’ve allowed you to have this summer has done nothing but corrupt your mind and distracted you from your obligations. I knew as soon as I saw you on the porch. I knew that little piece of ass you have upstairs had already dug her claws in you deep. But let me tell you, son. You
will
leave her. I’ll make sure of that.”

My accelerated pulse throbs through my ears and my head is pounding, but I try to resist him. Pressing up with all of my strength, his grip tightens, holding me in place. Closing my eyes, I respond, “And if I don’t?”

His snicker fills the air. “So quickly you forget that I own you, boy. You have no choice. If you disobey me, and don’t follow through with Harvard, I will pull every single penny out of your account, including that sizeable inheritance you have sitting in there. You will have nothing. Not. One. Dime.”

He releases his hold on my neck and backs a couple of steps away as I rise from the desk, wiping the blood from my face with the side of my hand. Turning to face him, I tighten my gaze. “She doesn’t care about the money. She doesn’t even know about it. So, go ahead. Take it, I don’t need it.”

He scoffs and steps forward, tilting his head to the side. “Okay, let’s try this another way then. I’m assuming since you’re challenging me on this, you must care deeply for her. You think you can give her any kind of life, as a bartender? Working part time as a carpenter? If you want her to be happy, to make a life with her, then you need to have a dependable career.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I write music. I could sell my lyrics.”

His brows rises and his eyes widen as he belts out a deep laugh. “You think your girly
poems
are worth money? Oh, that’s priceless.” My face must be marked with surprise because as he wipes his eyes and moves closer to me, he adds, “Yes, I know about your little hobby, son. I make sure to know everything about my investments.” As soon as he’s right in front of me, his smile fades into an enraged scowl. Grabbing fistfuls of my shirt, he pushes me with such force I crash against the wall behind me, hitting my head before my back slides down to the floor. His knuckles crack as he approaches.

“It seems I need to remind you of your place in this relationship. You. Are. Nothing.” Rearing back, his fist swings down toward my face, hooking me right across my lower jaw. I fall to the side, my head striking the hard wood as he pulls his leg back, ready to drive another blow.

Before I can even brace myself, the door flies open, and I hear Tatum scream as she runs into the room. “NO!”

Just as he begins to swing his foot toward my stomach, she slides in front of my crippled body, wrapping her arms protectively around me as she pulls me off the floor, her hair falling onto my face along with her tears. Her grip tightens as her back tenses in anticipation of my father’s attack.

But he never strikes.

She continues to hold me as her body trembles with fear. With her blue eyes streaming as she weeps, she finally backs away from me, brushing my face with her unsteady fingers. The absolute terror on her face shatters my heart — the reminder of her childhood hell as the knowledge sets in that this is what she must have felt when she was on the receiving end of her own mother’s blows.

Knowing that I have brought this horror back into her life, it’s too much. I will never be rid of my father, he has made that abundantly clear. But, I’ll be damned if I will subject her to
my
life. To
him
. Reaching up to her face, my chin quivers as the moisture falls from my own eyes.

I have no fight left in me.

My father is right. I
will
leave her.

He gives me no choice.

Noah is broken. I can see it in his eyes as he reaches for my face.

His strength, his spirit, his heart — everything that embodies him, his father just stripped from his soul, pulverizing him beyond repair. I can no longer control my sobbing as I hold him in my arms, rocking him back and forth, the feeling of utter helplessness saturating my being.

I was supposed to protect him.

And I failed.

Bending into him, I place my forehead against his and unhook my arms to hold his face in my shaking hands as I cry.

A deep, evil laugh slowly filters through the air, increasing in volume as he bellows. “Well, isn’t that sweet? My boy has a
woman
fighting his battles. So typical of his feebleness and inability.”

Noah disappears from my vision as it clouds, rage replacing my sorrow. Setting him gently on the floor, I wipe the tears from my face and stand, turning to face the savage man in front of me.

“You monster!” I scream at the top of my lungs. With all of the strength I can muster, I throw my hands in front of me, palms facing outward, and slam them just below his ribcage, sending him staggering back. Even though it’s only a couple of steps, I know I knocked the breath out of him because he bends at the waist, clearly winded.

“Tatum, no!” I hear Noah yell from behind me as he scrambles to his feet.

Positioning himself in front of me, he hooks his arm around my waist and holds me there, as I watch his father pace his breathing. Finally he raises his head, his fuming brown eyes meeting mine before they fix themselves on his son.

“Get her the hell out of here before something happens that we all regret. Take her home, and then get your ass back here. Do
not
make me come get you, son.” Rising, he situates himself, glaring at each of us one more time before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

Noah lets out a weary exhale before finally turning to face me. The skin by his left eye is sliced open and his bottom lip is cracked, blood seeping at the surface.

But it’s the
look
in his eyes that tells me the worst of the damage inflicted isn’t external. He looks defeated, the light normally present in them has completely faded away.

Reaching toward him, my mouth tips downward as I try to swallow the ache in my throat at the sight of him. Capturing my hand before it touches his face, he lowers it to my side before letting it go.

“Are you okay?” he asks, examining me for any injuries. After passing inspection, he releases another long breath, rubbing his head from front to back with his hand. “Damn it, Tate.”

Grabbing his keys from his pocket he continues. “I’m going to walk you to the Jeep and lock you in before I get our bags. Can you manage to stay put or do I have to chain you in?” My first instinct is to laugh, but the harsh look on his face tells me he’s not joking. At all.

“I’m serious. I made you promise me to stay upstairs because I wanted to keep you safe and you put yourself in harm’s way, regardless. He could have hurt you, which is something I can’t even begin to process with everything going on in my mind right now. So, I’m going to ask you this one more time. Will you stay in the Jeep?”

He peers into my eyes and without speaking, I nod back at him. He turns on his heel and with my head down, I follow him out of the house to the Jeep in the driveway. Storm clouds line the sky, their tiny droplets hitting my shoulders as we walk. Catching sight of the fountain in front of us, burning tears resurface as I recall just earlier today when he still had that light left in him. When he looked at me like I was the only thing he needed in the world. Now, he won’t even make eye contact with me.

My chin begins to tremble as he opens the passenger door, still avoiding me as he looks down at the ground while I climb in. Turning away from him, I watch the raindrops as they accumulate on the window opposite me, tiny little beads as they begin to roll down the glass as he locks the door and closes me in.

Five minutes later, I hear the front door shut as Noah exits the house, both bags clutched in his fingers and thrown over his shoulder. Crossing the front of the Jeep, his eyes remain forward until he opens the door, throwing our bags behind his seat before sitting down and closing his door. After starting the ignition, he runs his fingers through his hair, removing the excess water before shifting into drive, passing the fountain on our way out of the circle drive.

Biting the back of my thumbnail, I stare out my own window, the droplets streaming sideways as we pick up speed. Just before we turn onto the highway, I finally speak. “Are you mad at me?”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel and his jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth. “No.”

Peering at him from the side, I narrow my eyes. “You’re upset, Noah, and you have every right to be. You can talk to me if you need to. I’m here.”

He snickers and shakes his head. Checking his rear view mirror, he jerks the Jeep across two lanes of traffic, pulling onto the shoulder until we turn into an old, deserted gas station parking lot. Slamming on his brakes, he brings us to a complete stop before throwing the Jeep into drive and then twists in his seat to face me. “
Rights
? Are you kidding me, Tatum? I have no
fucking
rights!” Hurling his door open, he jumps out of the Jeep, the rain pouring down on his head as he crosses the desolate pavement.

I watch him through the window as he looks toward the sky and throws his arms open, lights flashing across the night sky and thunder crashing as he roars, “FUUUUUUUCK!” His hands go straight to his head, fisting sections of hair as he pulls, his anguish striking me so forcefully my chest as if it’s caving in. Jerking the handle on my door, I fly out of my seat, landing on the wet ground as the rain drops pelt my face disguising my tears as I watch him. His head tilted back with his eyes closed, his chin trembles and his lips shake as he continues tugging his hair. As much as I want to go to him, I stay where I stand. “Noah.”

Slowly, he releases his grip and opens his eyes, lowering his pain-stricken gaze to my face, his voice unsteady as he speaks. “I have
no
choice, Tate.
No
rights.” His eyes shift to the ground. “I have no right to challenge my father. I have no right to attempt to make a life of my own. I have no right to believe that who I want to be can even exist. But, most of all,” his tear-filled eyes rise back to mine, “I have no right to love you as much as I do. But, goddamn Tate. I do. I love you so much that it hurts. My heart is deliberately being torn from my chest, leaving a void that no one will ever be able to fill, no matter how far away I am. You have to believe that.
Please
believe that.”

His face crumbles in front of me just before he curls his hands over the top of his head and crouches to the ground, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he covers his face, his shoulders heaving from his sobs. Rain pouring down on top of us, I walk slowly over and lower myself in front of him. Peeling his arms away, I tilt his head gently back with my forefinger until I find his eyes, the absolute agony filling them driving more tears down my cheeks. “I love you, Noah Reese.”