Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (7 page)

Obviously frustrated, he runs his fingers through his jet black hair. “Go home, sober up, and I’ll text you the address in the morning. Be prepared to actually work, not
float
through the next couple of months.”

I watch his mouth moving, but I don’t really hear anything else he’s saying because my mind is honed in on the only part of his tirade that actually scares me.

Home.

Where the hell am I going to sleep tonight?

Cash’s is obviously out of the question. And I’m definitely not crashing at Sadie’s — enough criticism has been inflicted this evening without enduring her snotty roommates.

Shit.

I’m going to have to go to Mother’s. I’m supposed to be living there anyway, but the lingering memories throughout every square foot of that house haunt me every time I enter it. Unfortunately, it looks as if that’s the only option I have this evening.

Biting my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, I look back up at Trace’s hardened blue eyes as they just glare in my direction. No more words are spoken between us, and I couldn’t care less.

I don’t have shit to say to him anyway. I’ve wasted my time pleading my case since I was six years old — he definitely never bothered to try to understand then. Both, repeat
both
times he returned home to see us, Mother was an absolute angel. She didn’t drink a drop, was overly affectionate toward me, and delivered the perfect performance of a loving, doting mother. I was lucky, I guess. She saved her demons for me and me only. After what felt like hundreds of calls to him asking him to come get me, and with his refusal every single time, I eventually cut him from my life.

He doesn’t know me.

He never will.

My eyes remain locked with his as he continues shooting daggers at me until Harlow finally arrives with the first aid kit. I watch him as he turns and angrily stalks toward the bar as Harlow pulls me over to Trace’s truck and lowers the bed door, urging me to take a seat.

I’m all alone.

Always
alone.

She begins cleaning my wounds, and I hiss through my teeth as she lightly dabs the antiseptic cloth where the pooled blood on my arms and legs has already begun to dry. Inspecting for any remaining pieces of glass in my skin, her green eyes sadden as they travel up and down my body, taking in the numerous cuts and gashes. With a tender swipe of her thumb to my cheek, she removes a fallen tear while giving me a sympathetic smile. “You’re gonna be just fine, sweetie.”

I’m not sure, but I think she’s talking about more than the damage done to my body. After giving her a weakened smile in return, she dips her head in affirmation before squeezing my leg and turning to follow in Trace’s footsteps.

Wiping my face, I take in another deep breath and turn my head towards Cash’s truck. His back window is completely shattered. And for what? I don’t even really like him that much.

Shaking my head in disbelief that
this
is where I am in my life, disappointment squeezes the air right out of my lungs — disappointment in myself, disappointment from everyone else, disappointment from my daddy. I can feel it. Even though he’s not here, his sadness is all around me. The weight of it cloaks my heart every single day I continue my trek down this path. But the hatred for my mother keeps driving me forward. The anger overwhelms me. It festers inside my soul, inside my mind, its darkness spreading throughout my entire being.

I hate her.

I hate myself.

The fact that I’m not strong enough to stop letting her control my actions, disgusts me.

Lost in thought, I barely notice when two hands attach themselves on each side of my face, pulling it away from the direction of Cash’s truck. My blank gaze lands on the worried brown eyes of Sadie. Lashes still damp from her own tears, she locks stares with me, squeezing my face so hard my cheeks are flattened like pancakes, and my lips shoot forward. Since she says nothing, I have no choice but to cross my eyes and make fishy-face. Jerking her hands away, she attempts not to laugh, but she’s unsuccessful.

“Damn it Tate, what the
hell
were you thinking?” she asks, coming off her giggle while rolling her eyes.

“What? You don’t approve of fishy-face?” I reach out to take her hand as she helps me off of Trace’s truck. All humor in her face has disappeared.

“Fishy-face was cute. What just happened over there,” she gestures toward Cash’s decimated back window, “That was
not
. You scared me to death, Tate. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself. And now, well now you’re in a heap of trouble. Trace is
pissed
.” Hand still joined with mine, she leads me toward her car.

I roll my eyes and smirk back at her. “Screw Trace. He thinks he can just swoop in here and act like he actually cares? You know what I went through, Sadie, and you also know of his blatant disregard of my welfare, his own
baby
sister. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if he’s pissed.
I’m
pissed.”

She stops dead in her tracks and faces me. “No shit you’re pissed. You’re pissed at the entire world. I completely understand your outrage with Cash. He’s a douche and doesn’t deserve your ass.” She takes my other hand into hers. “But tonight — and don’t get me wrong, I know I played a large part in it, but tonight you crossed a line. I’m starting to really worry about you. You’ve got to find another outlet for this anger, or just let it go. Whatever you need to do,
do it
because if you don’t, you’re going to wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your entire life. And then you’re going be even more enraged. It’s a
vicious
cycle.”

She lightly squeezes my hands and then lets one go so I can catch the tear clinging to my chin. “I know, Sadie.” I sigh. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought about. I scared
myself
tonight. That’s not me. Honestly, I’m not even sure who
me
is, but I know that’s not it.”

“You’ll figure it out, Tatum. You will.” She steps forward, and I follow, still hand-in-hand. “I love you, you know,” she says, knocking my shoulder with hers as we walk.

“I love you too, Sadie. You’re the only person who understands me. I know I must be quite a burden sometimes, and I’m sorry for that.”

She tightens her grip on my fingers. “Tate — you’re not a burden. I love you like a sister and I would do
anything
for you including reaming your ass for still dating Cash after the shit he’s put you through.” Sighing out loud, she presses on. “I know you’ll go back to him, you
always
do. And there’s not a damn thing I can do but sit back and watch you settle for less than what you deserve, less than
anyone
deserves because he’s an
asshole
.” She chuckles under her breath. “Well, maybe Ryder…Ryder, I would be okay with.”

I smile, but then it’s lost as the truth of what she’s saying settles in my mind. “I know, Sadie. But at least he’s
someone
. And having someone means I’m not alone.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong, love. You’re never alone. You’ve got me, you’ve even got Trace if you would let him in, but the most important person you have is yourself. Therein lies your problem. For some reason, you refuse to allow yourself to see how important
you
are. Which is probably the most painful to watch. And for the record, I happen to think the best thing for you
is
to be alone. Spending time on your own, that’s the only way to discover who you truly are. I think you’ll be surprised at what you find.”

Approaching Sadie’s car, I drop her hand and reach to open the door. Sinking into the seat, I sit silently, mulling over her words as she crosses the front of the vehicle.

Everything she’s saying makes perfect sense, for someone like her. But for me, her hopes are just a cruel impossibility. Because as she starts the car to take me
home
, memories of nights spent hiding in my closet out of pure fear when Mother began her routine searches for me, nights holding myself and crying endlessly after she eventually did find me, nights I couldn’t sleep because the pain from the open welts on my back from her punishment for hiding keeping me awake — all those nights,
alone.

Nope. There’s nothing that Cash could ever do that would hurt me compared to the torment she put me through.

Sadly, I admit to myself, I’m more than okay with that. With
him.

I still maintain my original opinion that he’s a shithead boyfriend. I’m not stupid.

But, I also still maintain my other opinion, which seems to outweigh everything else.

Someone’s better than no one.

As soon as I hear her drive up, my body tenses. I’m 100% sure she has no idea that I’m working part-time here at Blake’s duplexes. Why would she? It’s not like we’ve ever managed to have a civil conversation. So, I’m sure me being here to welcome her will be the big fucking cherry on top of her day.

After she had left with Sadie last night, I’d received an earful from Trace in his office about Tatum’s stupid ass behavior. I just sat dutifully in the chair and let him vent, for at least an hour. After he’d calmed down a bit, he let me know that he was sending her here to work off any and all debt she would owe him for the damages she caused to Cash’s truck. Granted, replacing a back window isn’t that expensive, but he also took the liberty of adding on bail and legal fees since he talked Cash out of pressing charges. So, needless to say, she’s going to be here for a while. I’m sure she’s not happy about it, and I can guarantee she’s even less ecstatic about it now that she’s spotted my Jeep out front.

Hearing the front door creak open, I continue painting the cabinets in the kitchen. “Hello?” Her voice echoes through the duplex. After taking in a breath for some much needed patience, I set my brush down in the paint pan, then wipe my hands on my jeans. Entering the living room, I catch my first glimpse of her as she turns slowly, surveying the walls. Both her and her work attire.

Tight white tank top hugging the curves of her breasts perfectly, more shorts that should be illegal, a pair of navy blue flip flops and a matching navy baseball cap over her dark hair.

Damn.

I really need to have another talk with her about the damn shorts, and quite possibly the tank top. There’s no way I’m going to get shit done with all of that going on.

She turns quickly at the sounds of my boots on the wood floor and the minute she sees me, I get the facial expression I’m so accustomed to — tightened lips and narrowed eyes. “God,” she draws out for about three full seconds as she scrutinizes the ceiling before looking back at me, “I was hoping that wasn’t your Jeep out there.
Shit.
Did Trace put you up to this?”

I return her look with my usual-bored-to-tears-with-this-shit face. “I’ve been working here since school let out, so no, he didn’t. But he did
warn
me that you would be here today if that’s what you mean.”

Then she gives me the classic Tatum eye roll and frustrated exhalation of air, so I know that I have already managed to get under her skin.