Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (39 page)

Then she dropped her head and continued pacing, stepping out of his line of vision. “I know. I know...” she was saying, but then she dropped her voice and he couldn't make out any more words. He took another bite, her muffled voice like a soundtrack to him in the background, as much a part of the fabric of the room as the constant roar of the city beyond the walls. He finished up the eggs she left, then carried their empty plates to the sink. He turned on the faucet and rinsed them, wondering what she was planning on doing. She needed to go home at some point, he knew that. But he didn't want her to. It was selfish as hell, but it was what it was.

The fact was, she hadn't returned his words yet. She hadn't said she loved him back.

It hadn't mattered at the time, but all of a sudden it did. He had no right to demand an answer from her, not with all the other shit going on. Besides, he had a feeling he wasn't going to get an answer any time soon. In fact, she would probably head back to her aunt's in the morning. She had no reason to stay. A shiver, like a cold fingertip, ran down his spine. He didn't like thinking about his apartment being empty again. He didn't like thinking about her as being anywhere but in his bed at night. Every night.

He'd always been scared to let people get close to him. He'd always been afraid of losing and the pain of being without. But he was done walking away from people that he cared about because of the past. The past was over and done. He and Shay had both lost enough people. The future was all that mattered and the only future he saw was with her. He knew instinctually that it would be up to him to make it happen, and for once, he wasn't going to back down. He was going to be strong, because she deserved it.

They both did.

***

“Happy New Year,” Tate whispered close to her ear. His husky, honeyed voice cut through her unconscious and she moaned in response. She felt the bed beside her dip with his weight and she involuntarily moved her body closer to him, despite being trapped under the blanket.

“Did I miss it?” she mumbled. She'd forgotten all about the holiday after her grueling phone call with her aunt. Gina was pretending to be better than she was, but she was with Thalia, at least. Shay knew she should've gone back to Harlem to be with her aunt, but the fact was that she didn't want to leave Tate. So she hadn't. And now it was officially the new year and she'd missed the ball dropping. She cracked open her eyes and more disappointment hit her when she realized that Tate was fully dressed in his typical uniform for work—black jeans, T-shirt, black hoodie.

“Yeah, baby, you slept right through it,” he said.

“What time is it?” she pushed herself to sitting and rubbed at her eyes.

“It's three,” he replied, squeezing her thigh through the thick blanket.

“And you have to go to work,” she said, not able to keep the disappointment from her voice. Of course. She should have known that real life would eventually intrude. Earth kept turning, no matter how much she wished it would stop. Reality was pushing into their little cocoon and she didn't like it. She wanted to stay in bed with him forever, her limbs tangled around his and his body keeping her warm. She frowned as a heavy feeling settled over her like a thick fog.

“I got called in,” he said with a light shrug.

“And you have to go,” she said, trying not to sound as depressed about it as she felt. When she thought about it, she figured New Year's Day was probably a busy day in his line of work.

“Double homicide,” he said matter-of-factly. He clicked his tongue, his fingers roaming down her leg. He didn't want to go, she could tell. He didn't want to leave her alone. But there was something else. Something was hanging in the air between them and she had a good idea as to what it was. In the past day and a half, he'd done more for her than most people had done for her their whole lives, Gina notwithstanding. He'd held her when she needed to be held, wiped her tears, and fucked her when she'd needed that particular distraction. He'd been quiet when she didn't want to talk and he'd talked when she couldn't stand the sound of silence. He'd cooked for her, for God's sake. He'd been wonderful and she didn't deserve him.

And he loved her.

His words still hung in the air between them as if he'd just said them. When he said he loved her and it had almost been too much, but it was exactly what she'd needed in that moment. If she was honest, maybe she'd needed it for a long time. But they hadn't talked about anything, really. They technically weren't even together, she supposed. They were broken up, although the fight seemed like it had happened a million years ago, in a completely different time. However, it was impossible to deny that Tate had become someone she didn't want to live without. All of the obstacles between them could go away, she knew. All it would take is for her to forgive him. Fucking him was easy, but moving on from her shitty past was an altogether different thing. Unfortunately, Tate couldn't do that for her. Only she could.

“German chocolate,” he said, breaking through her heavy thoughts.

“Hmm?” she murmured, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“I've never had German chocolate cake,” he said.

“Is that a request?” she asked, mulling the idea over in her head.

“Merely a suggestion,” he replied, raising his hand and cupping her left breast through her night shirt, which was actually one of his thermals. It smelled like him. He ran his thumb across the bud of her nipple through the fabric. “I don't want to go,” he said quietly.

“I'll be okay,” she said, leaning closer to him.

“Text me if you need anything,” he said.

“Can I text you dirty pictures?” she joked lightly.

“Yes,” he deadpanned and she smiled slightly, reaching out to play with the drawstring from the collar of his hoodie. “If you want to bake, I'll bring home whatever you need. Just text me,” he said, serious again.

“I will,” she said, leaning even closer, close enough to kiss him. She ran her nose along his jaw. He'd shaved in the shower and the mixture of the scent of his aftershave and his clean skin was sharp and fresh. He smelled so good she wanted to bite him, but she didn't.

“I'll be thinking about you,” he said. “All day.” She snorted out a laugh and rolled her eyes, pretending that his words hadn't caused her stomach to roll and her pussy to clench.

“What a line,” she scoffed, letting herself fall backwards onto the pillow. “I bet that works on all the girls.”

“I don't know. I've never tried it.” He cocked his head nonchalantly. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” she said, after taking a second and pretending to think it over. “Yeah, it worked.”

“Good.” He dragged his eyes from her chest to her face, and then flashed her an almost shy smile. “Because I meant it.” She hissed in a breath and shook her head in awe as her stomach did another flip-flop. The man was so damn good, it was killing her.

“German chocolate it is.” she said and it was his turn to laugh then. Then he kissed her again, lowering himself on top of her, chest to chest. She dragged her hands up and down his back, just like he liked, and he kissed her lazily, like he didn't have anywhere to be, even though they both knew that was a lie. “Tate,” she whispered against his lips, loving the sound of his name on her lips.

“I can stay,” he responded and she sighed. She couldn't hide away in Tate's arms forever, she supposed, no matter how perfect that sounded.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll be okay.” He pulled back to look at her, and she put on her best 'I'm okay' face. She didn't know how convincing it was, but, after a moment's hesitation, he grunted and pushed himself off of her. She sat up and threw the blankets off of her legs. Immediately the cool air of the room hit her and she got goosebumps.

“What are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll walk you out,” she said. He shook his head, leaning forward to grab the edge of the blanket and toss it back over her legs.

“No. Go back to sleep, baby.” He squeezed her knee before turning and heading for the door.

“What time will you be home?” she asked, realizing how needy words sounded as they left her mouth. He froze in the bedroom doorway and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.

“A few hours probably,” he said, finally. “Go back to sleep. Rest.” She nodded, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She wanted to tell him to stay again, but she knew he couldn't. Besides, eventually, she would have to learn to deal with the sadness. Tate couldn't take that away, not fully. His presence lessened the pain, but it would always be with her. She had to learn to live with that. He tapped his fingers on the doorjamb, like he didn't know what to say but he didn't want to leave, and she didn't blame him. She'd made things awkward. But really, he didn't have to say anything. He'd said enough already.

She curled over on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, feigning sleep and giving him permission to leave. She could feel him lingering in the doorway, but after awhile he left. She opened her eyes and listened as his heavy boots thumped down the hallway toward the door. She heard him grab his keys and leather jacket. She heard him open the door and then close it firmly, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She let herself drift for awhile, good thoughts and memories mingling with bad ones. There were things she was putting off doing. There were so many things that had to happen, people that needed to be called. She had to go to the funeral home. She had to find a suit for her father to be cremated in. She had to buy a black dress. And black shoes. But before any of that, she had to go down to the coroner and identify the body. Even though the thought of it was horrifying, she didn't tell Tate because he would have insisted on going with her. She had a feeling it was something she should do without him. She needed a chance to say goodbye, a true goodbye. Sam Spears was dead and a part of her life had died with him.

If she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't just mourning her father. She was mourning all the years she'd spent waiting for him, the years she'd spent trying to get his approval, and the years she'd wasted in jail for him. So many years that she couldn't get back. Now that he was gone, there was no making up for it either. He was gone and it was done. Before she knew it, she was crying, her hot tears rolling down into her hair. She threw her hands over her face and sobbed at the unfairness of life. It was stupid and she was mad at herself for crying, because it was so useless, but she couldn't stop.

The jingling of bell on the cat's collar broke through Shay's thoughts and she sat up in time to see Char slink into the bedroom, her orange face as cool and collected as ever. She swiped at her cheeks as the cat sat in the rectangle of sunlight on the floor like she didn't have a care in the world. The cat blinked in the bright light, flicking her tongue out lazily. Shay hung her hand over the side of the bed and clicked her tongue, calling the cat to her. Eventually, Char wandered over at her own pace and brushed her soft furry cheek against Shay's hand.

“Little princess,” Shay murmured, her throat thick with tears. “You think you run things around here, don't you?” Leaning over the side, she picked up the cat and lifted her onto the bed. She scratched the cat's ears and Char threw back her head, forcing Shay to pet her under her chin as well. In response, Char purred and rolled over, pressing her little body into Shay's. Laughing softly in spite of herself, Shay ran her fingers through the cat's soft fur, doing exactly what the cat wanted. Char was a little diva, but she was cute, even Shay had to admit. Her mind began to drift again as she continued stroking the cat, the rhythm lulling her back into her thoughts. She didn't know if she would ever get over the fact that she was an orphan. For the rest of her life, she would be parentless.

Her father's death was the end of a certain time in her life. She didn't want to go back to that time, not ever. Now that she had Tate and the salon and her schooling, she didn't need to go back. Her heart squeezed when she thought about Tate's words from the night before. He'd told her he loved her. He'd said it during sex, but she still believed him. He loved her and his love made everything better. Tate's love was the beginning of a new life, a better, more promising, more fruitful life. She was going to get up and put one foot in front of the other until it wasn't so hard. She was going to be strong and smart. Even now, when she was in the throes of grief, she knew she had a chance to be happy. A real, bonafide chance.

Char stuck out her paw, jabbing Shay lightly in the bicep. “What?” Shay asked the cat, like she was going to answer. The cat jabbed again, cocking her head. “I don't know what you want,” Shay said, scratching the cat under the chin. Char purred happily, her mouth curling up almost like she was smiling. “You just think you're so adorable,” Shay said but Char ignored her and curled up and closed her eyes, content to be next to Shay's warmth. So, this was what having a cat would be like, Shay mused. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

“We're going to be friends, you and me,” Shay said, sniffling away the last of her tears. The cat didn't respond, of course. Char just let out a little sigh, like she was good and comfortable. Shay settled back on the pillow as well, the cat's relaxation rubbing off on her a bit. Outside the windows, the wind howled, but it made the room feel even cozier. Somewhere in the apartment, a floorboard creaked. It was strange, but Tate's apartment already felt like home. Maybe it was dangerous to think like that, but for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to care. “Yup, we can be friends,” she murmured, mostly to herself.  “You can't have him, though,” she whispered as she patted Char's soft furry head. “Tate's mine. All mine.”