I understood the confusion in her eyes. Even now, I knew it was a sad series of small events that I took too much to heart. I was wrong.
“Jared—” she started, but I stopped her.
“Tate, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know that now. You just have to understand my mindset. I had been through hell. I was weak and hurting from the abuse. I was hungry. I’d been betrayed by the people I was supposed to be able to count on: my mom who didn’t help when I needed her, my dad who hurt me and my helpless brother.” I took a deep breath. “And then I saw you with our parents, looking like the happy, sweet family. While Jaxon and I were in pain and struggling to make it through every day in one piece, you got to see the mother that I never had. Your dad took you on picnics and for ice cream while mine was whipping me. I felt like no one wanted me and that life moved on without me. No one cared.”
That day and the weeks preceding were too much, too fast, and all of a sudden I was a different kid.
“You became a target, Tate. I hated my parents, I was worried about my brother, and I sure as hell couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. When I hated you, it made me feel better. A lot better.”
I saw her jaw harden, and I knew that this wasn’t easy for her to take in.
But I kept going.
“Even after I realized that nothing was your fault, I still couldn’t stop trying to hate you. It felt good, because I couldn’t hurt who I wanted to hurt.”
Silent tears fell down her face again, and—goddammit—I didn’t want Tate crying over me anymore.
We’d had a hell of a lot of good growing up, and I wanted it back.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking her face in my hands, hoping like hell she didn’t punch me. “I know I can make this up to you. Don’t hate me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t hate you. I mean…” she shot me a little scowl, “I’m a little pissed, but mostly I just hate the wasted time.”
Yes.
I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into me.
She was fucking mine. I wanted to scream and smile at the same time. I molded my forehead to hers, my lips hungry to taste her as I breathed her in.
“You said you loved me,” she whispered. “I hate that we lost that.”
Nothing was lost.
I lifted her up, guided her legs around me, and walked us to the bed, feeling the heat of her center on my stomach.
“We never lost that.” My hand was on her cheek, and I brought her eyes up to meet mine. “As much as I tried, I could never erase you from my heart. That’s why I was such an asshole and kept guys away from you. You were always mine.”
“Are you mine?” she asked, wiping her tears with her thumb.
Her shaky breath caressed my face, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. Lightly kissing the corner of her mouth, I whispered against her lips, “Always have been.”
She wrapped her arms around me, and I just held her, close and tight.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Are you?” I shot back, not deluding myself for a second that the last three years hadn’t been hell for her, too.
“I will be.”
If we had each other, we were going to be okay.
“I love you, Tate.”
And I fell back on the bed, bringing her with me, hopefully forever.
“Jared, you’re poking me.” Tate’s sleepy whimper stirs me awake, and it takes me a few moments to open my eyes.
Poking her? I check my hands, which aren’t even touching her, and then I feel the fire and tightness in my pants.
Shit.
I roll over onto my back, so I’m not spooning her anymore, and run my hands over my face.
My dick is hard again, and I’m shivering with discomfort and embarrassment.
This happens a lot lately.
Looking over at Tate, her back is still to me as she sleeps, and I start to sit up.
“No,” she groans and rolls over, “don’t leave.” And she puts an arm over my waist, and I stiffen right there, afraid to move.
Damn, damn, damn! I’m about to explode, and I need to leave. Every morning this happens, and I’m so frustrated.
Don’t touch me, Tate.
Please.
But I let her anyway. She guides me back down as she nestles her head in my neck and falls back asleep.