“Then keep her far away,” Ty replied.
Tate’s amused eyes slid to me, I cocked my head because Ty was not wrong. He was going to have to work hard to get that shit out of my brain the next time we had sex. Lucky for me, he always worked hard.
Tate opened the door and motioned us through. We went in and I’d been there before but, again, even with what was happening, I processed how cool it was and repeated what I did the other times I was there and memorized Laurie’s flair with décor intending to use it myself one day. This was essentially making everything look really, freaking good, purchasing nothing but top quality but underlying it all was comfort for her boys and she decorated in memories, the place was full of pictures.
Laurie’s ass was planted on a stool at the butcher block topped island in their awesome kitchen like she kept vigil there, cell phone on the counter in front of her, laptop open and on, a half full glass of what looked like iced grape Kool-Aid in a super girlie but kickass glass in front of her, her eyes riveted to us the minute we entered and they were visibly curious.
If I wasn’t still seriously grossed out and totally freaked out, it would have amused me to consider super-hot, tall, great body, total man Tatum Jackson drinking from that girlie glass.
Then again, the way Laurie spoiled her boys, she probably had a whole other set they could drink from.
Jonas was flat out on the couch watching TV and he was not curious. Clearly Dad spoke, Jonas listened or, alternately, there was something he was really into on TV.
We exchanged greetings then Tate headed through the kitchen toward a back room saying, “Closed party, baby.”
“Tate –” she started, he stopped, turned, caught his wife’s eyes and shook his head. She looked to me. “That bad?”
“My brain is still burning and if Ty wasn’t holding my hand, I’d be bumping into stuff because I’m temporarily blind,” I answered.
She wrinkled her nose in a “gross” look that, considering she hadn’t seen it, didn’t do it justice.
Tate led us down some stairs, through a room with weight equipment in it, down a hall and into a room he clearly used as an office considering the desk, filing cabinets and office equipment. He already had his computer booted up. He didn’t delay in sitting in front of it and loading up the DVD. Then he set it to go.
Then it went.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, then, not done being horrified and expressing it, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
“Told you, brother. Sick shit,” Ty muttered.
Suddenly, Tate leaned forward, the first impact of what he saw wearing off and he focused.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He was still whispering.
“What?” Ty asked and I got closer to him, my hand still in his tensing
“Trane,” Tate said.
“Train?” I asked.
Tate’s head turned slowly and he tipped it back to look up at us. “Trane. Trane Keaton. Chace’s father.”
My body locked right beside my husband’s that was doing the same.
“Come again?” Ty asked but the words were tight, forced through his lips.
Tate looked back at his computer monitor. “That’s Misty. Don’t know the brunette.” He looked back at us. “But that is definitely Trane Keaton of the Aspen Keatons. Chace was in uniform while I was on the Force, hadn’t made detective yet and his Dad came around more than once. Hotshot. Shit don’t stink. You didn’t forget him mainly because he didn’t want you to. He was in a Police Department with men who got more testosterone than most and still took his time pissin’ in every corner. Jackass, huge. Dickhead, bigger. Treated Chace like shit, Chace’s choice to bail on Aspen and the good life and live in a small biker town wearin’ a uniform was not Daddy’s favorite thing and he made that apparent.”
Tate turned back to the screen, commandeered the mouse and did what Ty did to take the video to the end. Then he saw Fuller. Then he thankfully closed the video window and turned back to us.
“You suss it out?” he asked Ty.
Ty moved to the desk, rested his fine ass and a hard thigh on the edge of it, foot hanging. I again moved to lean into him and his arm curled around my hips.
“Heard of his perversion, set Misty on him, got ‘im by the balls,” Ty answered as a confirmation he had sussed it out.
Tate nodded but said, “More.”