Degradation
Page 89

And he meant it. He got her box seats to one of his games. They went out to eat often, and even took in a couple shows. They got along surprisingly well, despite being from completely different backgrounds and living completely opposite lives. Tate enjoyed his friendship. But she didn't push it – she never went back to his place, and never brought him back to hers. Jameson had never once slept with the same girl twice during their relationship. It wasn't a rule, really, but Tate didn't want to be the one to test whether or not it should be. She would respect Jameson's wishes and actions. She would wait for him.
She didn't speak with him at all, though. Not once. Early on, he texted her a couple times. Mostly filthy things, to remind her who was boss. A couple to ask after Sanders. A couple to remind her of her promises. One to say he missed her. Tate stared at that one for days on end. But then the texts stopped all together, and she found herself hovering near her phone, constantly checking to see if he had sent anything.
When did I become this girl? I surrendered to him without even realizing it.
But nothing, however, was as shocking as what happened during her third week of waiting.
Tate was puttering around her apartment. Rus was at one of her vet tech classes. Sanders was holed up in his penthouse hotel room, doing some translating work for Jameson. Nick was at an away game. Tate was bored. At first she had been afraid that without Jameson paying for everything, she would starve to death, or worse – have to go back to temping. But of course, he thought of everything, and Sanders had supplied her with a steady flow of money. She felt like she was whoring for both of them, but she didn't mind too much. They were both very important to her, so it was worth it.
She was on her phone, getting ready to dial out for Chinese food, when someone knocked on her door.
“Just a second!” she hollered, sliding in to the living room. She peeked through the peep hole, but couldn't tell who it was; it was someone wearing a big, floppy sun hat. A woman, she assumed. Tate yanked open the door. “I have religion, so I don't -,”
Her sister turned around to face her. Ellie was wearing huge sunglasses that weren't doing a very good job of hiding a black eye. Her arm was in a cast. And even though it hadn't been that long, her stomach looked noticeably bigger. They stared at each other for a while, till Ellie started to tremble.
“I didn't know where else to go,” she whispered.
“Come in, come in,” Tate urged, guiding her sister in to her tiny apartment. Ellie looked around, and then burst out crying.
After Jameson's little O'Shea family reunion, things had apparently gone downhill for Ellie. A broken jaw didn't slow Robert down at all. There had been more fights. More smacks. She thought she could handle it, but then he had pushed Ellie down a flight of stairs. That was where she drew the line. He could do what he wanted to her, but he couldn't hurt the baby. If he could treat an unborn child like that, how would he treat the child when it was standing right in front of him? She didn't want to find out.
“I'm sorry, I know you hate me. I know I ruined your life, but I just didn't know what else to do,” Ellie sobbed. Tate grabbed her hand and dragged her to her bedroom.
“I don't hate you, Ellie. I don't even know you. And you didn't ruin my life. My life is pretty awesome. You saved me,” Tate told her as she laid her sister down.
“I wish someone could have saved me,” Ellie cried. Tate frowned and laid on the bed next to her, got right up behind her and spooned her.
“I wasn't there. I could've called, I could've checked on you guys. I could've saved you,” she whispered.
It took Ellie a while to calm down, but finally her breathing evened out. She fell asleep. Tate crawled out of the bed and called Sanders. Appraised him of the situation. He told her that he was “on it”, though she wasn't sure what that meant. She really wanted to call Ang, but they hadn't made up yet. She hadn't spoken to him at all, so it would be awkward, and worse, she worried it would come off as her using him. She decided to make some tea instead, and carried it in to her room.
“I'm awake now,” her sister mumbled. Tate smiled and knelt next to the bed. Her sister sat up to take the coffee mug and Tate's eyes wandered down to her belly.
“Have you picked out any names yet?” she asked. Ellie sighed.
“Mathias if it's a boy,” she said. Tate had to laugh.
“Good old Daddy probably loves that. What if it's a girl?” she asked. Ellie chewed on her bottom lip.
“I was thinking maybe Tatum,” she whispered. Tate's eyebrows shot up.
“You're fucking with me,” she spat out. Ellie shook her head.
“I want her to be strong. Stronger than her mother. More like you. I always wished I could be more like you,” Ellie explained. Tate felt her eyes fill with tears and she forced out a laugh.
“If this gets any sweeter, I'm going to have morning sickness, all over you,” she joked, and Ellie laughed as well.
Sanders showed up later in the night. He didn't say anything to anyone, just breezed through the living room, giving his tight lipped smile to Ellie. Even though he'd never been there, he lead the way straight in to Tatum's room. Tate followed after him and closed the door behind them.
“What's up?” Tate asked, kind of surprised to see him.
“Mr. Kane sent me. He wanted to know how you were,” Sanders answered. She laughed.
“Mr. Kane could just call me, himself. Tell him I'm fine,” she replied. Sanders didn't laugh, though. If anything, his mouth got tighter.