Sweet Dreams
Page 129

With what he said and the way he said it, I felt my blood run cold.
“Is Tambo going to check?” I asked.
“Runnin’ everyone now.”
“How stupid would that be, that close to home, to –?”
“Pretty f**kin’ stupid,” Tate cut me off.
“But why?”
He shook his head, staring at the conifers at the front of his home, his mind somewhere else.
“It’s jacked,” he whispered. “Can’t get my head around it. Nothin’ fits but it all fits. Eight identical murders and now this, all the same MO, but all wrong.”
We heard the sliding glass door go at the same time I heard Jonas saying, “No, Buster, you stay inside.”
Quickly, I leaned close and whispered to Tate, “She said he said ‘sorry’.”
His arm slid around my shoulders and pulled me closer so my side dug into the arm of the chair but I didn’t care because the rest of me was resting against him.
“Yeah,” Tate whispered back.
“That’s creepy, Tate.” I was still whispering.
“It’s all creepy, Laurie.” He was also still whispering.
He was right about that.
Jonas made it to us and he handed Tate a bottled water. Then he dragged a chair close to his Dad and sat down with his own glass (not pink, one of Tate’s old ones) of grape Kool-Aid and a handful of cookies which he proceeded to start eating.
“You like grape Kool-Aid, Jonas?” I asked him.
“Cherry’s better,” he muttered, mouth full and then turned to face me and grinned a chocolate chip cookie crumble grin. “But it’ll do.”
“I could do cherry,” I stated and then finished on a mumble to myself, “Or I’ll buy another pitcher. They had green ones too.”
“Dad, Laurie’s fillin’ the house with girlie crap,” Jonas told on me while I was sitting right there.
Tate was staring at the trees and I watched him smile at them while he murmured, “Yeah.”
Clearly Tate didn’t mind me filling the house with “girlie crap”. I gave Jonas a “so there” look and Jonas rolled his eyes.
Then he asked, “We gonna eat hamburgers or what?”
“Soon’s Lauren makes ‘em,” Tate answered.
“I thought you were grilling them,” I said to Tate and he looked down at me.
“Yeah, I’m grillin’ ‘em, not makin’ ‘em.”
“So I have to do the icky, squishy part?” I demanded to know.
Tate smiled at me, “Yeah.”
Before I could protest, Jonas spoke.
“I’ll do the icky, squishy part,” he offered. “I like icky and squishy.”
“It’s all yours,” I muttered.
“Cool!” Jonas cried.
“After a shower, Bub,” Tate stated.
“Right,” Jonas replied, shoved the last cookie in his mouth, jumped up and ran to the house.
Tate looked back at the trees. I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat together silent for awhile before Tate broke the silence.
“He thinks you’re the shit, Ace.”
He meant Jonas.
“That’s good since I feel the same way,” I replied.
We were quiet again, then, for some reason, he asked softly, “You love me?”
My heart skipped and my body got tight.
But again my mouth answered for me, “Yes.”
His arm gave me a squeeze and he muttered, “Good.”
He fell silent and I focused on getting my heart rate normal even as I worried about the fact that he kept asking me that question, and getting his answer, and seeming content with that but not returning the sentiment.
Because I was worried about it, I couldn’t get my heart rate normal and my mouth formed more words.
“Do you… uh…” I got out before my brain shut my mouth down.
His arm squeezed again, differently this time, curling in and my head lifted up to find his had turned and he was looking down at me and, witnessing the look on his face, I found my heart rate accelerating startlingly.
“Never doubt it, Ace,” he declared on a growl.
“Okay,” I whispered then asked, “Why do you keep asking me?”
“‘Cause I like hearin’ you say yes.”
I lifted my hand and placed it on his bearded jaw as his head tipped down and he kissed me. It wasn’t hard and demanding, it was soft, sweet, wet and deliciously long.
After Tate and I made out on the deck, I supervised Jonas’s hamburger making at the same time making my pasta salad and we did this while Tate showered. Then Tate grilled. Then we ate out on the back patio while Jonas and I chattered and Tate infrequently interjected since Jonas and I chattered so much. We had cake after hamburgers. Then Jonas and I did dishes while Tate called Krys to make sure everything was okay. Then we camped out in the living room and watched comedies.
“No blood, no gore, Bub,” Tate commanded when Jonas was picking our viewing fodder.
Tate was laid full out on the couch, his head on the headrest and I was tucked between him and the back of the couch, my head on his chest, his hand playing with my hair. We were on film number two and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Therefore, I sleepily announced I was going to bed, pulled up Tate’s body, kissed his lips, climbed over him and off the couch and went to Jonas where I touched his hair and then I went to bed.
The first time Sunny’s words woke me up, Tate wasn’t there. The second time, his big body was curled into mine. The third through fifth times, I was snuggled into his back.
Which brought me to now, very awake in the dead of night and facing a nightshift the next day. I’d survive it, I had before, but it wouldn’t be fun.
I rolled to my back and when I did, Tate rolled into me.
His hand slid along my belly as his face buried itself in the hair at the side of my head.
“You’re havin’ a rough night.” His voice was scratchy with sleep.
“I’m okay.”
His arm gave me a squeeze.
“Had to send you in there, babe.”
He meant to talk to Sunny.
“I know,” I whispered.
He was silent a moment then he said, “Knew it’d do this to you but had to send you in there.”
“I know, Tate.”
“I did it knowin’ she’d give it to you and it’d mark you.”
“Tate –”
“Also did it knowin’ I’d be here when you dealt with it.”