Sweet Dreams
Page 71

I stood staring into the darkness even as I heard his bike roar. Tate let me go and walked to the door, sliding it closed.
When he turned and started back to me, my eyes went to his.
“What was he talking about?” I asked.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Tate replied.
“Tate,” I said when he stopped in front of me.
“Bed, babe,” he repeated. “You need to lie down and I need to clean up.”
I didn’t know what to do in this situation. I was losing patience with Tate being so cagey. He’d just had a no-holds-barred fight in his living room with my kind of ex-boyfriend, a man whose picture was on the wall in Tate’s house, a man who used to be his friend, a man whose sister used to be under his skin. Now neither was true and Tate wasn’t talking about it, wasn’t sharing with me. And I’d told myself not to be a shrew, I’d made the decision I didn’t want to f**k this up.
How on earth did I proceed?
“You just fought with Wood in your living room,” I told him cautiously.
He came to my side and slid an arm along my waist, propelling me forward.
“Long time comin’,” he muttered.
“That wasn’t about me,” I stated and Tate stopped us both at the mouth to the hall.
I looked up at him and held my breath at the fury I saw stamped into his features.
“Yeah, Lauren,” he said and it sounded like a snarl, “it’s all about you.”
I braved the snarl and asked quietly, “How can that be? I haven’t been around long enough for something like that to be a long time coming.”
“You need to lie down,” Tate reiterated and I could tell it was straining his patience to do so.
“Tate –”
Tate pulled in breath on a hiss and I stopped speaking.
“Put it together, Lauren, at least part of it,” he demanded, definitely with strained patience.
“Sorry?” I asked, definitely with confusion.
“In my life, three women have been on the back of my bike. One was his sister, who f**ked up my life. One was his ex, who f**ked up my life. Now it’s you, who’s been in his bed.”
All of that didn’t pull together for me in any way mostly because, just like with Wood, I had the bones but none of the meat.
“Tate –”
“Babe, Christ,” he clipped. “You just took a power punch to the f**kin’ temple. I got blood leakin’ outta my nose. Can we talk about this goddamned later?”
No strained patience now, he’d lost it. I could read it in the line of his body and in his face.
Even so, even though this was frightening, that scary energy emanating from Tate directed at me, I wanted to tell him we couldn’t talk about it later. I wanted to tell him we were definitely going to talk about it now.
But something stopped me and instead I whispered, “Okay, Captain.”
Chapter Fourteen
Your Own Brand of Trouble
“And all of it’s true. But none of it was true with you.”
My eyes opened and I stared at the dark pillowcase.
I was in Tate’s bed with Tate but he was far away. I could feel Buster’s little body weighing the covers down between us.
We hadn’t slept together very often but every time we’d done it either Tate held me close or I snuggled into his back.
Not that night.
After our exchange, he’d led me to the bed, made me get in it and ordered me to keep the ice on as long as I could. This was difficult since it was getting really cold but also I was uncomfortable because Tate still seemed really angry.
I’d lain there, holding the ice to my head while Tate cleaned up in the bathroom. Buster kept Tate company in the bathroom until he came out and then he left the bedroom without a word, Buster prancing after him. I heard Tate righting furniture and Buster came back, obviously not a big fan of hanging around while Tate was righting furniture. Buster leaped on the bed and curled up with me, I gave her scratches, saw the lights go out in the hall and Tate came back.
He took off his jeans and climbed into his side of the bed. He turned out the light and didn’t move to me, touch me or speak to me. He settled on his back with one arm behind his head, Buster abandoned me, walked over my belly and curled up against Tate.
He took his hand from behind his head and started rubbing Buster.
Then he said in a low, menacing voice, “I tell you to stay where you are and not to move, Ace, next time, do what I f**kin’ say.”
I blinked in the dark, my eyelids the only things that moved. The rest of my body was statue still.
There was a lot there I didn’t like. Firstly, Tate again telling me what to do and expecting me to do it, even when he was in a fistfight in his living room! Secondly, the intimation that my getting hit was my fault because I didn’t do what he told me to do when I was breaking up a fistfight in his living room! Lastly, Tate was again telling me what to do and he was clearly infuriated I didn’t do it.
If I had my car, I would have gotten up, gotten dressed and gone right to it.
Fuck that and f**k him!
I was better off at the hotel. It was below average but Ned and Betty never told me what to do and they had a pool.
But I was stuck in a house in the hills. It was night, it was dark and I had no way home.
So instead, I got out of bed and walked to his bathroom, dumped the dripping ice into his sink, rinsed and wrung out the kitchen towel Wood had put the ice in and hung it on a towel rail. Then I went back to bed and got in on my side, turned so my back was to Tate and closed my eyes.
He didn’t say another word and neither did I. He fell asleep way before me and still didn’t roll into me or reach out to me.
Apparently Tatum Jackson could be angry even in his sleep.
I eventually fell asleep and woke twice while words he’d said drifted through my head. I was able to get to sleep both times but this time, with Wood’s words floating through, words I didn’t understand but words I knew somewhere deep meant something huge, I knew I wouldn’t.
I tried, adjusting my position to my back, then my belly, then my other side and finally a combo of side and belly.
Nothing doing.
Instead of waking Tate with my fidgeting, I carefully got out of the bed and just as carefully walked through his bedroom, down the hall and into the living room. I went straight to the couch, stretched my legs out, pulled the blanket there over me but I twisted my upper body toward the window. I crossed my arms on the back of the couch, put my chin on them and looked out the window.