Until You
Page 69

Her hair hung loose, and she wore dark, faded jeans and a short-sleeved, black blouse. Too many clothes, but I liked that about Tate. She never revealed too much, and she reminded me of a present that I couldn’t wait to unwrap. She looked sexy as hell, and I had a hard time taking my mind off of the bed in the room.
I gestured to the folder on the bed. “Is that what you were looking for in my room last night?”
She kept her head level but her eyes shot down, and a shade of pink covered her cheeks.
Come on, Tate. Don’t be a wuss.
It actually pleased me that she’d gone snooping. She cared.
“Go ahead.” I nodded towards the folder. “Take a look.”
She probably hadn’t gotten much time to see them the other night.
Her gaze shifted up to mine for a second, and she looked like she was considering if she should indulge her curiosity.
But she took the offer.
Slowly, she opened the folder and splayed out the photos. Her hands shook as she picked one up and stared at it, almost not breathing.
“Jared,” she groaned, lifting her hand to her mouth. “What is this? What happened to you?”
I dropped my eyes to the floor and ran a hand through my hair.
This was harder than I’d thought it would be.
Trust her with everything, especially your heart.
“My father.” I let out a long, quiet breath. “He did that to me. And to my brother.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth opened a little.
Tate didn’t know I had a brother. Unless her father had told her, and he never said anything that wasn’t necessary.
“The summer before freshman year, I was hyped up to spend my whole summer hanging out with you, but as you remember, my dad called out of the blue and wanted to see me. So I went. I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, and I wanted to know him.”
She sat down on the bed, listening.
“When I got there,” I continued, “I found out that my dad had another son. A kid from another relationship. His name is Jaxon, and he’s only about a year younger than me.”
Jax flashed in my mind, twelve years old and scrawny. He’d had dirt on his face, and his dark hair was short then.
“Go on,” she whispered, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
And I told her the whole damn story.
About how my father used us to make money for him—selling drugs, breaking into houses, delivering shit.
Of how he hurt Jax and then started hurting me when I refused to do his dirty work.
Of how we were victimized by the lowlifes hanging round the house, and I let her see the scars on my back that my father had given me with a belt buckle.
I also told her of how my father hated us and my mother abandoned us, and then of how I abandoned Jax and left him with my father when he refused to leave with me.
Tate’s eyes got red and pooled with tears that she tried to hold back.
I released all of the sickness in my head and the crud that had blackened my heart, and I wanted to wipe away the tears that she cried for me.
She’d always cared. She’d always loved me.
I’d treated her worse than a dog for three years, and she still cried for me.
I felt the ache in my throat as I looked at her, her face twisted up in sadness, and I knew she had every right not to forgive me.
But I knew she would.
Maybe that’s the thing I’d been missing about love.
You don’t withhold it or partition it out when it’s deserved.
You can’t control it like that.
After I told her the ugly story, I sat there next to her, waiting for her to say something.
I didn’t know what she was thinking, but she let me speak, and she listened.
“Have you seen your dad since?” she finally asked.
Your dad. The words were so foreign. I referred to him as my father only to identify the twenty-two year old man that preyed on a seventeen year old girl, and I was the result.
“I saw him today,” I told her. “I see him every weekend.”
Which was true. Even though I technically didn’t get my last visit.
“What?” Her blue eyes went wide. “Why?
“Because life’s a bitch, that’s why.” I exhaled a bitter laugh.
After the punch I threw last week, the judge decided I’d fulfilled my commitment and let me off the hook today. I saw my father from a distance this morning, but I hadn’t seen the last of him. I knew that.
Tate looked at me, and drank in everything I said. I told her about the trouble after she left for France—how I missed her, how Jax got hit by his foster dad, and how the judge cut me a deal.
I got up and walked back over to the French doors, leaving her on the bed to absorb everything.
“So that’s where you go,” she finally said. “To Stateville Prison in Crest Hill.”
Crest Hill?
She must’ve seen other stuff in my room when she was snooping the last nightt. My mother had asked me to save receipts for the motels and gas for tax time. Shit was scattered all over my room.
“Yeah, every Saturday,” I said with a nod. “Today was my last visit, though.”
“Where is your brother now?”
Safe.
“He’s in Weston. Safe and sound with a good family. I’ve been seeing him on Sundays. But my mom and I are trying to get the state to agree to let him live with us. She’s been sober for a while. He’s almost seventeen, so it’s not like he’s a kid.”