Unthinkable (Tate Langdon)

009

"Please, Tate," she begged him and caressed his cheek softly, "you've gotta talk to me, okay? Tell me what's going on."

"My brother," he choked out in a strangled sob, "he's dead."

Eve didn't have any words for for that particular scenario, nothing to say that would not sound ripped from a bad Hallmark card.

She hadn't even known he had a brother until that moment, the two having stopped their bonding over screwed up families at stories of their alcoholic mothers.

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around Tate and pulled him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered against his ear, feeling his sobs as they racked his frame in her hold.

"Do you know what the worst of it is?" he croaked, a burst of humorless laughter escaping him as pulled away and pawed at his falling tears with his sleeve.

"I know she had something to do with it," he answered his own question without waiting for Eve to participate in the conversation.

"Who?" she asked in confusion, searching his eyes for some clue as to what he was talking about.

"My whore of a mother, that's who," he spat, doing his best to sort out his breathing after the outburst he'd had. His eyes searched around frantically for something and, coming up empty, he leveed another blow at the trunk of the tree.

"Tate, stop it," she shouted, jumping at the impact and the crunch of his hand, "don't hurt yourself, please."

"I know she had something to do with it. I know she did," he screamed with such force that it brought tears to Eve's eyes.

"They were going to take him away, lock her up, and so she had to do something, right?" he continued, pacing and oblivious to the fear he was causing her.

She didn't know this Tate, the angry boy pacing like a caged lion in front of her. She knew he was in an emotionally vulnerable position, but she had no way of knowing what that might make him capable of.

"I know you're hurting, but you're scaring me, Tate," she barely breathed. She offered a hand to him timidly. "Just... Come here. Sit with me."

He seemed to ponder whether or not to take her up on the offer, but in the end placed a shaking hand into hers and allowed her to lead him to the log that served as a makeshift bench.

"You're saying that your mom... Killed your brother?" she repeated his story succinctly, trying not to sound disbelieving despite the outlandishness of it.

Maybe he was just hurting, looking for someone to blame. That would explain the nature of his accusations, she decided.

"Her and that douche she moved into our house," he said and nodded angrily, fists clenching again.

He searched her expression with those burning eyes, almost black in the heat of his rage, and grabbed both of her hands tightly in his wounded ones.

"I'm not crazy, Eve. I'm not making this up. You have no idea what she's capable of," he pleaded with her to believe him.

"Tell me you know I'm not crazy."

His grip on her hands tightened almost to the point of pain. She was partly afraid of what would happen if she refused his request.

"I know you're not," she said as she wrenched her hand free and brushed his hair away from his face. "I know you're not crazy, okay?"

"She has to pay. I can't let her get away with this," he declared seriously. She could see in his eyes that he meant nothing but the utmost serious business.

"Just breathe, right now," she instructed him, continuing to smooth down his hair in a soothing manner. "Breathe and think things through. Hurting yourself isn't going to make things any better."

He looked down at his hands and she followed suit. The knuckles were beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, his hands themselves swelling.

He gave up inspecting his wounds and instead surprised her by enveloping her tightly in his arms, crushing her to his chest.

"I love you so much, Eve," he said sadly. She could feel his breath warm on her ear, her heart hammering out a beat that quickened not from puppylove but real fear for the first time in his presence.

"I love you, too," she echoed the sentiment numbly, her eyes wide as she realized the gravity of the situation.

She was beginning to see that Tate was far more than just the awkward, handsome boy she knew him as, and that she couldn't be sure that the more that he was would be entirely safe.

"Please don't leave me," he begged, still pressing his face into the crook of her neck. "Promise me."

"I... promise," she did as he asked, hoping she wasn't making herself into a liar.

As she sat there, crushed close to him, she couldn't be sure.

×××

So, I know I'm playing with the timeline of events a little, but for the sake of the story, Beau was killed in the end of 1993. I promise it all lines up well.

I'm thinking about releasing the rest of the story all at once or very quickly as it's completely written and followers on it seem to be few and far between. Thoughts?