I felt like a burrito. A warm cozy burrito that had been wrapped in a fuzzy blanket instead of a tortilla.
"I can't believe you posted Laurence's bail," Delle muttered, wrapping the blanket tighter around me. "Doesn't he have any family? Friends? Anyone else he can call after dropping an unwanted kiss on 'em?" She tucked the blanket so tight that I was on the verge of losing circulation.
Memories of my earlier conversation with Laurence inside the jail cell fluttered to mind. His list of enemies was nearly nonexistent.
Laurence had furrowed his brow in deep thought for a long moment and shook his head. "My younger brother Carter hates me." He adjusted his tie, attempting to keep a semblance of order to the disaster that the evening had caused to his clothes.
"But that has been pretty normal since we were little. He spends all his time pretending to be an artist and avoiding real work. Then there is his friend Decklan." Laurence's face turned dark. "He takes secret pictures of women without their knowledge. So with friends like that, Carter's list of enemies is much longer than mine. We should look into who might want to hurt him."
Delle who had followed me inside the jail cell and stood poised with a pen over a small notebook shot Laurence an annoyed look. "Okay Unwanted Kisser, we get it, you are squeaky clean and don't have more than two enemies."
"Delle," I had said in a warning tone. "He's just being honest. No need to be a jerk."
"Sounded braggy to me," she had muttered. "Not all of us are so lucky."
I closed my eyes, pushing away the memory, exhausted as I settled against my bed pillows. I was out of batteries, unable to connect the dots of my muddy mystery. Delle placed a glass of water next to my bed along with some pain medication. "You will probably be a little loopy until morning. So don't make any calls or anything."
Walking towards my bedroom door, she offered me a tired smile. "Try to get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning." Delle shuffled her feet, showing her first sign of concern. "I'm glad you're okay. And I'm sorry I yelled at Laurence... and Aiden... and at that bird that pooped on my car at the police station." She ran her hand down her face. "I tend to lose it when one of my little sisters gets hurt."
"I get it," I admitted. "It's okay."
I tried to offer a goodbye wave, but my hands were trapped due to her tight burrito blanket work. Then Delle closed the door, leaving me alone in my apartment.
As I drifted off to sleep, I fell into dreams of knives, kisses, and pain from heartbreak and physical cuts. The dreams turned into swirls of anxiety and fear until a sudden ringing ripped me from my groggy deep sleep but pulled the images of knives and assassins into my waking mind.
It was hard to shake certain dreams. Sometimes, they followed you into the morning, demanding to continue their torment until you could convince yourself that you were no longer in their domain.
My heart beat wildly when I realized I couldn't move. I began to panic, my breaths coming in fast, unsteady puffs. The ringing continued, pressing against my temples with each sharp sound.
I'm trapped. I'm in the dark and I can't move.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to calm down. Think Allie. What is real?
I felt fuzz, cool air. And slowly, my room came into view. Then feeling like a goober with a very tired brain, I realized I was still in Delle's blanket tuck in my room.
Oh... Oops.
Shimmying my arms free, I untangled my arms from the blanket before wrapping it around myself to ward off the cool night air. Then walking out of my bedroom, feeling off-balance, I followed the ringing noise.
I woke up enough to realize that it was three in the morning, and someone was ringing my doorbell. I stopped, suddenly scared. I didn't have the emotional energy for anything else. No more secret picture taking, no more sabotage, no more breaking up fights, no more bad news, or news in general. I was on the verge of turning around and heading back to bed when it occurred to me that the ringing wouldn't stop until I answered.
Seriously... it's three AM!
Yanking the door open, I rubbed my eyes, pushing back a yawn, mumbling angrily. "This better be good! Do you have any idea what time..." My words died.
Tate stood there, deep circles under his eyes, hair a mess, breathing way too fast, like he had run up several flights of stairs to get to my door faster.
"Your phone's off," he said between deep breaths.
I blinked, convinced I was dreaming. Back in a groggy sleep that had knitted together the very person I wanted to see most. "Tate?"
"Where were you?" I heard myself ask, voice angry and hurt, betraying my calm exterior. I couldn't pretend to be anything else. Words burst out of my mouth, angry and accusatory. "Iz got hurt."
"I know—" Tate said, eyes filling with sorrow.
"And you weren't there," I continued, poking him in the chest.
"I kn—"
"Why? Why weren't you there! She needed you! And you were just..." My voice cracked and I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders more tightly, angry and embarrassed as tears filled my eyes. "Where were you?" I asked again, my voice a whisper. It sounded fragile. Broken. Scared. Everything I was. I couldn't pretend I was okay. Not around Tate. Not around someone who knew me so well. And we both knew I was asking for answers for more than Iz's sake.
"San Fransisco," he replied gently, adjusting the blanket that had slid down my left arm, so it sat more firmly across my shoulders again. "I was covering for another driver who was stationed up there. There weren't any flights back so I drove as soon as I heard what happened."
"You drove for seven hours?" I whispered in disbelief, my heart squeezing tight. He started driving minutes after I had been lifted into the ambulance, leaving my anger and hurt with nowhere to go. It all bubbled up into unwanted tears and feelings.
"I just got back. You were gone when I got to the hospital. I tried calling you, but your phone was off." Tate closed my front door behind him, dropping a backpack off his shoulder. I was suddenly aware that we were very alone in my apartment.
"Why are you here at three in the morning?" I asked, voice so quiet that I was surprised he heard me at all. I had meant it to sound defensive, but it came across as a challenge. One I was afraid he would take.
"I came here with purely selfish intent," he murmured, walking towards me.
"Tate..." I replied, unsure of what else to say. Unsure of what he meant. Unsure of where things would go.
Tate stopped, slowly bringing his head down until his forehead was pressed against mine, his breath tickling my hair. "I would like to hold you," he whispered. "Let me do that." He cupped my face, tracing his fingers along my cheeks attempting to memorize my features. "I promise not to overthink it. Or assume anything. I would just like to hold you until my body believes you are actually alive and okay—"
I cut him off, wrapping my arms around his waist, pulling him tight against me. "I'm okay," I said, burrowing my face into his chest, tears pricking at my eyes. I hadn't realized just how un-okay I was until I was in his arms. Like a ship having found her anchor to keep steady. A traveler finding her compass to get her home.
I enjoyed the warmth that enveloped me as Tate wrapped his arms around me, tugging my blanket back over my shoulders, to keep the cold away. The smell of Tate wafting peacefully around me. It was him. Completely, and utterly him.
Tate placed his chin on my head. "Are you sure you are okay?"
I nodded, pressing my face harder into the fabric of his shirt. "I am now." I was quiet for a beat, listening to the beating of his heart under my ear. "Things are a mess though," I said through tears.
"Don't worry about that right now," he murmured, gently stroking my hair away from my face.
"I got Iz hurt."
Tate took a step back and cupped my face again. "This isn't your fault."
I shook my head, pain snaking up my chest, fighting a set of contradictions that filled my mind. I wanted to be better. To believe I was worthy of love. To believe that I wouldn't break everything I touched. To believe I was capable of loving someone as much as they loved me. But the darker part of me, the one that had gotten hurt so many times was loud. It was strong, and it didn't want to back down from the proof that life had laid before it.
I cracked, feeling myself fall into tears, the final bit of strength gone. I gathered up the blanket around my face as I began to cry, falling to the ground in the middle of the living room, grieving the night's events, too tired to fight it anymore.
A shadow filled my vision, the details blurred by my tears. Tate crouched close to me, giving me a moment to break into a million pieces. No judgment, no jokes, no touches or kisses, just sitting next to me in the middle of the living room floor. Silence stretched, no longer an awkward thing between us. But a necessary thing to let me think, to feel, to be broken, and learn to be okay with the shards that made up the tapestry that was me.
"If I hadn't taken her there... Then she'd be okay," I whispered.
Tate gently pulled me into his arms, his deep rich baritone voice loud against my ear as he spoke. "You should be allowed to share your victories and beautiful moments with others. THAT isn't your fault.
"Aiden wouldn't be so mad..." I continued. "Laliana wouldn't be fighting with Aiden... Katherine wouldn't be feeding everyone..."
Tate let out a bone-exhausted sigh. "I can see that my cousin has been chatting with you."
"He's a dick," I muttered, wiping at my tear-stained eyes furiously with the fuzzy blanket. Tate didn't deny it. But I knew it hurt him that I couldn't seem to get along with Aiden. I hadn't understood it until now. Tate wanted to know if I could fit into his world, see if I could get along with the people he loved most in the world. And so far it had been a disaster.
"I'm sorry you had to ditch your job in the middle of a shift—"
"No." He said firmly, wrapping his arms around my waist more tightly. "Screw the job. It's the last thing I care about right now." He ran his fingers down my hair in a soothing rhythm. "Why are you acting like you didn't get hurt too? Iz isn't the only one."
"Because I'm fine," I murmured, wiping more defiant tears away.
He shook his head. "No. This isn't fine. Being in the hospital, in a room without me with you is not fine." His words knitted themselves into the long list of reasons why letting him go was no longer an option, threading itself into the tapestry that had wrapped around my heart.
"Hardly seems fair to wish you were hurt with me, Tate."
He placed his forehead to mine. "I'm just glad you are okay." Green eyes filled my vision as he searched my face. "You are okay, aren't you?"
"Just got scratched. I'll be fine." I slowly tilted my head up to show him the bandage that wrapped across my collar bone. "Who?" he asked, voice dangerously angry, eyes flashing with lightning, threatening to strike the ground and crack the earth in two. "Who hurt you?"
I shook my head, pulling myself free, the power in his eyes making me dizzy. "I don't know. But I'm working on that."
He nodded slowly. "Let me know what I can do. I am not going to sit by and watch you fight by yourself."
I placed my hand against his cheek, touched beyond words by how utterly protective he was. Tate had always been adorable and attractive. But seeing him be protective made me feel like I was his. Someone no one was allowed to touch or mess with. I had grown used to being my own strength. My own confidant. And I was still strong by myself, but having someone in my corner was a beautiful thing that I was desperate for more of.
"Thank you. Delle is probably going to contact you... Just a heads up."
He raised a brow. "Should I be worried?"
I offered him a tired smile. "No. She likes you. So you are safe." No promises for Aiden's safety though.
He placed his hand over mine, relief flooding his features. "Good. Just don't do this alone."
I nodded, yawning. "I promise."
Before I could say another word, I was hoisted up into Tate's arms. "Hey—"
"No. It's three in the morning and you need sleep."
A moment later I was tucked under my blankets. He brushed several strands out of my face, fingers warm against my temple. "I'll go."
Tate turned to leave, but I reached for his hand, pulling him to a stop. "Not yet." I needing him to know what happened. Needed him to hear what happened with Laurence from me. "I have to tell you something."
Tate searched my face, brows pinching together with concern. "What is it? Are you hurt? Do you need medicine? Food? Water? More blankets?"
I shook my head, swallowing the pain that began to fill my chest. It's okay, Allie. Just tell him.
"I—" The words were strangled by another yawn.
"You really should sleep, Allie. It can wait until you wake up."
I shook my head, insistent even as my eyelids grew heavy. "Don't go."
Tate sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you not feel safe here alone? I can take the guest room if that will help you sleep."
The concern that filled his forest green eyes made my chest ache. I didn't want to be alone. Not after the nightmares. Not after the night of terror. I let the determination of spilling my guts slip. It was probably better to tell him when I could think straight.
And before I realized what I was saying, before I had a chance to see if my words were logically sound, or sane, they had flown out of my mouth. "It's a big bed. Will you stay here?"
Tate's eyes went wide for a moment as he looked from me to the bed, his cheeks turning bright pink. "I..."
"I will keep my hands to myself, Tate," and to prove my point, I scooted over, leaving him with room.
I could see his attempt to make several jokes, his mind whirling with potential starts. But his face was too serious. His body language tense.
"If you don't want to—"
Tate smiled at me, eyes dark. "It's not a lack of want Allie. I'm just thinking. Give me a minute."
Then coming to a decision, he slowly laid down on top of the blankets before staring at the ceiling overhead, body still tense.
I sat up on my elbow, looking him over. "You okay?"
Tate chuckled. "I'm laying next to the most beautiful woman in the world at her invitation, in her bed, in her apartment and there are no other people around. I am hardly okay. I'm just praying I'll be able to fall asleep."
It was my turn to blush. "Um... goodnight I guess... and good luck?" I offered lamely. Yeah... I am bad at this.
He laughed. "Thanks."
Then I turned off my bedside lamp, fully aware that Tate was an arms reach away. And suddenly I couldn't sleep either. The darkness only makes laying next to him that much worse— better? worse? better? both?
I closed my eyes, thinking. Darkness made people brave. It hid faces so confessions would take the spotlight, without worrying about what the other person's reaction would be. It allowed full vulnerability without the visual repercussions of someone's rejection. Without having to see someone's face tell you they don't feel the same before their words do.
I should tell him about Laurence...
Taking a steadying breath, I jumped, determined to rip the bandaid off. "Hey, Tate—"
Tate's phone chirped and I felt the bed underneath shift. "Shoot sorry. I didn't tell Katherine where I was going. Let me just stop her from a potential freakout then I'll shut it off." He pulled out his phone, and froze, face staring down at the screen with a confused expression.
"Tate?" I asked, scooting closer, suddenly afraid as the phone illuminated his face. "Is it Iz? Is she okay?"
Oh my gosh please let her be okay.
"It's not Iz. I just got a picture..."
---
Thank you for reading chapter forty-two! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes! Add this story to your reading list to know when the next chapter drops!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
Tate has just received a picture... Any guesses as to what?
Do you think Laurence Royal was telling the truth about his enemy list?
Will things be okay with Tate and Allie?
What will happen next?
CHAPTER QUESTION - If you got news that made you question someone you love, would you confront them?