Until You

  Assuming she was out with K.C., I hung out in her bedroom, leaning on the rails outside of her open French doors and just stared at the folder I’d placed on her bed.

  The folder with all of the proof of what my father had done to me.

  She already seen it, of course, when she snooped in my room.

  But she hadn’t heard it from me yet.

  A door closed downstairs, and my back straightened.

  I breathed deliberately—slow and calm—but my body heated up and my heart raced.

  Jesus.

  I was fucking nervous.

  Will what I tell her be good enough? Will she understand?

  Tate walked slowly into her room, and I immediately gripped the rails behind me to stop myself from rushing her.

  Her eyebrows were slightly drawn together as she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

  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.”

  I wanted him to meet her, and if my mother was successful with the lawyer, then he’d be living with us sooner rather than later.

  She got off the bed and walked over to me by the French doors. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this years ago?” she asked. “I could’ve been there for you.”

  I wish I’d let you.

  That was still something I was going to have a hard time with. Tate holding me up—or trying to—made this room feel ten times too small.

  Small steps, baby.

  I combed my hand through my hair and leaned back on the railing. “When I finally got home that summer, you were my first thought. Well, other than doing what I could to help Jax,” I added. “I had to see you. My mom could go to hell. All I wanted was you. I loved you,” I whispered the last part, my stomach knotted with regret.

  I tightened my fists, thinking back to that day when I’d changed everything. “I went to your house, but your grandma said you were out. She tried to get me to stay. I think she saw that I didn’t look right. But I ran off to find you, anyway. After a while, I found myself at the fish pond in the park.” I finally looked at her. “And there you were…with your dad and my mom, playing the little family.”

  I understood the confusion in her eyes. Even now, I knew it was a sad series of small events that I took too much to heart. I was wrong.

  “Jared—” she started, but I stopped her.

  “Tate, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know that now. You just have to understand my mindset. I had been through hell. I was weak
and hurting from the abuse. I was hungry. I’d been betrayed by the people I was supposed to be able to count on: my mom who didn’t help when I needed her, my dad who hurt me and my helpless brother.” I took a deep breath. “And then I saw you with our parents, looking like the happy, sweet family. While Jaxon and I were in pain and struggling to make it through every day in one piece, you got to see the mother that I never had. Your dad took you on picnics and for ice cream while mine was whipping me. I felt like no one wanted me and that life moved on without me. No one cared.”

  That day and the weeks preceding were too much, too fast, and all of a sudden I was a different kid.

  “You became a target, Tate. I hated my parents, I was worried about my brother, and I sure as hell couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. When I hated you, it made me feel better. A lot better.”

  I saw her jaw harden, and I knew that this wasn’t easy for her to take in.

  But I kept going.

  “Even after I realized that nothing was your fault, I still couldn’t stop trying to hate you. It felt good, because I couldn’t hurt who I wanted to hurt.”

  Silent tears fell down her face again, and—goddammit—I didn’t want Tate crying over me anymore.

  We’d had a hell of a lot of good growing up, and I wanted it back.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking her face in my hands, hoping like hell she didn’t punch me. “I know I can make this up to you. Don’t hate me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t hate you. I mean…” she shot me a little scowl, “I’m a little pissed, but mostly I just hate the wasted time.”

  Yes.

  I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into me.

  She was fucking mine. I wanted to scream and smile at the same time. I molded my forehead to hers, my lips hungry to taste her as I breathed her in.

  “You said you loved me,” she whispered. “I hate that we lost that.”

  Nothing was lost.

  I lifted her up, guided her legs around me, and walked us to the bed, feeling the heat of her center on my stomach.

  “We never lost that.” My hand was on her cheek, and I brought her eyes up to meet mine. “As much as I tried, I could never erase you from my heart. That’s why I was such an asshole and kept guys away from you. You were always mine.”

  “Are you mine?” she asked, wiping her tears with her thumb.

  Her shaky breath caressed my face, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. Lightly kissing the corner of her mouth, I whispered against her lips, “Always have been.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, and I just held her, close and tight.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Are you?” I shot back, not deluding myself for a second that the last three years hadn’t been hell for her, too.

  “I will be.”

  If we had each other, we were going to be okay.

  “I love you, Tate.”

  And I fell back on the bed, bringing her with me, hopefully forever.

  “Jared, you’re poking me.” Tate’s sleepy whimper stirs me awake, and it takes me a few moments to open my eyes.

  Poking her? I check my hands, which aren’t even touching her, and then I feel the fire and tightness in my pants.

  Shit.

  I roll over onto my back, so I’m not spooning her anymore, and run my hands over my face.

  My dick is hard again, and I’m shivering with discomfort and embarrassment.

  This happens a lot lately.

  Looking over at Tate, her back is still to me as she sleeps, and I start to sit up.

  “No,” she groans and rolls over, “don’t leave.” And she puts an arm over my waist, and I stiffen right there, afraid to move.

  Damn, damn, damn! I’m about to explode, and I need to leave. Every morning this happens, and I’m so frustrated.

  Don’t touch me, Tate.

  Please.

  But I let her anyway. She guides me back down as she nestles her head in my neck and falls back asleep.

  My eyes snapped open, blinking, as I felt the same familiar blood rushing south and the burning deep below my stomach.

  I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, shaking the dream from my head.

  Or, the memory.

  Tate.

  I sit up, scanning the dark room.

  Where was she?

  I was in her bed. We’d fallen asleep after my confession, and that dream was of the last time I’d laid in here with her. The morning I’d left for my father’s for the summer.

  But she wasn’t here now.

  And there was no light coming from her bathroom, either.

  “Tate,” I called out but got no answer. The only sound was the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

  Getting up, I stretched my arms over my head, walked out of her bedroom and down the darkened stairs.

  Light was scarce, but it didn’t matter. I could navigate this house in the dark.

  Even if it weren’t for the fact that I’d spent so much time here in the past, the Brandts’ house always seemed alive. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, the creak of the stairs, the soft, muffled humming that came from the vents—they all gave each room its own personality and made this place a home.

  I was comfortable here.

  The living room and dining room were empty as I strolled past each, so I went into the kitchen and instantly saw the open back door.

  Walking over, I peered out into the garden, and immediately broke out in a smile at the sight of Tate, drenched and standing in the downpour with her head tilted up to the sky.

  My shoulders relaxed, and I closed my eyes all at the same time.

  I should’ve known.

  I stepped out quietly and leaned against the back of the house, under the awning.

  Tate always loved the rain. She came alive in it, and I hadn’t been able to enjoy seeing her like this in years. Part of me always wondered what magic she saw in thunderstorms, and part of me didn’t need to know.

  Just watching her was like hearing music in my head.

  Her long, blonde hair was dripping wet, and her clothes clung to her body, just like the night of our first kiss when I’d felt her curves and dips perfectly.

  She stood there, legs slightly parted and arms at her sides as she slowly swayed from side to side, almost like dancing.

  Her black blouse, shiny with rain, was pasted to her back like a second skin, and I knew when I touched her that I would feel every muscle.

  My chest heated up, and my hands hummed.

  “Jared!” she yelled, and I blinked, realizing that she’d noticed me.

  “You scared me.” She smiled. “I thought you were asleep.”

  She held her hand to her chest and waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t.

  I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just wanted her.

  Pushing off the wall, I walked over, never taking my eyes off her as I placed my hands on her hips. I locked her to me, sinking my fingers into her, and gazed down into her face, wild and lovely.

  Tate never played games. There was never a flirty sparkle in her eye or a play of her lips to get me to notice her. She looked at me right now just like she used to.

  Like I was Christmas.

  She inched up on her tiptoes, and my breath caught as she touched her lips to mine. I tasted the sweet rain on her mouth, and my pulse rippled through my body, craving more and more.

  Damn. So good.

  Wrapping one arm around her waist, I held her face with my other hand and guided her lips as I took control.

  I moved into her, tasting her tongue and breath until every single little squeeze, nibble and lick was like lightning through my body.

  The storm fell around us, but I barely noticed it.

  My hands tingled, and everywhere that I touched her got me hotter and harder.

  She shivered, and I held her tighter, not knowing if it was the rain or us. But I didn’t let up.

>   Faster and faster I devoured Tate, diving into her lips again and again, until I was breathing so hard that I was aching to come.

  I drew her bottom lip between my teeth, and she grinded her hips into mine, and we were lost.

  Maybe it was her soft whimpers or her hands, gripping my hips, but I knew she wasn’t stopping this.

  And I needed to be inside of her right here. Right now.

  “You’re cold,” I said as she continued to come in for kiss after kiss.

  Her breath was hot, and her urgent arms caressed up my chest and around my neck. “Warm me up,” she pleaded.

  Fuuuuuck.

  I reached down and grabbed her ass, pulling her into me.

  Now.

  I wanted her here and now, but she started doing shit to my neck with her lips and tongue, and I couldn’t get my head straight.

  “I love you, Jared,” she said breathlessly in my ear, and I closed my eyes.

  My heart filled up so much that it hurt.

  “We can wait,” I choked out, never in a million fucking years wanting to stop this.

  She shook her head slowly, a little smile played on her lips. Lifting the hem of my black T-shirt over my head, she ran the tips of her fingers down my chest, around my hips, and up my back.

  I shivered as she fingered the scars on my back, hoping she wasn’t thinking about my story. That’s not what I wanted in her head right now.

  But she kept her eyes on mine, and I let out a breath, relaxing.

  Her hands were going to be on every part of my body sooner or later. I may as well get used to it now.

  I clenched my teeth and dug my fingers into her behind as she lifted her flimsy, black blouse over her head and stripped off her bra.

  Jesus, I mouthed silently, under my breath.

  We stood there, face to face, naked chest to naked chest, wet and hot on a chilly October night, and I never wanted to love someone so much that I worried I would never be able to stop.

  I reached out slowly and ran the back of my hand down her left breast. Her nipple, already hard from the night air, was the one part of her, other than her lips, that was going in my mouth first.

  Pushing her wet hair behind her shoulders, I looked her up and down, trying to memorize every inch. Tate was athletic—toned and not too skinny. Her shoulders and arms had some muscle to them, but it was subtle, while her skin glowed smoothly like a piece of porcelain.