Burn (9 page)

Tate finally
recovered enough to speak. “Elle, I won’t say anything, I promise. And I’m the
one who should be apologizing. I’m
terribly
sorry. It was awful of me to lead you on that way. It’s just that Ryan won’t
tell me what happened, and I can’t get past some things until he does.”

Elle grabbed her
hand, squeezing it tight. “He will, just be patient with him. I said enough for
you to know it was bad. But just so you know, Ryan didn’t tell me. Kevin did,
and if he finds out I told you anything he’ll never tell me another secret as
long as I live, which may not be for long.”

“Stop.
I
swear no one will know you said a word.” Over her shoulder Tate saw Ryan and
Kevin making their way back to the seats, arms loaded down with food and drinks.
“Here they come. Take a deep breath.” Tate did the same. “Relax. We’re going to
eat a bunch of crap that’s bad for us, drink too much lukewarm beer, and heckle
the shit out of the Cubs.”

That got a laugh
out of Elle, and Tate laughed, too, even though she wasn’t visiting anywhere
remotely near Happyville.

****

For the rest of
the game, Tate managed to put up a solid fun-girl front, cheering and chatting
and generally having a good time, even though during the lulls her mind ground
away at what Elle had told her. So she drank more beer hoping the cogs in her
brain would get sticky and sluggish.

She didn’t get
drunk. Tate just wasn’t built that way. Too many years spent in and around an
emergency room had molded her psyche to avoid trouble at all costs. She saw
danger where others didn’t, or they chose to ignore it, and going from slightly
buzzed to outright
sloshed
was definitely dangerous
after today. Alcohol loosened more than just inhibitions, it loosened tongues,
too, and a runaway mouth could be disastrous.

Elle kept giving
her questioning looks, basically asking if she was okay without uttering a
syllable, and Tate would bump her with her shoulder or wink and smile. She
genuinely liked the girl, wanted to spend more time around her and Kevin, and
that wouldn’t happen if Elle thought she couldn’t trust Tate to keep her word,
or if she feared she’d crack under the pressure and get her in trouble with
Kevin.

The day passed
in a surreal blur, and the Braves won the game, four to three. Hugs were
exchanged all around before they left the stadium, and Tate whispered in Elle’s
ear again not to fret. They made tentative plans to get together for dinner the
next time all four of them simultaneously had the time off.

Ryan stopped by
a market on the way home, grabbing a few supplies for dinner, while Tate waited
outside on the back of the motorcycle with the information Elle had unwittingly
divulged nagging away at her like a splinter. When he returned with one bag
small enough to fit between their bodies for the rest of the ride, Tate was
curious but didn’t peek inside. Chances were she wouldn’t be able to figure
much out anyway due to her sorely lacking culinary skills.

“I know you’re
tired. Go ahead and grab a shower while I start dinner,” Ryan said once they
were inside her apartment. “You want a glass of wine, or did you have too much
beer?”

“I think I could
drink a gallon of water right now, but maybe a glass with dinner later.”

Tate schlepped
to the bathroom, her head throbbing from the noise levels at the game and from
being forced at beer-point
not
to
work through the riddle of Ryan’s parents. She turned on the taps,
then
wilted onto the toilet lid to tug off her sneakers and
socks. She’d made it down to her underwear when Ryan tapped on the doorframe
with a knuckle and sauntered in, an unopened bottle of water in his hand.

Heaven help her,
why did he have to be so sweet and perfect and good? Why couldn’t he have some
glaring defect in his personality that would make her feel less wretched about
the way she’d treated him that first week he came back into her life?

“You okay,
honey?” And there he went again, making her sinuses sting with tears desperately
wanting to gush like a tapped spring.

Tate lied with a
nod and ducked her head, scrubbing at her flattened hat-hair while she got
herself under control. “Just mourning the end of my day off,” she mumbled.

“Did you have
fun?”

She took the cold
bottle of water he offered, twisting off the cap. “I had an amazing time. Thank
you for taking me.”

“My
pleasure.”
He leaned in for a soft kiss, but didn’t linger.
“Elle really likes you. Kevin just sent me a text saying she won’t shut up
about Tate.”

“I like her a
lot, too.”

“Good. We’ll see
them again soon.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You got a little sun.”

“Great, more
freckles.”

His eyes
softened.
“More for me to kiss later.
I would join you
in the shower, but I need to check in with the restaurant,
then
get started on our dinner.”

“What are you
making?”

“Spaghetti
Carbonara.”

The junk food
she’d eaten earlier was gone, judging by the way her stomach rumbled its
approval. Ryan laughed and left her alone.

“You’re spoiling
me rotten!” she yelled.

“You’re worth
it!” he shouted back.

“No, you are,”
she whispered. “And I don’t deserve you.”

Chapter
Eight

Ryan drifted out
of a dream where he played first base for the Braves and into some real life
ball play. A warm, wet mouth explored his cock while a few talented fingers
sojourned farther south, stroking and gently fondling his sac. Keeping with the
cheesy baseball metaphors in his head, he’d rounded second base and was quickly
bearing down on third.

Of all the really
nice ways a man could be woken up, a blowjob from a gorgeous redhead would have
to be near the top of his list. He groaned in pleasure, feeling his cock swell
and stiffen further with blood, and blinked his eyes a few times to clear the
fog of sleep and get his bearings.

He was in Tate’s
bed, which they had thoroughly desecrated the night before. Twilight oozed in through
the cracks in the drapes, lending a soft filtered light to the room. It was
early still—too early for her to be waking up with sex on the brain. Then she
took him deep, and he decided to simply appreciate Tate’s sexy brain, no matter
the hour.

Biting the
inside of his cheek to keep his morning hair trigger from going off, he reached
down to tenderly stroke her hollowed cheek. She released him with a lazy pull,
nuzzling the base of his cock with her nose, mumbling something under her
breath he couldn’t make out. It was almost as if she lingered inside a dream
herself.

“Tate.” She
opened her eyes languidly, resting her chin on his hip. The
hand
between his legs kept up its stroking, across his perineum and then lower
still. His muscles tensed a little at her boldness, but he didn’t try to stop
her.

“What?” she
asked.

“I wondered if
you were really awake.”

A soft hum was
all he got in response before a fingertip grazed his asshole. Ryan hissed
sharply, thrusting his head back on the pillow. He made a grab for the base of
his dick, clamping down hard to keep from losing his load all over him, her,
and the bed.

Rounding third
.

“Great reflexes
for this time o’ the mornin’, laddy,” Tate said in a fake Irish brogue.

Ryan’s laugh
shook the bed.

She peeled his
hand away and surrounded him inside the Heaven of her mouth once again, that
single inquisitive finger now rubbing, rubbing, driving him out of his mind. Ryan
shifted his legs further apart, letting her have her way with his body since
she seemed determined to make him lose control. Everything between his hips
grew tight, just like the suction of Tate’s perfect mouth. No time for a polite
warning, he spilled down her throat. Fortunately, they’d already reestablished
where their respective sexual boundaries lay.

A guttural moan
vibrated his chest as he came, pleasure spiking, leveling off, and then waning,
the
darkness of temporary oblivion swallowing him up as
if he’d dreamed the whole damn thing.

Sliding into home.

Tate’s hair
tickled his stomach as she resettled herself against him, her little snuffling
sigh drifting over his skin. He brought a hand up to caress her back while he
gathered his wits.

He should respond
in kind plus some, he thought. Roll her beneath him and slide inside her once
his dick recovered, or at the very least say something dumb like “that was
amazing, thanks”. But in a matter of two minutes, three at the most, she was
practically snoring. Ryan gently eased onto his side, pulling Tate closer, and
tucked the sheet up around their bodies.

Love swelled
fiercely inside his chest. No use denying that’s what it was, just as he acknowledged
he’d never stopped loving her. How could he when for years he’d dreamed of
being able to hold her again like this? He just had one more obstacle to clear.
His reasons for leaving her before couldn’t hang between them forever. The time
for spilling his guts drew closer with every passing day. He’d worried that
last night might be it.

During dinner,
she was almost taciturn. It felt as if he pried every word out of her, but Ryan
didn’t press, thinking she was simply tired from their long fun day in the sun.
Her mood shifted once they finished cleaning the kitchen. By the time his ass
hit the couch she was climbing astride his lap, stripping off his shirt, her
hands roaming greedily over his skin. He had no complaints whatsoever. It was
just … odd given the way she’d behaved earlier.

Their lovemaking
had become nearly frantic in nature before he managed to tire her out enough to
slow down. He’d made her come four times. Even in sleep, she’d seemed restless.
He’d felt her leave the bed at least twice during the night before she’d woken
him up a few moments ago with her sweet mouth wrapped around his cock.

Usually she
slept like a log, especially on nights before work. Her shift started at noon.
Ryan had to be at the restaurant at eight a.m. for a planning meeting with
Kevin and the architect on the new restaurant, so he wouldn’t allow himself to
fall back asleep. Instead, he lay there enjoying her warm body curled close to
his and marveled at how lucky he’d gotten to have her back in his life.

Eventually he
left the bed as the clock ticked closer to six-thirty, dressed in the living
room so as not to wake Tate, and rummaged around in her kitchen cabinets. When
he found half a bag of chocolate chips, inspiration struck.

****

Tate awoke to a
silent house that smelled amazing. The sheets smelled like sex and Ryan, and
that scent was potent enough, but layered on top of it was the heavenly aroma
of baked goods. Dating a chef definitely had its perks. She rolled over to
stretch tender muscles and found a note on her pillow.

Sorry
I didn’t get to wake you properly to return the favor. Have an early meeting
with Kevin.
Left you a surprise in the kitchen to hopefully make
up for it.
See you soon, R.

Smiling as she scrambled
out of bed, she tugged on a robe. On the bar in the kitchen sat a small platter
of muffins. Chocolate chip and made from scratch, it was a miracle he’d found
all the necessary ingredients in her pathetic excuse for a pantry.

She was
completely, hopelessly, head-over-Nikes in love with Ryan again. No doubts this
time. Tate didn’t bother to fight off the mistiness over that acceptance. She just
poured herself a tall glass of milk, sat down at the bar, and in short order,
devoured three entire muffins while a few tears silently slid down her cheeks. When
she’d inhaled every last crumb, she blotted her face with a napkin, put the
remaining three muffins in an airtight container, and showered for work.

That evening the
ER was slow for a nice change. It allowed Tate time to catch up on some overdue
paperwork, but unfortunately it also gave her time to think over what Elle said
about Ryan’s mom.

Thinking was all
she’d done since she’d tricked Elle—something else that was eating at her conscience—whenever
she had a still, quiet moment, which was why she’d wanted Ryan to basically
fuck the sense right out of her. And it worked for a few hours … until she woke
up at two and again at four, and then at five-thirty when she sexually
assaulted his poor exhausted penis.

Fighting the
urge to wonder was giving her a headache, so Tate gave in, doodling inside the
back of a chart while she pondered the terrible things Ryan’s dad could’ve done
to make kindhearted Evie Hart try to kill herself.

The
uncomfortable thought of child abuse kept resurfacing in Tate’s brain. That
could certainly shred a mother to pieces, turn a family inside out,
destroy
a home. She supposed it could’ve been infidelity, or
spousal abuse, but would either of those send Ryan running back home without an
explanation to Tate?
Probably not.
The darker sins
would, however. He would likely be distraught, ashamed, angry, and the thought
of him going through all of that turmoil alone made Tate’s heart hurt for him.