Flawed Beauty (4 page)

 
praying
– that this time it would be different; but it never was. Glancing down at her
iPod, she pushed the volume up until the music blared so loud, it hurt her
ears.

Sweat was pouring into her eyes by
the time she glided off the machine. She reached down and switched off the
iPod. Her ears continued to ring from the abuse they’d endured. With her hands
on her knees, she bent with her chest heaving as she strove to slow her breathing.

With one last, deep inhale, she
rose, and swiped the back of her hand across her brow. Before her, leaning
negligently against the treadmill next to her, wearing long blue shorts and a
white, fitted, sleeveless shirt, was none other than Dr.
Jace
Staton
. The fitted shirt showed off his powerful
physique perfectly. His folded arms caused his biceps to bulge, and around his
right bicep was a thin tribal tattoo. He looked tanned, fit, and delicious. She
cringed as she thought how she must look.

“Good workout?”

Embarrassed at being caught at such
a severe disadvantage, she looked down and only nodded.

“Come here often?” he asked with a
grin.

She couldn’t contain the grin at his
trite line. “Not as much as I’d like.
You?”

“Nope, first time. Thor told me
about it.”

Ahh
, the plot thickens
, she thought.
I’m going to kill
the little matchmaker
.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she
said.

“Wait… Can’t you at least show me
the ropes?”

She slid her eyes over him. “I don’t
think you need any help finding the ropes.”

His lips twisted in wry amusement.
“What?
A compliment from the elusive Tate Morgan?”

“Hardly elusive,” she muttered.

“You’re kidding, right? I can’t get
within five feet of you before you run away.”

She blushed.

“Come on, Tate. Throw me a bone.”

Tate put her hands on her hips as
she tried to think of some way out of this situation. “I thought I was clear.
I… I don’t have time to… do whatever this is,” she said, waving a finger in the
air between them.

“So you admit there’s something?”

So far out of her depth, she could
do nothing but shrug her shoulders helplessly.

“Listen, I have to be at work later,
will you at least have lunch with me? Nothing formal, just two people sitting
around, getting to know each other. No pressure.
What’do
you say?” he asked with such an endearing grin, she found herself unable to
resist returning it.

“Just lunch?”

“Just lunch.”

“Don’t you want to work out first?”
she asked.

Tate was surprised to see a blush
steal over his features. “I… actually already worked out this morning at the
hospital’s gym,” he said with a grin.

She lifted confused eyes to his. “I
don’t understand. Why are you here then?”

“For you,” he said simply.

She inhaled deeply at the intensity
of emotions which tightened her chest.
For her?

As she needed to shower and change,
Jace
agreed to meet her at a small café not far from Zeal’s
that served a Sunday brunch. Now that she wasn’t under the direct influence of
his charm, she began to doubt the sanity of her actions. Okay, she could do
this, she told herself as she lifted a hand that trembled slightly to the door
of the café.
Jace
wasn’t like any of the others in
her experience. He was a mature man, not a fumbling boy.

He stood and made his way to her,
devastating her with his smile. Her heart began to pound when he placed his
hand in the small of her back, directing her to the table. His touch was warm
and it made her feel protected. Could she trust him? No… she just couldn’t risk
it.

He handed her a menu once they were
seated.

She glanced at it and handed it
back. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

He twisted his lips into a wry
smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever ordered for a woman before.”

She blushed. “Is that wrong?” she
asked, suddenly unsure.

“No, not wrong, just different,” he
assured her with a smile. “How about waffles with fruit?”

“Sounds good,” she murmured, feeling
awkward.

Once the waitress had completed
ogling
Jace
and took their order, he sat back and
regarded her with a smile.

“So, how long have you worked at
Zeal’s?” he asked.

She shifted uncomfortably in her
seat, suddenly shy. “Almost two years.”

He waited for her to elaborate, and
when she didn’t, he said, “Thor says you teach self-defense at the gym.”

“I do.”

Again, he waited for more, and the
silence hung heavy on the air between them. Nervously, Tate ran her fingertip
over the stem of her water glass. She raised wary eyes to his and blushed.

“Do I make you nervous, Tate?”

She shrugged, uncertain as how to
answer.

“Why is that?” he asked, tilting his
head to the side as if trying to decipher a complicated problem.

Clearing her throat, she looked back
down at her glass. Quietly, she said, “I… don’t date much.”

“Your choice, I’ll bet.”

Again, she shrugged.

“
Mmm
, so
I’m the exception to your rule. How interesting,” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t flatter
yourself
,
doctor,” she muttered.

“Oh, but I am flattered. What made
you say yes? Was it my… good looks… my charm… my witty banter…” he asked with
humor dancing in his unbelievably beautiful blue eyes and a sexy grin on his
lips.

Her lips twitched involuntarily into
a smile. God, he was charming. She had no doubt that very few women ever turned
down the delectable
Jace
Staton
.

“I was just trying to get you off my
back,” she said mock censure.

“Oh, it’s not your back I’m
interested in… well, maybe a little bit. You do have a nice back.”

She just shook her head and smiled.

As promised, lunch was kept light
with no pressure. He continued to try and draw her out and she found ways to
keep him at bay. Time seemed to slip by all too quickly. She was disappointed
when he declared it time for him to leave for work. He paid the tab, left a
nice tip – which she appreciated, and together, they walked outside the café.

Awkwardly, she slid her hands into
the back pockets of her jeans. “I had a nice time, thanks,” she murmured.

“Good, maybe we can do it again
sometime?”

“I don’t know. I’m really busy right
now,” she said, looking down at the ground, wanting so much to say yes, but
afraid to.

“So you’ve said before. And yet,
here we are.”

“Here we are,” she repeated.

“Tate?”

She raised her unsure tawny eyes up
to his brilliant blue ones. He moved a step closer and captured her face
lightly within his palms.

“The last time you didn’t know it
was coming, but now you do.”

He gave her time to pull away, and
when she didn’t, he slowly lowered his lips to hers, and with the softest of
touches, he kissed her. Her chest tightened painfully and her heart pounded as
the sizzle from this small contact seemed to overwhelm her.
Everything
around her blanked from her consciousness.
All she was aware of was the
warmth of his palms against her cheeks, the texture of his lips against hers,
and his intoxicating scent of soap, shampoo, and his own unique smell.

He drew back slightly and took a
small, shaky breath. “Wow,” he murmured.

“Wow,” she whispered back, suddenly
becoming aware once again of the sun shining; the birds chirping; the wind
blowing through the trees; and embarrassingly, the people strolling past them
on the sidewalk.

Ever so lightly again, he pressed
his lips once more to hers before stepping back and clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. I want
to see you again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, still
mesmerized by his kiss.

He rewarded her with a one hundred
kilowatt smile. “Excellent! I’ll call you,” he yelled over his shoulder as he
dashed off.

Tate stood staring after him for a
very long time.
What had she just done
?

Tate checked her phone continuously
like a lovesick fool all week. But he never called. What did she expect,
really? He was way out of her league. He could have anyone, and probably did,
as far as she knew. It was really better this way, she comforted herself. As
she’d told him, she was really busy.

Chapter 2

As
Friday was a short day for her at the university, she’d made an appointment
with Dr. Barclay for that afternoon. Tate hated having to rehash things from
her past over and over, and put off going to the psychiatrist as long as
possible. But the nightmares were beginning to come every night and sometimes
more than once.

Dr. Barclay’s office was situated on
a street lined with older Victorian-styled homes, which had all been rezoned
commercial, and now housed realtors, lawyers, doctors’ offices, and some
exclusive dress shops. Dr. Barclay’s receptionist, Amy, was sitting at her desk
with the phone pressed to her ear. She smiled at Tate and held up a finger as
she talked and took notes on a pad in front of her. Tate smiled back and sat in
an antique high-backed chair covered in burgundy velvet in the waiting area. As
she waited, Tate took advantage of the time by pulling out one of her many
reading assignments.

“Tate?” Amy said, getting her
attention.

Tate stowed her book back and made
her way to Amy’s desk.

“Tate, Dr. Barclay was called away
on a family emergency and won’t be back for several weeks. Dr. Randall is
filling in for her. Is that okay?”

“Is Dr. Randall a woman?” Tate asked
tentatively.

With a soft smile, the motherly Amy
said, “Of course.”

“Okay,” Tate answered.

“Good. Dr. Barclay has prepped her
on your case. You’ll like Dr. Randall, she’s very nice,” Amy assured her.

They always were
, Tate thought. She could only
imagine what they really thought when they discovered her past.

Dr. Randall rose when Tate entered
the room. She was somewhere in her mid-fifties, with black hair streaked with
grey throughout. She was a small woman, with jet-black eyes. Tate thought she
looked very exotic – maybe Hispanic or Indian.

Moving towards her, Dr. Randall held
out her hand.
“Hi, Tate.
I’m Dr. Randall, please come
in and have a seat.”

Wordlessly, Tate sat in the sitting
area adjacent to the desk. In Tate’s immense experience, she’d found doctors
thought having a desk between them and the patient placed a barrier between
them. Tate didn’t think it mattered either way, as there would always be a
barrier.

Dr. Randall sat across from her and
flipped open a manila file folder on top of the
iPad
on her lap. “So, Tate, I’ve had an opportunity to discuss your case briefly
with Dr. Barclay before she left and I’ve read your file. How can I help you
today?”

Having spent the majority of her
life in therapy, Tate wasn’t uncomfortable in these surroundings. As she never
discussed her past with anyone, it was almost a relief to unburden herself to
someone who’d not judge her,
mock
her, or blame her.
Tate assumed this is what having a mother – a real mother, felt like.

“My nightmares have returned,” Tate
replied simply.

“Is there anything going on in your
life which would predicate their return?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Tate answered.

“Tate, I know you’ve been through
all this with Dr. Barclay, and I’ve read your file, but I think it would be
beneficial for us if we discussed your past together. Are you comfortable with
that?”

Tate simply nodded. She’d been
through all this before.

“Okay. Let’s talk a little about
your childhood. Tell me about your parents…” glancing down at the file, she
continued.
“
Tilda
and Travis Moon.”

Tate stared out the window behind
Dr. Randall as she retold the story she’d been repeating since she was
thirteen. “My mother was bipolar and was fine when she was on her meds. When
she stopped taking them, she became easily agitated and irrational. She
struggled to maintain a job and drank and smoked a lot. She was excessively
jealous of my father and they fought continuously about it. I think she was
even jealous when he’d pay attention to me or my sisters. I don’t know if they
actually loved each other, or were just used to their existence.”

“Was your mother abusive to you?”

Tate gave a wry smile. “I don’t
think she cared enough either way to be abusive.”

“Tell me about your father.”

“My father worked several different
jobs, all of which he hated. He was always looking for the brass ring. I think
he was angry at his lot in life and resented having to support my sisters and
me. When my sisters… left, neither he nor my mother seemed to care at all. He
wasn’t abusive either, and like my mother, he was… aloof. I never remember
receiving any type of affection from him until I was almost thirteen… and then
it was, well, inappropriate.”

“How inappropriate?”

Tate looked down as she intertwined
her fingers. “He… we… didn’t have intercourse. He just touched me sometimes…
never below the waist or anything. But it made me uncomfortable. He always
wanted…” Tate swallowed, even now feeling the shame, “to see me without
clothes.”

There was a pause, then without
looking up, Dr. Randall changed directions and asked as she typed on her
iPad
. “Tell me about your sisters.”

“I had three older sisters: Ophelia,
Harmony, and Jasmine. We were all a year apart,” Tate fidgeted in her seat as
she spoke of them.

“Why does it bother you to speak of
your sisters? Do you still have contact with them?”

Tate cleared her throat. “No. I
haven’t seen them since I turned twelve. They took care of me when I was
little, made sure I ate, took a bath, slept inside the house when my parents
locked me out. Then, one by one, they just… left. No goodbyes, no explanations…
just gone. Now I know what happened to them, but at the time…” Tate shrugged
her shoulders as she looked down at her hands.

“Tell me a little about what you
remember growing up.”

Tate moved her eyes back to the
window and began reciting the familiar story once more. “I was
Patanga
Moon back then. We moved around a lot, usually in
the middle of the night. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I got older, I
could see that we lived in filth. The house was always a mess and in chaos. My
sisters and I shared a mattress on the floor, usually without sheets. Sometimes
there was food in the house and sometimes my stomach hurt from not having any.
I mostly remember feeling unsure of my place, like I really didn’t belong
there.” Tate gave a small laugh. “From the time I was small to this day, I have
a dream about an angel with blonde hair who holds my hands and swings me round
and round. My make-believe mother, I call her. There was song from a long time
ago that she’d sing, but I can’t remember it now. I’m sure it was something I
heard in school and incorporated into my dream… I wish I could remember it…”
She stopped in thought before continuing, “Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s a natural protective
mechanism, especially in small children, for the brain to manufacture fantasies
of what we perceive to be our ideations of normalcy. It’s a coping mechanism.”

Tate simply nodded, she’d heard all
this numerous times.

“Let’s talk about what happened when
you turned thirteen.”

Tate twisted her lips and cleared
her throat. She hated this part. “My father got hooked up with an illegal
company online which promoted the selling of young girls and boys. Apparently,
there’s a lot of money to be made for young, untouched, blonde girls.” With a
small laugh, she said, “It was more money if the girl was blonde with
blue
eyes, but such was the misfortune of my father for me to have brown eyes.”

Tate paused, inhaled deeply, and
dropped the pitch of her voice. “On my thirteenth birthday, my mother and
father took me to a hotel, dressed me in a sheer negligee, and a man, who
called himself Mr. Smith, came to the hotel to look over the merchandise, as it
were. I think there must have been an issue with the amount, because Mr. Smith
wanted to think about it. I remember driving home, trying to understand what
was happening – not believing it, really. My parents were going to sell me to
this man and allow him to do whatever he wanted to me. I couldn’t understand,
my mind couldn’t take it, so I shut down. I knew the instant it happened
inside, even at thirteen. The next night, my parents took me back to the hotel
for another meeting with a different man. This time, I didn’t ask the man’s
name; I just got dressed as before and stood there. I didn’t care. It, or
nothing, mattered. I had no power, no way to fight back. I was only thirteen.”

Tate once more cleared her throat.
“A different man came in with my dad, but he was different from Mr. Smith. We
didn’t know it at the time, but the man was a police detective who was heading
up a sting operation on human trafficking involving children. Once my dad made
an offer, the man – who I now know as Alan Tracey – called in his team with the
intent of arresting my parents. My mother, hearing the commotion from the next
room, came in with a gun and shot one of the officers. They returned fire and
killed her. In the commotion, my father attacked one of the men who shot my
mother. He now is doing thirty-to-life for killing that officer.” As an
afterthought, Tate added, “I guess he did love my mother after all.”

Dr. Randall said softly, “Tate, that
isn’t love.”

With an indifferent shrug, Tate
said, “No, I guess it isn’t.”

“What happened next?”

Tate placed her hands underneath her
thighs to hide their trembling. She
really
hated this part. “The police
detective from the raid, Alan Tracey, and his wife, Beth, petitioned the court
to award them custody of me, as I had no living relatives – other than my
sisters, whom they couldn’t locate. So, I went to live with Alan and Beth and…
their son, Nick.”

After a long pause, Dr. Randall
asked, “What happened after that?”

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat,
she continued. “It was a hard adjustment from the very beginning. While it made
no sense, even to me, I missed my family and my old life – the life I was used
to. To protect me, the
Traceys
enrolled me in their
son’s school. The thought process being it was better if no one knew about what
had almost happened to me. Alan and Beth convinced me to change my name in
order to offer me another layer of anonymity, as there’d been such an enormous
amount of press about me and my parents. Because I wanted to fit into their
family unit, I agreed. Between the three of us, we came up with Tate Morgan, as
Tate was Beth’s maiden name, and Morgan was Alan’s middle name.”

Tate took a steadying breath.
“Things smoothed out, and for a while, things were good. But Alan and Beth
hadn’t taken into account the raging hormones of a sixteen-year-old boy, the
jealousy of an only child, or that the child had a cruel, mean streak a mile
wide.”

Tate paused, licked her lips, and
exhaled deeply before continuing. “Nick was nice at first and even introduced
me to some of his friends. I began to rebuild my life and was mostly happy. The
sheets on my bed were washed once a week, my clothes were always clean, and
there was always food on the table. I never knew people actually lived that
way.”

Clearing her throat once more, Tate
rolled her head to ease the tension in her neck. “It was shortly after my
fourteenth birthday that things began to change. Nick’s interest in me altered
somewhat. It was as if something flipped in him. He became aggressive and
abusive in a way. He always tried to sit next to me and touch me – never
inappropriately, but it made me feel awkward. I was afraid to say anything to
Alan and Beth. They’d been so great and I figured that was the price.
Nothing
in life was free
, my father had always said. It was the night of Alan and
Beth’s wedding anniversary. They were going out, which left me and Nick home
alone. When they left, I went to my bedroom to work on a school project. Nick
knocked and came in carrying a glass of orange soda.”

Tate paused as she thought about the
soda. “I’ll never forget that. I don’t think I’ve drank orange soda since that
night.” With a small shake of her head, she continued. “Well anyway, he was
nice and said I’d been working so hard and could probably use a drink. I tried
to understand his motive, but I didn’t see any harm – I mean, it was just
orange soda, right? I was just so stupid.”

Tate shook her head at herself again.
“I thanked him for the drink and he came in and we started talking about my
project, and he even offered ways to improve it. Not long after, my head
started to get fuzzy and woozy. I remember how my parents acted when they
drank, and it reminded me of that. I remember Nick being so concerned and told
me to lie down, maybe that would make me feel better, he’d said. Again, I was
stupid.”

Dr. Randall interrupted her story.
“Tate, you were not stupid. We are made to trust what we see. It is only with
experience that we learn how to better judge people’s true motives.”

When Tate didn’t respond, Dr.
Randall said, “Please continue.”

“I don’t really know what happened
next, exactly. I only remember bits and pieces – mainly, him pinning my
shoulders to the bed. My next clear memories were waking up, naked in my bed on
top of bloody sheets, with Alan and Beth in the room. Beth was screaming at me.
She said I was a tramp – no-good white trash. She wanted to know who I’d been
with, so I told them. She really exploded after that. She said I came from
squalor and would never know how to live like decent people. She demanded I be
sent away. I don’t think Alan was in full agreement, but eventually I was
placed into the foster care system. A few days later, I learned Nick had
videotaped what he’d done that night and sent it to several of his friends. It
was all over school within days. I eventually had to leave that school.”