The UN Series Complete Box Set (170 page)

“Why would you do that?”

He looks over at me and gives me a small smile. “Because I could tell that he hated himself for what he did. He felt like he took something from you that you shouldn’t have given him.”

“He hated me,” I say softly. He hated what I made him feel when he was with me.

“Oh, Missy. He loved you then. He just didn’t want to allow that love in.” I’ve never heard Parker talk about love. In any way. I’m pretty sure that is the first time those words have ever been spoken since I met him over a year ago.

“I loved him,” I whisper as my throat tightens. “I loved him so much. And I hate that I will never be able to tell him that.”

I take in a deep breath trying to calm my heart rate and my nerves. Every muscle in my body aches from how hard I have cried. There were times my body actually shook so hard, my teeth chattered. I feel like I’ve run marathon after marathon, and my body is being torn apart. Guess that’s what it’s like to lose someone who holds half of your heart.

Parker gets my attention as he places his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. “I expect him to be sitting on the couch every time I walk into the living room,” he says quietly. “I expect him to be in the kitchen every time I walk into the kitchen. And every single time my phone rings, I wonder if it’s him.” His voice breaks by the time he finishes, and I close my eyes as a knot forms in my throat. “But it’s not going to happen,”

I open my eyes and look at him. His dark eyes are glossy, and he licks his lips before he speaks. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

The tears fall down my cheeks. “I did this to him.” I look over at Parker when I hear him sigh. He’s now leaned back in his chair with his hands now over his face. He rubs his eyes and then his hands drop to his lap. He opens his eyes and stares right at me.

I look away quickly, not wanting him to see how much it still hurts. I sometimes forget that I’m not the only one hurting over the loss of Tate. Parker loved him like a brother. 

I close my eyes and sniff as I feel the tears start to threaten my eyes. I had done something horrible to him. I had betrayed him, and he kicked me out. What did I expect? Did I truly think that he would see my betrayal as help? I don’t even see it that way.

I walk into Tate’s house. I give him a smile as I enter the living room and see him sitting on the couch. “Hey, sweetie,” I say happily, flipping on the light.

He lifts the glass tumbler in his hand and downs the dark liquid before he calmly lowers the now empty glass down to his knee.

My smile slowly fades as he stares at me with a dark expression. His eyes are hooded and his lips are in a straight line. A muscle ticks in his jaw and his right hand is white knuckled as he holds the empty glass.

“Just how many lies have you told me?” His deep voice comes out as a growl.

“What do you mean?” I ask heart racing. He knows that you lied about dinner with the girls. But does he know that the lie involves his mother? God, I hope not.

He looks down at the empty glass and then back at me. “Is that too hard of a question for you?” he asks as his eyes drill into mine. “It’s simple, really. How many lies?” His eyes drop to my stomach, and I instinctively place my hand over it.

“The lies…?” he snaps. “How many were there?” He doesn’t let me answer. “I actually believed all that bullshit you told me,” he says shaking his head at himself.

“Excuse me?” I straighten my shoulders.

His lips twitch at the corners as if he wants to let an evil grin appear, but he refrains. “Gonna stand up to me, are you?” He lifts an eyebrow—challenging me. “Gonna demand that I break you?” I have a feeling he literally wants to break me. “Or do you think I’ll lie down and be the good little boy that you want me to be?”

“Tate…” I say swallowing nervously.

“Don’t,” he interrupts me. “Go ahead. Call me Jonathan.” I watch the way his body stiffens when he says that name.

“Why would I…?”

His eyes narrow at me. “You really think I’m that fucking stupid?” he snaps. “You think I don’t know that my mother told you everything?” he shouts furiously as his face reddens from his anger.

I shake my head. “She didn’t tell me anything,” I say as my chest tightens. “She just wanted me to pick her up from the airport.”

He tilts his head to the side lips thinned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I lower my head and stare down at the floor. “Because I knew you would be mad,” I whisper.

I expect him to yell at me. “Yet, you did it anyway.” His voice is now calm as if he were speaking to a child.

“She’s your mother…”

He stands from his couch in one quick movement and throws the empty glass across the room. It shatters as it hits the far wall and I jump back. “When will you understand that that means nothing to me?” he shouts losing his patience.

“She loves you,” I say trying to keep the tears back.

He stalks over to me, and his dark blue eyes stare down at me. “That word also means nothing to me,” he whispers harshly before he walks past me. “You should know that by now. You’ve said it to me plenty of times.”

I have, and he refuses to say it back. It hurts more than I want to admit. “When will you realize that I just want to help?” I shout to his back. “She just wants a chance.” I want him to believe in second chances. I gave him one. Why can’t he give her one?

He stops, his body stiffening, and he slowly turns back to face me. “A chance?” he repeats as his eyebrows rise to his hairline. He’s surprised by my words. “I gave her a chance. I gave her hundreds of chances, mainly because I didn’t have a fucking choice in the matter.” He fists his hands down by his side. “She failed every fucking one of them.” His jaw tightens. “I begged her to save me.” He jabs a finger at his chest. “I begged her to save herself.” He shakes his head. “I was a fucking fool,” he roars as his eyes drill into mine. “Just like you are. Once you realize that, you will be better off,” he finishes off sharply.

“So, after everything so far, you expect me to give up?” I ask as my chest gets heavy. How can I give up on him? I told myself I never would. That’s all anyone has done to him.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Are you just gonna give up?” I ask, and my voice shakes knowing the answer he will give me.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he shouts. “I…” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a pained second. When he opens them, he looks up at me, and they simmer with rage. “You know, I was fine before you came into my life.” His eyes narrow at me. “I was fine before you made me want you. Before, you made me think I needed you to take away the pain and the memories. To make me feel the hope for something better.” His voice rises to the point my ears hurt.  

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep in the emotions that I don’t want him to see. Not anymore. Any second, he’s gonna tell me to walk out that door. And I’m gonna have to do it with my head held high. He’s at that point, and he’s not gonna come back.

He takes a deep breath, and I hold mine. Here it comes. “Some things aren’t worth fighting for.” His words slice me to the core.

I swallow the knot in my throat and whisper, “So, I’m not worth fighting for?”

He runs his hand over his unshaven face. “I’m tired of fighting.” He sighs and his shoulders slump. “Tired of trying so hard to only come up short. This is me, Missy. This is what I feel like every fucking day. I have to pretend to be someone different.” He hangs his head as he runs a hand over his cropped dark hair before he looks up at me. His dark blue and pained eyes pin me where I stand. “I’m tired of trying to love you.” His words break my heart although they hold no emotion.

He has officially given up. I’ve pushed too far, and it left me with nothing but a hollow chest.

My chest aches as my heart breaks to a million little pieces. Pieces that scatter on the floor as if he just ripped it out of my chest and threw it across the room like the glass tumbler. Tears threaten my eyes and a knot forms in my throat. I won’t let him do this. He can’t let me go, not like this.

I say the last thing that I think may have an effect on him. Possibly bring him back to me—anger. It makes him want to fight. His anger I can handle. “Do you want me to beg?” My lip trembles and my words are barely an audible whisper.

He just stares at me. I take a step toward him. “You want me to call you Jonathan?” I say, and he actually growls. “You think you’re no better than him?” I open my arms wide, gesturing to the broken glass on the floor. “Does that mean you want me to get down on my knees and beg you?” I ask, getting angry as hot tears run down my face. “Because I will,” I say when he doesn’t answer. “I’ll beg for you to see yourself how I see you. I’ll beg for you to see what you don’t.”

“I see myself every day in the mirror,” he snaps. “And you know what I see? Hatred. Rage. Revenge. Nothing good comes from these things.”

I hang my head as I shake it. “That’s the problem, Tate. You only see what your eyes show you,” I say softly as a tear runs down my cheek. “You need to see what your heart tells you.”

He leans down, placing his face inches from mine. “Well, therein lies the problem,” he quips. “I’ve never had one.” With that statement, he stands, straightens his shoulders, and then turns around and walks out of the living room. I flinch when I hear his bedroom door slam shut.

I look around the house as I wipe my face from the tears that drench it. I can’t get them to stop. I turn around and walk right back out the way I came, not even bothering to pick up the broken glass that resembles my broken heart; knowing that it will be my last time.

That was the last conversation that we had. That was the way we both said goodbye. And that memory hurts. 

Parker stands from his chair and wraps his arms around me. I fall into his embrace, accepting his comfort. He’s been by my side so much this week. “It’s not your fault, Missy,” he whispers running his hands down the back of my hair.

“I can’t live without him, Parker,” I cry into his chest. Everyone deserves a happy ending. Everyone deserves that feeling of being loved and loving in return. Tate will never have that. I will never have him.

I close my eyes tightly and Parker holds onto me tighter. “You have to, Missy. That’s what Tate would want. He would hate to see you like this,” Parker says softly. “I know you’re not sleeping. I see how depressed you are.”

“I’m fine,” I say keeping my eyes closed.

He chuckles to himself, making my body vibrate. “Keep telling yourself that, princess. I know it, and you know it. He wouldn’t want you to miss him. Not like this.”

My eyes open up, and I stand from my chair, pushing him away. I turn to face him looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “How dare you say that? Not miss him? I loved him,” I say and the tears stat to threaten my eyes. “This is all my fault,” I cry out.

“Missy.” His voice is calm yet demanding at the same time. “It’s not…”

“It is,” I say, and my legs start to shake. “I was the one who went behind his back. I was the one who thought I could help him. But all I did was get him killed,” I all but shout.

He grabs me by the arms and looks down at me. The look of fury in his dark eyes makes me cower away from him, but he keeps me in place. “Get that out of your head right now, princess.” His voice is strong. “I’m not telling you to forget about him or not to grieve. I’m telling you to stop blaming yourself.” He lets go of my arms, and he pulls me in for one more hug. I find myself wrapping my arms around him, taking comfort in the feel of someone holding me. “Promise me that you’ll stop that?”

I take one deep breath and let it out slowly. I know that Parker will keep me accountable and that scares me. “I promise.”

*****

I lay on Tate and Parker’s couch. Parker dragged me inside after our talk outside on the back porch. He said it was getting dark and for my ass to get inside. My feet dragged and my head spun, but I somehow made it through the back door. I then walked straight to the couch and fell down on it. I turned my body to where I faced the couch so no one could see that I was awake. I’ve heard the front door open once. I could tell by the guy's voice that it was Slade. He and Parker have been sitting in the kitchen talking for the last hour. I’ve blocked them out, not caring to hear them reminisce about Tate. But the moment they mention Sam’s name, I listen.

“How is Samantha?” I hear Parker ask Slade.

“She’s distant. Pulling away from me,” he says softly. “She did the same thing when her mom died. But now we have Sadey. She just sits in her nursery and rocks.” That kills me just as much. Knowing that Tate won’t get to see his niece grow up. “I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to his wife or the loss of his best friend and brother-in-law.

A silence follows into the room, and I cuddle more into the couch as coldness runs up my spine.

“Yeah,” Parker finally speaks. “Missy is not doing well, either.”

My heart pounds in my chest at the mention of my name. But then there is a brief silence between the guys, like they are lost in their own thoughts.

“How is she doing?” Slade asks him.

“She doesn’t speak to me much. But I watch her. I know she’s not eating or sleeping. I don’t want to leave her alone, but she hates being here. I can feel it. But it doesn’t matter where she’s at. She’s going to continue to think of him. At least here, I can keep an eye on her. I even took the time off of work to be with her.”