The UN Series Complete Box Set (171 page)

“I would do the same thing. But you can’t take care of her forever, Parker.”

“She was my best friend’s girl. What do you expect me to do?” he asks with a heavy sigh. “He loved her. I don’t know if he ever told her those words, but he loved her.” I cover my mouth to quiet my sob. “I tried to tell her that I was sorry,” Parker whispers and a knot forms in my throat. “She wouldn’t listen to me.” I know he feels bad. He could have performed CPR until he collapsed from fatigue. It wouldn’t have mattered. Tate had died instantly. Guess that’s the best thing to happen. He didn’t feel anything.

“She knows,” Slade tries to reassure him.

Parker doesn’t buy it. “I told Missy not to go in there. I told her to wait, to let me clear the room. She ran to him. I saw the bastard raise the gun…”

“Stop,” Slade interrupts him. “It’s not your fault, Parker. Tate jumped in front of that bullet to save the woman he loved. Any one of us would have done the same.”

CHAPTER THREE

I find myself still laying on the couch as night falls. Parker had, at some point, laid a blanket over me and then I heard him go to his room after Slade left. I can’t keep still. I feel restless. I feel like I need to get out of the house. Run a mile or something, be anywhere but this house.

Rolling over to face away from the couch, my eyes scan over the living room. Tate’s black boots that he always wore sit by the front door. His black leather jacket still lays over the back of his recliner. I find myself kicking the covers off quickly and walking over to it. I grab it and hold it up to my nose. I inhale sharply and I feel the tightness in my throat return at the smell of him on it. I go to set it back down on the recliner when I hear a faint sound that resembles crying.

I slowly make my way down the hallway and come to the room at the end, Parker’s room. Turning the knob slowly, I open his door just enough to peek into it. Parker sits on the edge of his bed with his back to me. The back of his black button up shirt pulls against his back as he leans over with his head in his hands. He softly rocks back and forth as he cries.

“Parker…?” My voice is barely audible, not sure what to say or do. Should I turn around and shut his door as if I didn’t open it? Do I go and hug him like he has done for me so many times? How do you comfort one when you can’t even comfort yourself.

“I tried,” he calls out with a sniff. “I did all I could, Missy.” His voice breaks, and he starts to cry harder.

I shove the door open quickly and make my way over to him. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “I couldn’t save him.” His body shakes against mine, and I swallow the knot in my throat.

“I know,” I whisper, trying to calm him.

His arms tighten around me as his cries get louder. It’s at this very moment that, as tears run down my face, I realize just how much Tate meant to Parker.

*****

I hold a hot cup of coffee in my hands as I stare blankly at the wall across from me. Last night was rough. Seeing Parker fall apart like that was torture to my soul. Somehow, I ended up lying next to him in his bed. He held me. I held him. We stayed fully clothed and nothing sexual happened. We were just there for one another. Two people needing to grieve. It was beautiful yet heartbreaking. Parker had been tough. I could see the tears in his eyes that he held back. But I also saw the hole that this loss has caused in his heart. He had to bury his best friend yesterday. He had to hold me while I cried my eyes out. He had to be strong in order for me to be weak. But last night, when he thought he was all alone, he finally let go. He finally allowed those feelings to surface. Who was I to leave him to do it alone? It was time for me to help him. Now, now I feel numb. Tate is dead. His funeral is over. What do I do next? Do I go back to my apartment? Do I go back to my boring life before him? Do I pretend that he never existed and tell myself that I will once love again? Because I won't. Tate was it for me.

I look at the entrance of the kitchen when I see Parker walk in. He’s still dressed in his now wrinkled black dress shirt and black pants that he wore to the funeral yesterday. And I frown. Will this be our life? Will we have to take care of each other for the rest of our lives?

He sits down in front of me and runs a hand through his messy dark hair. I try to think of the right words to say to him but come up with nothing. Thankfully, he speaks first. “I’m sorry about last night.” His voice is hoarse, and I know it’s from the crying.

“It’s okay.” I clear my throat.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” There’s nothing wrong with a woman and a man holding each other.

He lifts his head up and his dark eyes stare into mine. “Tate was my best friend,” he says as if I didn’t already know that. “I would never…”

I lift my hand to stop him. “I know. It’s okay.” He seems to understand me better because he nods his head once before he stands and exits the kitchen. I let out a long sigh before I sit back in my chair and go back to staring at the wall across from me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tate has been gone for two weeks now. Nothing’s changed. Well, not for me anyway. Samantha and Slade sold the bakery. Slade had hired a company to come in and clean it, but even after it was cleaned, none of us would step foot in it. No one wanted to go down that road again. We all had flashbacks of Tate, but some things are just too much. I do nothing. I’ve been staying at the house with Parker, but I still haven’t gone into Tate’s room. I sleep on the couch when I do sleep. The days and nights are a blur. I can’t seem to keep them straight. I keep myself locked up in this house and do nothing but remember the good times that we had together. Some say I need therapy. Some say that I need to move on. I say what in the hell do they know? Obviously nothing!

Tonight was Parker’s first day back to work. I’m nervous for him. I’m afraid he’s not ready, but who am I to tell him that?

Slade comes over and checks on us. He told Parker this afternoon that he and Samantha are having problems. He didn’t give much more information about that and Parker didn’t ask.

I still call Tate’s cell phone. I still cry every time I hear his voice on the other end. And every time, I tell him that I love him. I’m not sure if that is healthy or not, but it’s the only thing that makes me feel like he’s right there, even if it is for half a second. For that one moment, I hear his voice and I feel him with me. I have one little glimpse of hope that he’s gonna say ‘Hey, baby. How’s your day? Mine is shit!’ That’s what he would say. But like every other time, that doesn’t happen. I leave the message and hang up my phone.

So here I am sitting on the couch staring at a black TV screen waiting for Parker to come home. It’s six in the morning, and I’ve been up all night. Just sitting here. Remembering the first time I spoke to Tate after we slept together in Vegas, I had been working late up at the bakery.

I’m sitting at the round table in the back working on some paperwork and the inventory. Sam wanted to stay and help, but I told her to go on home. It was the least I could do since she is throwing me a birthday party tomorrow night. I’m gonna be twenty-two. I’m not all that excited about it.

I stand from the table and turn around to walk over to the office when I stop right in my tracks. I watch as the door handle on the back door jiggles. I shake my head thinking that maybe I’m seeing things. I haven’t had much sleep lately. I blink a few times before I focus on the doorknob once again. It moves.

I run over to the counter and grab the first thing I see; a rolling pin. I wrap my hands around it tightly. I make my way over to the back door. It jiggles again.

It’s locked.

I always keep it locked when I’m here alone, which is a lot.

I reach up to switch the light off and cover myself in darkness. My heart pounds in my chest with nervousness, and I try to take a few calming breaths to slow it down. No one ever comes in through the back door. Even Sam and I enter through the front. This is a safe part of town, but that doesn’t mean break-ins don’t occur.

Standing behind the door and blinking to allow my eyes to adjust, I lift the rolling pin over my head.

Why didn’t I grab a knife? Too late now.

I readjust my grip when I hear the click, informing me that they just got the door unlocked.

It swings open, letting the soft light from the back alley filter in. I see something of a tall figure and then the door just as quickly slams shuts.

I take a few steps, hoping I’m close enough, and swing.

I hit something hard and then a deep growl cuts through my heavy breathing. It’s more of a sound of annoyance rather than a growl from pain being inflicted.

Yep. Definitely needed a knife.

I swing again, trying to make contact with anything when my upper arm is grabbed and I’m yanked forward. I use that momentum and lift my hands up, shoving them as soon as I make contact with a hard chest. It throws us both backward onto the table that I had been sitting at.

A muttered ‘fuck’ comes as we both hit the floor. Then there’s a crashing sound as if a chair has fallen over as well. I scramble to get up on my hands and knees to get away, but a big and firm hand wraps around my ankle; yanking me back.

I flip over onto my back to kick and hit it, but I instantly can’t breathe as the person sits on top of me and catches my wrists. They hold my hands down by my head, and I finally find my voice. I scream.

Two things happen faster than I thought were possible. My hands slide against the floor as they are roughly shoved above my head and held by one hand, allowing a free hand to slam over my mouth.

I shake my head quickly, trying to throw them off, my body thrashing underneath them trying to get some sort of advantage. My heart is beating so hard my chest hurts. I dislodge the hand enough to bite down on it. It is instantly gone as I scream out again. “HELP!”

“Missy?” a powerful voice shouts over mine.

My body instantly quits moving. No. Please no. Don’t let it be him. Let it be a burglar. The fear is gone, and I’m left with coldness.

I suck in a deep breath, trying to breathe normal once again. “Missy?” he demands this time.

I close my eyes tightly. Even though it’s pitch black, I don’t want him to have any way of seeing me. Maybe the floor will swallow me up.

Tate broke my heart. He shattered it with only one word; mistake. Out of everything he had done in his life, I was the mistake. I am probably the only one-night stand that he considers a mistake. But even though he broke my heart, he still holds all the pieces. Every woman has that one man who she will never forget. Tate is that man for me.

“Missy?” he snaps, and it has my eyes snapping open.

“Yes?” I snap back, trying not to concentrate on the fact that he’s still straddling me as I lie on the bakery floor. His hand tightens around my wrist as I respond, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. The way his body feels on top of mine, holding me down, is torture in its best form. 

I remember that night in Vegas, the way his body held mine. There was nothing gentle about him. He was strong and demanding, just like I knew he would be. I loved every minute of it. The sex hurt like hell, though; I thought he was going to tear me in half. I was sore for days afterward, but I liked it. It reminded me of the night we shared. Then it went away and I was back to normal. It was the worse feeling in the world. He had walked away from me, it was as if I dreamed it all—the way he spoke to me, the way his body moved with mine, and the way his lips felt on mine.

Just that thought has me licking my lips.

“What the fuck are you doing here this late?” his deep voice demands.

And just like that, I remember who he truly is. A bastard.

“Get the hell off me, Tate,” I say, struggling to get out from underneath him. Suddenly the room is too small. It’s too dark. I need the lights on and at least five feet between us.

His breathing picks up once again, and I feel him starting to react from my struggle. I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t make a noise, Missy. Don’t let him know that he still affects you. That your body still craves him.

I’ve spent almost a year ignoring him. Even when he tries to talk to me, I ignore it. I’m afraid I’ll let out all my secrets. Then what? It won’t matter to him. He won’t care what I went through or what I felt. He wasn’t there—he walked away—and I’m living with that.

“Missy, I…” he starts to speak, and my body softens underneath his, but I need to get up. I need to get out of here.

“Tate.” I try to be firm. To sound like I mean business. I won’t put up with his shit, but it comes out as a whisper.

I’m so pathetic!

His free hand wraps around my throat. Not cutting off my air but firmly holding it to the cold, tiled floor. I arch my neck and swallow hard. How can it be so cold underneath me when my body is literally on fire from his voice, his touch?

I tighten my legs together, trying to ignore the sensation that he elicits from me. He had done the same thing in Vegas. Tate is a man who holds the power. Anyone who sees him knows that power comes from rage and violence. But, nonetheless, the power is there. He is not one of those guys who is soft and gentle—and that turns me on even more.

I’ve always been the innocent girl. The one who kept her head in a romance novel. I loved the old ones, the ones where the hero was all caveman and protective over his woman. I want to feel that way. I don’t want to be cherished like some princess. I want someone who will show me things that I don’t quite understand. I want to see everything the world has to offer. The good, the bad, the ugly. I want it all. I want him.

My pulse runs rapidly as his thumb slowly strokes the side of my throat. My chest rises and falls quickly and I hold my legs as tightly together as I can.

“Please,” I whimper, and his body stiffens. “Let me up.”

His body relaxes on top of mine and he lets out a chuckle. In the pitch black, it makes him sound like the devil himself. As if I just sold my soul. Isn’t that what I did? I traded a night with him and lost more than I could imagine.

“No,” he says simply.

I narrow my eyes in the darkness. “No?” I repeat as I try to move my hands out of his vice-like grip. No luck.

“I’m going to keep you here at my mercy.” His deep voice has turned soft and seductive. It brings back memories that I can’t suppress.

His hand runs up my throat before he dips it behind my neck. Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulls my head back. The sound that leaves my throat is of nothing I’ve never made.

His lips touch my exposed throat and I breathe heavily as my eyes fall shut.

Oh no. I try to calm my pants and the tingling between my legs. Please don’t do this to me. Not again. I can only handle so much. “Why?” I whisper as I squirm. My body is getting warmer and warmer by the second. He makes it crave things that I know he won’t give me again.

His thumb makes its way slowly over my parted lips. It takes all my strength to not run my tongue over it and suck it into my mouth. I want to be sexy for him, for him to desire me. “Because you have been ignoring me for months. And I want to know why.”

“Why?” I snap. His words finally help me feel anything but lust for him. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Tate,” I huff, now mad at him.

He sighs heavily. “Missy…” He clears his throat. “I’ve been trying to make it right.”

I sigh. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.” I try to remove my wrists, but his hand tightens around them. I ignore the feeling inside of my stomach. The feeling of want and desire.
Just lean down and kiss me already
. “Asking me about the weather or making little comments here and there is not trying to make it right,” I hiss, mad at him. Mad at myself. But he doesn’t know the truth. I have to pretend that it’s the fact that he walked out on me after that night. But that’s only the beginning of it.

“What do you want? An apology?” he growls as if just saying ‘I’m sorry’ is hard for him. “I’m…”

“No,” I interrupt him. I don’t need an apology. I know how he feels about me. No apology could change that. “What I want is for you to get up off me and just to leave me the hell alone.” What I really want is for you to kiss me. Touch me. Remind me what it was like to belong to you. If only it was for one night.

“Fine.” He releases my wrists and removes his hand from around my neck before he stands up.

My body instantly feels cold with him no longer on top of me and I try not to whimper at the loss.

I fail miserably.

I squint as the light comes on, filling the room. Sitting up, I look up at him standing by the back door. His black shirt fits his large chest. His black leather jacket is on but unzipped. His worn-out jeans ride low on his narrow hips and his signature chain loops across his hip. His chiseled jaw looks tight and his dark blue eyes are hard as they stare down at me.

He reaches up, running a hand over his unshaven face, and it reminds me of what that stubble felt like against my inner thigh. The scruff scraping across my sensitive skin.

Tate is dangerous, but that’s what drew me to him to begin with. He’s like the caged animal that will strike at any second. I was raised where people were soft spoken and hid their anger behind fake smiles and polite gestures. Tate says fuck the world. He is what society calls unacceptable; tattoos and a bad attitude. He’s what I call gorgeous.

I can only explain my need for him as how I’d imagine an addict might feel. One drag of that last cigarette. One more drink of that liquid that makes you throw all inhibition out the window. People beg and steal in order to get their next fix. If I thought it would get me anywhere with him, I would crawl over to him right now and try them all.

My eyes drop down to the bulge that still remains in his jeans, and I lick my lips. I can clearly see the outline of his penis and my mouth waters for a taste of that perfection.

“Missy,” he growls, making me jump.

My eyes lift up to look at his and his jaw is tight, his dark blue eyes narrowing on mine. Then a smirk gracious his lovely lips. “Enjoy looking at my cock?” He arches a dark eyebrow.

I lower my head letting my blond hair cover my red cheeks. I hate how words like that still affect me. I don’t want to be the young girl who can’t say adult words. I want to be confident and sexy. I want to arouse him by whispering what I want from him. It makes me sick to my stomach that I can’t be that way for him.