Unforeseen (Undescribable series Book 6) Page 3

  “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 l
et 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.”

  “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.