Page 15 of Safe With Me
Dumb. Ass.
I didn’t want to go home, so instead of turning right, I headed left and then swung into Jase’s neighborhood. A few months back, he’d bought his grandparents’ house in the established neighborhood full of sixties and seventies ranchhomes. Chuck Calvert was flipping a ton of them, but Jase planned on doing the work on his himself.
And fought with Elizabeth about the design choices all the damn time, so bad that he’d finally stopped talking about renovating altogether. I shook my head. Maybe I’d known she didn’t listen to him without realizing what I knew.
I parked behind his truck and strode to the side door. About to grab the knob and walk on in like I always did, I paused, then lifted a hand and rapped on the door. Footsteps preceded Jase swinging open the door, and he frowned. “Why are you knocking?”
With a miserable shrug, I followed him through the utility room into the kitchen. “Needed to talk to you.”
“So you had to knock?” He opened the fridge and pulled out a pair of beers, passing me one.
“Yeah.” I twisted off the cap, knocked back a swallow and grimaced at the burn. Man, my throat was tight and sore. I looked him in the eye. “I need to tell you something.”
“That sounds ominous.” Amused, he leaned on the counter and crossed one foot over the other.
“So, I was thinking today . . .” I shook my head, ready to put off something I feared would kill the best friendship I had. I’d already done that once this week. I really didn’t need another. “Fuck, Jase, I’m a shitty friend.”
“Well, yeah, sometimes you are.” Jase shrugged. “Sometimes, I am. Depends on the day. Pray tell what led you to this epiphany today, Robert Tate?”
“Don’t be a smartass.” I drowned the growl with a slug of beer and drew my shoulders back. “Look, I’m not planning to do anything about it, but all this time . . . I’ve been hiding from you that I love Elizabeth.”
He froze, bottle halfway to his lips, then his mouth stretched into a grin before he guffawed. His bottle hit the counter with a thunk, and he shook his head, still laughing. Anger spiked along my nerve endings. What the fuck? I bared my soul to the guy, and he fucking laughed?
“You dumbass.” He curled both hands on the counter and rested his weight on his forearms. “I mean, yeah, I knew you had a crush on her a while back, but you are not in love with Elizabeth.”
What the hell? “Are you telling me how I feel, John Carpenter? Fuck, I know how I feel, damn it.”
His mouth fell open, and he stared at me, brows raised. “Oh, shit, you haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?” Irritable, I hit the beer again and set the bottle on the table. I folded my arms over my chest. “What the hell are you talking about? I tell you I’m in love with your fiance–”
“Ex-fiance.”
“--and have been keeping it from you and you tell me I’m not and that I haven’t figured it out yet.” I scowled at him, my brows tugging so hard my skin tightened. “Figured what out?”
“You’re an idiot. You liked theideaof Elizabeth, and man, I’m pretty sure you got over that like years ago. Maybe held on to it out of habit.” Jase chuckled, shaking his head once more. “But, dude, you’re half-gone on Hannah and have been for a while.”
I stilled, mouth moving like a fish landed and gasping in the bottom of a boat. What was he . . .
Half gone on Hannah?
What the actual fuck.
Chapter Four
Hannah
Any self-respecting woman would dump the plants and flowers without reading the note written on a folded sheet of Yager Farms notepad paper. Guess that was his version of personal stationery.
However, the plants hadn’t done anything wrong, and I loved dahlias. I could trash the note, like I’d trashed the videos of Tate on my porch looking as miserable as a lost dog someone put out on the side of the road.
Good. He needed to suffer. My petty heart wanted him to suffer since it couldn’t forget seeing him with my sister cradled to his chest, her big blue eyes swimming with tears.
You know, after she’d wiped out everything I’d done in The Niche.
Standing in the middle of my kitchen, I closed my eyes, fingering the spiky edge of a rosemary plant, concentrating on the aroma and counting four breaths in, hold for four, four breaths out, and hold for four. I repeated the pattern until I didn’t want to break down and sob anymore.
Calmer, I pulled out a pretty crystal vase I’d found over at Sid’s in Moultrie and arranged the dahlias, adding some magnolia leaves and cedar pieces I’d cut earlier because I was going to make a wreath, just for myself and just because I wanted to, damn it.
