Page 31 of Safe With Me
Rolling my eyes but not looking at him, I scoffed. That was the stupidest thing he’d ever said. And I’d heard this man say UGA deserved to lose to Alabama.
“Let me fix you something to eat.” His mug made an easy thud on the counter. “You’ll feel better after.”
Outrage flashed into being, sizzling along my nerve endings. “Do you not understand when I say she ruined everything? Goddamn toast won’t fix anything.”
Oh, my heavens . . . now I was taking the Lord’s name in vain.
“No, it won’t.” His mouth thinned, and there was the stubborn Tate I knew. “But you think better when you’re rested and fed. You can’t go making emotional decisions when you’re hungry.”
“Can’t go making emotional decisions . . .” Stunned, I glared. Had he missed his own last emotional reaction? “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“That’s right. I let my mouth overload my ass, and I lost you. Hasn’t been a second in the last week or so I didn’t regret that.” His shoulders straightened, and his jaw firmed up, a muscle flicking in his cheek. “So trust me when I tell you to get control of your emotions and eat something.”
He wasn’t going to push me around. And I didn’t need him. “I can make my own breakfast.”
“Yeah, you can, but you don’t have to. You need some breathing space. You’re safe with me, even if I fucked up.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Go get a shower. I’ll get you something together.”
Still mad at him, I didn’t want to admit I felt safe in his presence. Having someone take care of me was nice. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time someone had.
Plus, I’d fallen into bed the previous night with my makeup on, so I felt gross.
Without a word, I spun and stalked down the hall to my bathroom. I turned on the water and stripped down, avoiding my reflection. Naked, I stepped into the shower and tipped my face up to the spray. My eyes stung, but I refused to cry again. She didn’t get any more of that. I focused on breathing – four in, hold for two, exhale for six – and my routine. I soaped and scrubbed, washed my face, shaved, shampooed and conditioned.
Cleaner but still raw, I towel-dried my hair and pulled it into a messy bun atop my head. I donned a UGA t-shirt and black leggings. Perfect for planning around the house because I was goingnowhere.
When I stepped into the kitchen, an omelet rich with sauteed vegetables waited on the island, split between two plates, and the coffeemaker held fresh brew.
“A hot shower helps, right?” The innocuous question didn’t hide the new, taut quality of his voice. And the line of his shoulders? He vibrated with anger.
I refilled my mug. “You watched it, didn’t you?”
“I did.” He bit off each syllable. “She needs some sense shaken into her.”
Settling at the island, I picked up my fork and slid a plate closer to me. “Because violence is going to help things.”
“I didn’t say somebody needed to shake her. Her fucking actions are going to do it for her. She’s too dumb to see that right now.”
Elizabeth wasn’t dumb. At all. She had taken all those fancy AP classes when she’d come through Chandler-Haynes High, and she had a degree from Georgia Southern, too.
“My mama never saw it.” I smacked a hand over my mouth, staring at him in horror at what I’d let out of my mouth.
A slight smile curving his full lower lip, he shook his head and picked up his own fork. “Quit feeling guilty. Everybody knows your mama is a piece of work.”
“Mama will believe her.” Why did my voice sound so small? Why did I care what my mama thought?
“Sugar, your mama cheated on your daddy and was surprised when he divorced her.” He circled his fork between us,a bite of rich egg on the tines. “Safe to say, emotional intelligence is not her forte.”
“She’s still my mama.” And that was why I cared. Like Elizabeth was still my sister . . . the broken relationships still cut deep.
“Cross that bridge when you get the crazy phone call, then.” He pointed at my plate. “Eat your breakfast.”
Same old bossy Tate. He’d spent years telling me to eat, to hydrate during the heat of the summer, to be careful in the woods. I mean, the man bought me bear spray as a gift when he found out about my foraging. And a hat with mosquito netting.
I’d missed him.
In silence, I ate a few bites, the simple food settling my tense stomach. I’d missed this, too, simply being in his presence without pain and anger poisoning everything. I could almost pretend I had the safe, secure life I wanted and this was a normal Saturday in my fantasy world . . . a late breakfast on a morning after a night together, a lazy day stretching before us, the outside world far away.
The bite of eggs I’d just taken turned to dust and sorrow on my tongue. I slumped a moment. I didn’t want much – only everything. With him.
