Page 43 of Revelry
“Huh?” I asked, confused.
She pointed through the window, and I followed her gaze to see a man with two children standing on my front step. As I took in their faces, everything in me went cold.
Chapter Eleven
Gertie
Tate cursed and shoved the car door open with an aggression that shocked me.
I was pretty sure that he’d been about to kiss me and then I had to open my big mouth. I followed him, taking in the stiff set of his shoulders as he stood in front of the man and two children.
I looked them over, the younger child dressed adorably as a minion fromDespicable Me.The older teenager was sullen-looking and wearing normal clothes, likely dragged along by his father who looked remarkably like Tate.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Tate snarled, rage vibrating from him. His hand shook and he clicked his fingers but instead of doing it the three times like I’d seen before, he just did it over and over again.
“Hey Tate, I know I should have called first, but I’ve been trying to—” the man started but Tate cut him off.
“And you broughtthem?” His expression was so stricken that my heart tore itself in two at the sight of him. He kept trying to take deep breaths and continued clicking his fingers. I stroked a hand down his back and shushed him gently, trying to soothe him before I cupped his hand in mine.
The movement caught his attention, and he turned his wary stare to me, to where our hands were clasped. I dipped my head, catching his eye and gave him a soft, reassuring smile.
He seemed to ground himself, eyes closing tightly before opening again, his expression less harried than a moment ago.He turned back to the man and children, looking at each of them in turn.
“I told you I never wanted to see you. Don’tevercome here again,” he hissed before brushing past them and unlocking his front door, dragging me inside with him.
Once the door closed, he dropped my hand. Knocking his Stetson off, he plowed both hands through his thick hair, tugging at the strands. Harsh, rasping breaths came from him, like he was struggling to get it under control.
“Tate?” I called tentatively. Tension vibrated off him and I hated it. I didn’t know what happened just now or what I missed, but I hated seeing him so torn up. “Tate, who was that?”
He turned towards me. “My father and his secret family.”
My eyebrows winged up. “What? What do you mean hissecretfamily?”
Tate laughed, the sound hollow, not like his joyful laugh from earlier this evening.
“You don’t want to know. Trust me, I have a fucked-up family, Gertrude.” He placed his hands on his hips, his fingers twitching and I think he wanted to click them, so I covered his hand with mine again.
“Me too. You already know about mine though, don’t you. So you wanna tell me about yours?”
His mouth opened, his eyes softened and roved over my face and then something dark settled in them. He pulled away.
“No, I don’t.” His tone was cold, nothing like it had been all evening. He left the hallway and marched into the kitchen muttering to himself.
I followed him, not sure what else to do. I watched from the doorway as he moved around, inspecting the surfaces, muttering under his breath, pulling out a box of baking soda and clicking his fingers.
Vulnerability drifted off him in waves, drowning me with sadness. I didn’t want to get close to a man again, but there was a fragility to Tate that I couldn’t help but want to poke at. To sink my teeth into and I ached to soothe the quiet rage vibrating along his skin. I wanted to make him spend time with me, talk to me and make him smile and that was dangerous.
But I’d always walked on the wild side before, and I wasn’t going to stop now.
I sidled up next to him. “Talk to me, Tate. I’m here, get it all out.”
His eyes swept to me, tortured, dark and angry. His stare dropped to my mouth, and I knew we weren’t going to get interrupted this time.
He closed the distance between us but paused, resting our foreheads together, his whiskey breath fanning over my lips. His hand buried itself in my curls, tilting my head back, slowly. My eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Gary had never touched me like this, so intimately, so assuredly.
Like heownedme.
“Ask me again,” he gruffed out, brushing his nose against mine.
