Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (79 page)

“We!” Jonas ignored Tate. “You, me and Dad. You and me will be, like, the brains behind the action, doin’ searches on Dad’s computer and, I don’t know, other stuff.”

“The brains behind the action,” Dad murmured through a chuckle.

“Laurie would look hot on TV.” Jonas thought this was enticement but it was not.

“Reason one not to do it,” Tate said to Jonas.

“Why is that reason one?” Jonas asked his father.

“Bub, it isn’t gonna happen,” Tate repeated.

“She’d be hot, you’d be cool and I’d be famous!” Jonas shouted.

That’s when Tate got mad, so mad, he didn’t weigh his words.

“You think Dalton McIntyre is the only cracked fuckwad out there? You want Laurie on TV so any sick fuck can fixate on her? Bub. It. Is.
Not.
Gonna.
Happen.
”

Jonas’s face got pale and my body got tight. Then Jonas shot up from the floor and ran from the room.

I started to make a move, mumbling, “I’ll go –”

“I’ll go,” Mom said over me, didn’t look at anyone, and swept from the room.

Dad got up from the armchair announcing, “We’re out of beer.”

“We aren’t Dad, there’s –” Carrie started but Dad interrupted her.

“We’re out of beer,” Dad stated firmly. “Mack, Carrie, you comin’ to town with me?”

Carrie looked down at Mack and Mack looked up at Carrie. Then without glancing in any direction but the door, Dad, Mack and Carrie walked out of it.

Carefully, because my stab wound miraculously didn’t hit anything vital, but it still hurt like a mother, I twisted to look up at Tate.

“Baby, you should go talk to Jonas.”

Tate was staring at the TV screen, a commercial now on, he lifted the remote and I heard it go mute. Then he looked down at me and I held my breath at the anger still darkening his features.

“What happened to you isn’t exciting. The aftermath of it, with those fuckin’ buzzards circling, isn’t cool. It’s fucked. He needs to get that.”

“He’s coping,” I said softly, “the only way he knows how.”

“And you?” Tate shot back a question that confused me.

“Me, what?” I asked.

“I was in that house, Lauren. When we went after Jim-Billy, I saw where he had you, I saw what you saw. I saw your blood on that mattress. Are
you
coping?”

“Well…” I said, “yeah.”

He stared at me, his jaw went hard and a muscle ticked there.

Then he bit out, “Bullshit.”

I turned fully to him. I was lying partly on him, partly on the couch but my movements brought me fully on him. They also hurt but I fought back the pain and put my hand to his heavily stubbled jaw (he hadn’t shaved, not since that night, he was growing back the beard, for me).

“Honey,” I whispered, “I’m okay.”

“I saw what you saw and I wasn’t tied to a mattress,” Tate repeated.

“I’m okay,” I repeated too.

Then Tate glared at me, his entire frame tensed the length of mine and he roared, “He cut off your goddamned
hair!
”

I stilled and stared at him as Tate shifted out from under me and stalked out of the room. I lay on the couch continuing to stare at where I last saw him. I knew something like this was going to happen eventually. Tate had been nursing a slow burn for days and Tate wasn’t the kind of man to let it smolder and then burn out. He was the kind of man who let it explode.

Gingerly, I got to my feet and followed him.

As I did, my hands went to my hair which Dominic had come to the hospital to do an emergency cut and style on the day I was released which was Christmas Eve, making it seriously nice, Dom showing up like that. But he’d said reporters were outside and “no girlie of mine is gonna face the media with bad hair”.

Dalton hadn’t got the chance to take it all, it now brushed my shoulders and it looked good because Dominic was a master. That said, I liked it better longer and, apparently, so did Tate.

I hit the bedroom and saw Tate standing, staring out the side window to which he’d yanked up the blinds.

“Tate –” I started the minute I hit the room, he turned sharply toward me and I stopped talking
and
moving when I caught the look at his face.

“Neet’s hair was there, and Tonia’s, and Sunny’s and yours was in a bag, ready for his trophy wall. Jim-Billy hadn’t shown up, you’d have been on that wall, Lauren.”

“But I wasn’t,” I whispered.

“We would have been too late,” Tate ground out.

“You don’t know that.”

“He didn’t hit anything important with his first thrust. He had enough time to get in a second, a third, he could have cut you places, babe, places that only I –”

“Stop it, Tate.” I was still whispering.

“I should have killed him.”

“Stop it.”

“He cut your
hair.
He cut
you.
You didn’t see Jonas, babe, you were livin’ your nightmare and me and my boy were livin’ an entirely different one but, trust me, Ace, it was a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“I don’t need that shit from the TV to remember it. I don’t need it on the phone. I don’t need it in town. I don’t need it shoved down my throat everywhere I turn which means I don’t need it from my
son.
”

I moved as swiftly across the room as I could and put my hands to his abs.

“Lower your voice, Captain,” I hissed.

“He took you from me,” Tate bit back.

“He didn’t, Tate, I’m right here,” I reminded him.

“He took you from me, right from my goddamned house.”

“He didn’t. I’m right here.”

“I called him to take you to work, bring you home. I trusted that sick fuck to keep you safe and he took you from me.”

There it was, the crux of his anger. Tate was blaming himself.

I pressed into him, lifting my hands to hold each side of his head and I shook it, repeating, “Baby,
I’m right here.
”

Tate closed his eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered and Tate opened his eyes.

“I trusted that sick fuck to keep you safe,” he repeated.

“I trusted him too,” I told him. “I opened the door to him. So did Tonia. So did Neeta.” I fitted myself into his front and slid the fingers of both of my hands into his hair, pulling his neck to bent and his face closer to mine. “And I didn’t do anything wrong either. He’s crazy and now he’s incarcerated.”

“It’s gonna haunt you,” he informed me.

“It’s not me who’s not sleeping,” I reminded him and his whole body jerked.

This was true. I’d only been home three days but every night I knew he woke because, when he did, he woke me. And when I was in the hospital, he stayed with me all day, all night, the last night climbing into my hospital bed with me and holding me close. I woke twice because hospitals were noisy and both times I saw Tate awake, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

I pushed up on my toes so my face was an inch from his and I whispered, “You’re beside me, baby, I’m sleeping just fine.”

Both his hands came up to cup the back of my head as he murmured, “Laurie.”

“I lay on that mattress and I knew you’d find me. I ran through those woods, Tate, and I knew you’d be looking for me. I was shouting because I knew you’d hear me. And I ran right into you because you were coming for me.”

His mouth lowered to mine. “Baby.”

“Mack’s right, that was pure drama on TV but what they said was true. You might have made a lot of money playing football but you make this world a safer place doing what you do and you didn’t even know the faceless people who’s futures you changed by putting bad guys behind bars. But now one of them isn’t faceless, Captain. She’s standing right here.”

“Jim-Billy –”

“Got there first,” I cut him off, “but you were not even ten minutes behind. Dalton was taking his time, he had all night. Even if Jim-Billy didn’t get there, you would have.”

“Lauren –”

“And you think, knowing that, knowing that four years they’ve been looking for him, four years and ten women before me, he only had an hour with me before you got to me, you think after that, I lay my head on a pillow by yours and I relive it? You think I can’t cope? You think I don’t know I’m safe, right here, beside you?”

His hands at my head lifted me up a centimeter and his head slanted, his mouth taking mine in a wet, thorough kiss that would have been fantastic if it hadn’t made my breathing erratic which made my wound hurt.

When his mouth let mine go, I whispered, “I love you kissing me, honey, but –”

“Right,” he muttered, cutting me off, then he let me go, stepped back, bent and lifted me in his arms. He carried me to the living room, set me gently on the couch, threw the blanket over my legs and then put his fists in the couch on either side of my hips, his torso bent, his face in mine.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jonas,” he said softly.

“Good idea,” I replied and smiled but he didn’t move away, instead his eyes did a scan of my face.

Then his hand lifted and cupped my jaw.

Then he whispered, “You humble me.”

I blinked then breathed, “What?”

“Your strength, Ace, it’s got nothin’ to do with boot camp.”

I somehow managed to swallow and smile at the same time even while fighting back tears.

“Tate –”

“You gonna help me have sweet dreams again, baby?” he asked softly.

“I’ll try,” I answered.

“It’s fresh and it ain’t gettin’ any less fresh,” he shared.

“We’ll settle,” I promised him.

 He didn’t look like he believed me and I’d know why when he spoke again.

“That hour, Lauren, that hour he had you, that’s an hour I’ll never forget in my whole fuckin’ life.”

My hands came up to frame his face. “I’ll help you.”

“I know you’ll try but I’m tellin’ you, I’ll never forget it, not in my life.”

“Baby, don’t let him do that to you.”

“He took your hair, he took your blood and that’s what he took from me.”

“My hair will grow back and my wound will heal,” I told him. “And we’ll get back what he took from you, Captain. I swear, we’ll get it back.”

“Ace –”

“You gave me sweet dreams, Tate, now I get to return the favor.”

Tate stared at me and I held his handsome face in my hands as I stared back.

Then he whispered, “Love you, Ace.”

“Love you too, Captain.”

He touched his lips to mine then he ran his nose along mine then he pulled away and went to his son.

I looked to the TV and then grabbed the remote to switch channels. On my third press of the button, I saw Tate’s picture on another halftime show and I hit the button to turn off mute.

Then I turned the volume down so Tate wouldn’t hear as I listened to the commentators bragging about my old man.

Epilogue

Special

I walked out of our bedroom wearing a robe, my long, wet hair combed back, a wide headband pulling it away from my face, my cell phone in my hand.

Jonas and Tate were camped out on the new furniture in the living room watching Saturday morning, collegiate football pre-shows.

I was pretty pleased with the results of my seven month search for the perfect living room furniture. The couch and armchairs were wide-seated, comfy and inviting and nearly brand-spanking new but not in a way where you didn’t feel like you could eat spaghetti or drink Kool-Aid on them. The new tables were rustic and sturdy so you didn’t hesitate putting your drink on them (though I bought coasters and nagged my boys to use them, something I had to do often considering they were clearly deaf to my explanations of the importance of coasters). The new carpet was thick pile, wool and cost a mint but looked freaking fabulous. The newly-painted walls were studded with pictures – not paintings or prints – family and friends. Some small frames, some large, some multi. There were photos of us on the beach in St. Thomas last Spring Break. There were photos of our trip to Indiana last summer. There were photos of the New Year’s party Krys threw at Bubba’s because Jim-Billy was out of the hospital and getting around; photos of barbeques at our house, Pop’s house, Wood’s house; photos of us horsing around in Ned and Betty’s pool; photos inside Bubba’s of the staff and the regulars, some of them just our friends, some of them me or Tate or both of us with our friends.

The biggest was the photo of Tate, Jonas and me and it hung on the wall over the TV. In it, Tate wearing his dark suit; Jonas wearing his dark suit; me wearing a form-fitting, cream silk, boat necked dress, the hem hitting above my knee, sexy, pink strappy sandals on my feet and a massive bouquet of delicate, pale pink peonies and roses in my hand. Tate had his arm around my shoulders, my front was to his side, my arm was around his waist, my other arm, hand holding my bouquet, around Jonas’s chest. You couldn’t see it for the flowers but Tate’s fingers were curled around Jonas’s shoulder. Jonas was standing in front of us, his back pressed tight to our bodies. Jonas and me were smiling straight into the camera but Tate’s head was tipped slightly back and to the side because he’d just burst out laughing.

Our wedding day.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and Tate’s eyes came to me as I pulled out the stool to the island and sat at it. I smiled at him and I knew it was a soft smile, barely there. I felt my eyes get soft too, just from seeing my old man lounging on our new couch.

Then I looked down at my phone and went to my contacts, found who I was looking for, hit the button to call and I put my phone to my ear.

“Hey, honey,” I heard in my ear.

“Hi, Matt,” I said back.

It was my birthday.

“How you doin’?” Matt asked.

“Peachy. You?” I asked back.

“Good. This is early, something up?”

“Got big plans for the day,” I told him.

“Yeah? What’re you doin’?”

I told him and we talked and laughed and about fifteen minutes in I saw Tate move. He got up off the couch and I heard him say, “Bub, shower, we gotta go soon.”

Then he came to me, pulled my wet hair off my shoulder, bent and kissed my neck then his hand came out to mine lying on the island. When it did, his thumb tweaked the two rings there, my engagement diamond and a very wide, gold wedding band.