Dirty Past (21 page)

I flip her over on the blanket. She grips my hips with her legs, her fingers diving into my hair, her body pushing even harder into me.

“Sex was mentioned. Not by me,” I say into her neck. “But I’m happy to oblige.”

“And if someone sees . . .”

“We own this beach and everyone is on orders to fuck off.” I smile against her collarbone. “So this promise I can keep.”

She tightens her grip on my shoulders. “Thank God.”

“T
ate?”

“Uhh?” I rub my eyes from the dim light coming through my bedroom door and lean up on my elbow. “Huh?”

“Tate,” Dad says firmly. “You gotta get up, son.”

“What time is it?” I ask groggily, quiet enough that I don’t wake Ella.

Dad’s lips thin, and I see his fingers tighten on the door. “You gotta come downstairs. Now.”

“All right. Shhh.” I gently move Ella’s arm and get up and shove yesterday’s pants on. Dad tosses me a shirt and I throw it over my head. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Come downstairs,” he repeats.

I rub my fingers through my hair and glance back at Ella before shutting my bedroom door. “Dad?”

“Shit. Son.” He pauses halfway down but gives me nothing.

“Dad! What the fuck is goin’ on?”

“Tate?” Sheriff Alan Hooper appears at the bottom of the stairs.

I look between him and Dad. “Sheriff? What are you doin’ here?”

He removes his hat and runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Tate, son. I ain’t gonna arrest you, because you’re my best friend’s son, but I gotta take you in for questionin’.”

“What the fuck for?”

“New Orleans PD had a report filed against you. Passed to us when they realized you were home. Grievous bodily harm. You resist and I gotta arrest you, son. Come with me and it’s easy.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. “Who reported it?”

The sheriff shakes his head.

“Alan,” Dad slaps his shoulder. “Tell him and he’ll cooperate, ain’t that right, son?”

“Sure, Dad.” I look from my old man to another. “Sheriff? Who was it?”

Sheriff Hooper looks me in the eye. “Matthew Hamilton.”

Ella

The bed is cold when I roll over. And empty. So empty, so cold. My hand pats the mattress for a ridiculous amount of time looking for Tate. It takes a minute, but I finally wake up enough to realize he just isn’t in bed with me.

I sit up and rub my eyes. Yawning, I roll out of bed, grab my bag, and remove every inch of yesterday’s makeup from my face. I snag some underwear, denim shorts, and a tank top from my bag, too, and get dressed. The house seems quiet until I open the bedroom door. A low murmur of voices travels up the stairs, and I peek into Conner’s open door to see if Sofie is inside. When I see she isn’t, I make my way down the curving stairs slowly.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Aidan growls.

“Dollar!” Mila shouts.

“Mila, why don’t you go play in the playhouse, baby?” Sofie asks. “Ask Pops for a cookie.”

“Pops! Cookie!”

“Cookies and house? Okay, Mila,” Diane says. “Pops is still out. Nana give you cookies.”

A few moments of silence pass, and I pause on the stairs.

“Fuck!” Conner shouts, and something slams loudly. “I’m so fuckin’ mad!”

“Honey,” Sofie says quieter.

“No!” Conner’s voice is just as loud. “He’s down there with only Dad. Why the fuck weren’t we woken up?”

“We’re in this shit together,” Kye growls. “All fuckin’ four of us. Six of us. What the fuck ever. All of us. To-fuckin’-gether. We should all be there with him!”

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake Ella.”

“I’m already up.” I round the corner and cast my gaze over all of them. “What are you talking about? Where’s Tate?”

All four of them take a deep breath at the same time.

“Tell me!” My eyes flick desperately across them.
Where? Where is he?

“Doll,” Sofie breathes. “I don’t . . . Shit.”

Kye walks to me and hugs me, but I shove him off. He isn’t Tate. “Where is Tate?”

All of them look at me. Just look at me. Sympathy. Pity. Everything I never want to see when someone looks at me. I don’t want that shit, I want the damn truth.

“Where is he?” I shout. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it. My chest is tight, and my stomach is coiled with worry.

Conner moves and Sofie puts a hand on his arm. Seeing him still, Kye stands. His hands grip the edge of the large farmhouse-style table, but his light blue eyes pin themselves to mine.

“He’s at the police station.”

“Wh-what?” I breathe, stepping back. My arms curl around my front, like my own hold is as comforting as Tate’s is.

“The sheriff stopped by early this morning and took him in to question him,” Kye explains. “Your ex went to the police in NOLA and told them Tate attacked him. And you.”

I cover my mouth. “No,” I whisper. “Never. He never would.”

I’m shaking. But this time it’s from a fear of a different kind. The fear that the next time I see Tate, I might not be able to touch him, or kiss him, or feel him.

That fear floods my veins, warming each one.

Determination does, too. A determination like nothing I’ve ever felt. Something that trembles as it sweeps through my bloodstream.

It’s a determination that enlightens me, invigorates me.

“Take me,” I demand, staring at him. “Take me now.”

“Ella . . .” Aidan interrupts, moving to stand.

“Kye, take me there, now, please.”

A long moment passes with his eyes on mine before he finally pushes away. “All right. But only ’cause you look like you’re ten seconds from fuckin’ cryin’ at me, and I’m shit with tears.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I can change this.”

“Ella.” Sofie stands up. “You go and I go, too.”

I shake my head. “I’m okay. I have to do this.”

“And I have to hold your hand.” With her hands on his shoulders, she kisses Conner. “You got Mila, okay?”

Conner’s eyes flick between us. “Okay, princess, I got it.”

Sofie clasps my hand and pulls me after Kye. He opens the front door and clicks a button on his key fob. Lights flash on a truck that looks like Tate’s but is black, and he pulls the back door open. Sofie gives my back a shove and I climb in before her.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her quietly.

She squeezes my fingers. “Sure I do, Ella.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and stare out the window as Kye pulls away from the house. So many things are swirling inside me right now. Fear, apprehension, paranoia . . .

And I’m still scared. I’m more than scared. The thought that I’m about to come clean to someone in authority . . . It petrifies me.

But I’ll do it.

However long I have to sit there, I’ll do it.

For Tate.

For me.

For us.

The building is there. Suddenly. Quickly. Shockingly. Like . . . right there. My goodness, this town is small.

I breathe in sharply, and Sofie’s hand tightens around mine.

“Ella . . .”

“I have to,” I whisper, fear lacing my words and my breaths and my pulse.

“With you every step of the way,” Sofie whispers back, squeezing my fingers.

I unbuckle my seat belt and drop from the truck. Kye meets me there, and Sofie, too, as she slides out and takes my hand. She slips her fingers through mine, and Kye’s hand on my shoulders guides me toward the door.

It’s almost as if they both know I’m scared. That I need them.

I wish Tate were here to hold me. To make it better. To ease the pain.

“Hello, miss. Can I help you?”

I squeeze Sofie’s hand. Hard.

“Ella,” Kye says softly.

“Yes, sir,” I say quietly, forcing my eyes to his. “Can you tell me if the sheriff is available?”

“He’s busy right now, ma’am. Can someone else help you?”

“No. It must be the sheriff.”

“Let me see if he can talk to you.”

I let go of Sofie’s hand. “No, sir, you don’t understand.” I take a deep breath. “I must talk to the sheriff immediately. It’s imperative that I do.”

The officer looks at me for a long minute. “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

I relax when he disappears. Kye slides his hand into mine. “Ella. Are you sure—”

“Positive,” I whisper. “I won’t let him hurt Tate like this.”

Sofie wraps her arms around my shoulders.

I hold her waist. “I love him, Sof,” I breathe. “I can’t let him do this. I have to protect him, even if it hurts. You understand that, don’t you?”

She smiles sadly and breathes heavily into my hair. “Yeah, doll, I understand. You get my boy out of here, okay?”

“I promise.” I squeeze her.

“Miss?”

I turn and look at a guy with salt-and-pepper hair. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m Sheriff Hooper. Hear you got somethin’ pretty important to say.”

“Do you have an interview room ready?”

“Peters,” he orders, nodding to the guy behind reception. A second later he says, “In thirty seconds there will be.”

“Great. I’d like to report several cases of domestic abuse.”

S
haking. That’s what I’m doing now. Shaking. Trembling. Quivering. No other words for it. I’ve just relived the last two years of my life in excruciating detail. I burn from each word I just spoke. Hell, every part of me is aching, even the parts that are hopeful.

I’m just hoping that a few hours of an interview and an hour of scanning pictures of previous injuries from my online drive is enough.

Thank God I kept them all.

I sit on the steps in front of the station and stare at the open driveway. Hopefully Sofie got my text and knows to pick me up. When it was obvious the interview was going to last longer than two hours, I told her to go home with Kye and tell everyone what was happening. Besides, she has a little girl who picks up on things she can’t understand, and Mila needs her mama more than I do.

A silver Ford pulls into the lot and parks. I watch as a dark-haired girl with legs up to her armpits climbs out and heads toward me.

Leila.

“Shit,” she says simply. “Is it me or is your ex a serious fuckin’ asswipe?”

“It isn’t you.”

“Thank fuck.” Leila sits next to me. “Tate’s never been arrested before.”

“I finally gave him a first.”

“Whoa.” Leila leans back. “Finally? He called me two hours ago flippin’ his fuckin’ head because what the hell was his girl doin’ in the station?” She raises her eyebrows. “So before he gets out and busts my ass, how about you get in my car? I love him, but he’s scary as fuck when he’s angry.”

“True story,” I admit, although he isn’t ever scary to me.

Tate’s about as scary as a butterfly.

“Get in.” Leila orders, pulling the passenger door open before her side.

I slide into the plush leather seat, but my eyes are still on the door.

“He’ll be there for a while,” Leila explains, pulling the car back. “Sheriff Hooper won’t charge him unless he’s one-hundred-percent sure, and I’m guessin’ you were there for a reason. Reason bein’ he can’t charge him.”

I pull some fluff off my shorts. “I was there to bring him home.”

“Good,” she replies. “He sure as fuck needs someone like you.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know how you look at him. That’s enough.”

I swallow and look down. I know how I look at him, too. I look at him like he’s the north to my south, the east to my west. I look at him like he’s the song to my silence.

I look at him like he’s the constellation to my night sky.

He is.

He’s all those things and more.

I hug myself as Leila parks in front of the house. Getting out, I breathe deeply to regulate my pulse. The memories flooding my veins right now are scary. They’re scarier than I remember them being, but they’d be okay if only I had Tate here with me to cope.

When we reach the Burke household, I follow Leila in, my arms still around my waist. She guides me to the sofa and pushes me down next to Sofie.

“Sit,” Leila orders.

“Did you see Dad?” Aidan asks, looking up from the laptop on his thighs.

Leila shakes her head. “Nope.”

I hug myself tighter. Crap. Even as Mila clambers onto me and hugs me tightly with her tiny arms around me. “Where Tay?” she whispers into my ear.

“He’s being important,” I tell her, quietly, and wrap my arms around her.

“Oh.” She tilts her head. “Cussels, El?”

“Cussels?”

“She wants you to build sandcastles,” Sofie explains with a smile. “That’s usually Tate’s job.”

“Oh. Sure.” I stand up, lifting Mila onto my hip. “You got a bucket?”

“Uh-huh! Kicken!” She points toward the kitchen and where a bright pink bucket and spade are on the counter.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“O
neeeee,” Mila coos. “Peez.”

“One more,” Aidan sighs, grabbing the spade.

Apparently toddlers can build sandcastles for three hours straight, and when forced to stop for menial tasks such as a diaper change or dinner, scream so hard it’s better for everyone’s sanity to leave her be.

Who knew?

“Last one, though,” Ads warns her. “You got it?”

“Mhmm,” Mila responds with a smile that says she gets it but she doesn’t care.

“Mila,” Sofie says with a threat in her voice. “It’s getting dark. One more castle, then we’re going home to bed.”

“Mama,” Mila whines. Her bottom lip wobbles, but Sofie puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head.

“No, baby. Mama isn’t giving in. One castle, then home, then bed.” She turns, then pauses. “And Ads? That doesn’t mean you sneak her two.”

“Believe me, Sof, I’ve made enough castles to last me ten lifetimes. And that’s just in the last hour.”

I smile and watch as he fills the bucket with sand. Mila takes the spade and whacks the top of it down, then throws it to the side and points at the bucket. Aidan grabs it, tips it, and places it upside down. Mila gets the spade again, bangs it against the top of the bucket, and points again.

Aidan dutifully lifts the bucket to reveal a near-perfect castle.

“Not bad, but it ain’t mine.”

I snap my head around.

Tate.

He’s standing a few feet from me, looking like he just got out of bed, although it’s been at least ten hours since
I
did. Here he is, messy hair, scruffy jaw, fitted shirt, muscled biceps, toned body.

I scramble up from the sand and run at him. He opens his arms, and I jump into them. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. His hand cups my ass and the other slides around my back to my waist, holding me flush to him.

“Baby,” I whisper into his neck.

“Darlin’,” he whispers back, gripping me tightly.

“Tay!” Mila screams.

He puts me down and crouches, ready to absorb the force of her crashing into him as she runs across the sand. He wraps his arms around the tiny girl.

“Tay! Where you?”

“I been busy, Mimi. You miss me?”

“Cussels!”

“Uncle Ads is crap, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Mila agrees, nodding. “Tay cussels.”

“One,” Tate agrees. “Mama gave me permission.”

“Oooookay.” Mila grabs his finger and pulls him to her bucket.

“Uncle Ads is escapin’,” Aidan mutters, getting up.

I hover back and watch them go through the routine I’ve seen hundreds of times today. Except Tate’s smile is a little wider and brighter than his brothers’ were. He’s way more into it, and seeing the gleaming grin on Mila’s face warms my heart.