Dirty Past (23 page)

I will take my purse from the coffee table, put it over my shoulder, and leave quietly.

“Now let’s sit down and discuss this like adults.”

I shake my head.

“Ella, if you leave now and pursue this,” my father warns, “you’re on your own.”

I meet his eyes. “Kindly inform Matthew he’ll likely be questioned by the NYPD in the next forty-eight hours.”

Or I’ll throw that parting shot and disappear.

That’s good, too.

A
lone in my hotel room, I pour some more wine into my glass and stare at the TV. At least I’m watching
Friends
and not some mind-numbing reality crap. But I’m lonely.

Really, really lonely.

I wish more than anything that someone was sitting next to me. That that someone was Sofie. That we were laughing at Joey, drinking wine, eating nachos.

Instead I’m doing all these things. But I’m alone.

And it sucks. Big time.

I’m in a hotel in the middle of the city I called home for twenty-two years, and I have no one here. By now, it will be common knowledge within my parents’ circle that I’m fighting Matthew on this abuse thing. That I’m going against him.

Yet my so-called friends haven’t once tried to contact me.

I changed my number, sure, but my Facebook didn’t change, neither did my Twitter, and neither did my email. I haven’t had a single message, which further proves to me that the people I’ve spent the last few years with are 100 percent superficial.

I put a chili-and-guacamole-loaded nacho into my mouth and grab my phone from the nightstand.

Where are you?
I text Sofie.

On the road to Philadelphia. How are you?

Desperate to know when you’ll get there so I can get on a plane as soon as I’ve spoken to the police.

Crap. Went that well, huh?

Like a bull in a china shop.

Damn. You talked to Tate today?

No.
I pour another glass of wine.
I don’t want to. I miss him enough without talking to him.

According to Kye and Ads he’s like a flea on caffeine. And a teenage girl with PMS. Basically a living nightmare.

I chew the inside of my cheek.
Should I call him?

Um, yes.

I stare at her reply and shove a nacho in my mouth. I think I’ve put on, like, five pounds in the last few weeks from my addiction to these things, despite my running, and I don’t even care. But eating nachos makes me think about Tate.

Hell, I even want him to be here, stealing my damn chips. I want him to eat so many that I have to order a second plate because there isn’t enough left. I want him to eat all the guacamole so I’m mad and have to ask for an extra portion when I call room service and ask for the second plate. I want him to scoop up all the sour cream and put it on “my” side of the plate then force-feed me the sour cream–covered chip.

I want him.

Just him.

I never knew what it is to miss someone until this second. I never had any idea what it’s like to feel like a part of you was missing, lost in the abyss of reality. I never knew what it is to wish you were anywhere other than the place you are right this second.

Sure. Every time Matthew hit me I wished I was elsewhere, but it was always a random thought. I could have wished for London, Sydney, Tokyo, and none of them would have been half as strong as the way I feel right now, for a specific place, for a specific person.

For the tour bus. For Tate.

For my guys. For my
guy.

My thumb hovers over his number for a second before it drops to the screen and presses the green call button. I lift the phone to my ear, and I hold my breath for every ring.

“Els,” he answers. “Darlin’.”

“Hey,” I breathe in reply. “How you doing, Mr. Burke?”

“Fuck off,” he responds, laughing. “How are you doin’?”

“Ten times better than I was five seconds ago.”

“Shit, Els. I miss you so fuckin’ much.”

“I miss you,” I reply softly. “How long ’til you’re in Philly?”

“A day, maybe. Shit. I don’t know, darlin’. Wish I did.” He sighs through the phone. “How’d it go with your parents?”

I tell him everything, from my conversation with Ian to me arriving in the hotel room yesterday. I keep most of the feelings inside, though, because that’s what I’m used to, but I tell him everything but that. He’s happy with it, but I’m not.

I’m aching. Bleeding, almost. Bleeding with want and desire and desperation.

Tate, Kye, Aidan, Conner, Sofie, Mila, Ajax, Carlos, Lucas . . . that’s where my home is. Right now, I’m a million miles away. I may as well be on some faraway star in the galaxy, thousands of light years away.

“El! My wan’ El!”

I smile. “Hey, Mila.”

“You back! Now! My wan’ you!”

My smile widens. “Soon, okay? I promise I’ll be back soon.”

“No. Now. My wan’ El.”

“I miss you, crazy kid, okay?” I say warmly. “When I see you, I owe you a cookie and a milk shake, yeah?”

“Cookie and shake? Yeah, El!”

“It’s a date, all right? Can I talk to Uncle Tay?”

“Spose,” she sighs, and I smile. “Tay? El you.”

I giggle into my hand when Tate comes back on the line. “No shit, she just manhandled me for the fuckin’ phone and screamed about her El.”

“Damn, I miss her. I miss all of you,” I finish sadly. “I’m not joking. As soon as you get to Philly, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay, baby, I got it. I promise.” His voice is rough into the phone. “What are you doin’? You got a lawyer?”

“No. Not yet. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to get one either.”

“Don’t worry, okay?” Tate rasps. “I’ll fix it.”

“Okay.” I frown.

“I gotta go, darlin’. My service ain’t great. I’ll text you, all right?”

“All right.” I stare at the TV blankly. “You better.”

“Promise,” he replies quietly. “What hotel are you in?”

I tell him the name.

“It’s on my card as of five minutes in the future.”

“No!”

“Yes!” he growls, but he’s laughing. “Get Moscato and nachos and think of me, Els.”

I look at the plate on my lap and the bottle on the nightstand. “Already way ahead of you, Tate.”

“Good. Sleep tight, darlin’. Tomorrow, all right?”

“Tomorrow,” I whisper. “Tate . . .”

Silence lingers as I trail off. Not on the phone. I can’t say it now.

“I know, darlin’. I know. You, too. Night.”

Tate

Hearing her voice is like a big-ass kick to the gut.

Hearing her broken, hurting voice is a big-ass kick to the balls and the gut.

I wish she wasn’t hurting. I wish I wasn’t so damn far from her. I wish it wasn’t several hours on a bus then a plane ride until I could be beside her. I wish I wasn’t so damn willing to fuck the show in Philly to get her. To feel her. To touch her.

Truth is, I’d give fucking anything for her.

I berated Conner so much for how he treated Sof when she came back. I laughed at him and I abused him, but it was easy because I didn’t get it. I won’t pretend I love Ella the way he loves Sof, because we have different stories, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret how I acted.

Right now, if I had to, I’d give up everything for her. The lights, the charts, the fame. . . . Every single fucking second would become irrelevant if that’s what she needed. Because sometimes you meet the dream you never even dreamed of, and it’s more important than the one you’ve wished for.

Ella Dawson came at me with the force of a tsunami. She didn’t ease up for a second. She battered me, hour after hour. Ella Dawson barreled into me and fucked me six ways ’til Sunday, and, shit, probably several ways we ain’t even learned of yet.

Ella Dawson smacked into me and contorted and twisted and morphed my perception of life in the most petrifying way.

Ella Dawson slipped her way into my world and slowly became the thing I didn’t know I needed.

And now . . .

Now I sit on a tour bus, a bottle of fucking Budweiser clasped in my hand, missing her. Regretting that she went alone. Hating that she’s dealing with shit alone.

I sit on a tour bus, ignoring my brothers and my niece and stare at the wall.

I sit on a tour bus, feeling lonelier than I ever thought possible.

I sit on a tour bus, beer in hand, eyes on wall, missing my girl like I’d miss the other half of my soul.

“F
uck!” Sof yells, slamming her hands on the edge of the stage. “That’s it! Get the fuck out of here!” she shouts, pointing at me. “You. Now. New York. Get the fuck away from me before I put you on a goddamn plane myself.”

“We have a concert,” I reply, staring into her blue eyes.

“Kiss my ass!” she shrieks. “Get a cold, Tate. Get a fuckin’ sickness bug. Get a goddamn motherfuckin’ virus that stops you from performin’, but get your ass on a shittin’ plane and to her hotel before I kill you with my plastic spoon.”

She waves the bright white spoon in the air in front of her, and I sigh.

The sigh is like a gateway for my brothers.

One by one, they turn on me. No. They turn on me all at the same time. Their words mingle together. Their orders mesh. Their concerns meld. And I nod. Hopelessly, I nod.

“All right.” Sofie stands and pulls her phone from her pocket. She storms out of the room, the door slamming behind her, and I sigh.

“Fuck me,” Kye says. “You on your period, bro? You’re like a fuckin’ female with your bitchy ass mood swings.”

Conner rubs his face. “Lay off him, man.”

I look at him, my youngest brother, and the second his eyes meet mine, I know he feels me. “The fuck do I do?” I whisper.

“Bro,” Conner replies just as quietly. “You miss her, you follow her. You love her, you go the fuck after her no matter what it takes. You love her, man, you follow her until your feet fuckin’ burn against the ground, because that’s love. I’d follow Sofie to the center of the Earth if I had to. You love Ella, I see it, and you gotta do whatever the hell it takes to get her back in your arms.”

My nostrils flare, and my eyes sting, because, shit. I do. Fuck. I do, and I will follow her until the soles of my feet are fucking bleeding, until I’ve worn down all my skin and broken through my veins and all I have left is my bones.

“There’s a car outside.” Sofie walks back in, tucking her phone into her pocket. She meets my eyes. “If you’ve got half a brain inside that purdy head of yours, you’ll get your ass into it in five minutes.”

“Sof . . .”

She shoves a sheet of paper in my face. “Your boarding pass from Philly to JFK. If you don’t wanna miss it, you’ll get the fuck out of here now.”

“She told me not to leave a concert.”

Sofie grabs my chin. “You leave now, you’ll be back in time for it.”

I stare at the boarding pass. Two hours and I could be in New York. Thirty minutes later I could be in a car ready to see my girl. An hour after that, I could be on a plane, bringing her back.

I stare at Sofie. Step forward. Snatch the pass. And turn for the door.

L
awyers, man. Who the fuck needs them?

Oh yeah—me and Ella.

Apparently my time line was ambitious as fuck, because Marc has me in a lawyer’s office within seconds of leaving the airport.

“So, Tate,” Mr. Lee says. “You want me to represent your girlfriend.”

“Mr. Lee,” I say, leaning forward. “With all due respect, I do whatever the fuck my manager tells me to do to make my life easier, you get me?” He nods, and I continue. “But right now, my girlfriend and I are—scratch that—could be in some serious shit, and I need the best lawyer money can buy me. Are you it?”

“You bet, son.”

“Great.” I know Marc wouldn’t have sent me to anyone other than the best. I explain to him Ella’s past and the incident in New Orleans, how it’s in the hands of the NYPD, how she’s alone, how my family is all she’s got. How he can make it better.

He listens and he nods. He talks, and I nod. We shake hands, conversation over, and leave his office.

I get in the waiting car with our new lawyer and stare out of the windshield as the driver pulls into the crazy traffic.

New York doesn’t hold the charm that it did the last time I was here. There’s no excitement or delight. No anticipation. Just determination. Just anger, knowing I’m mere miles from that motherfucker. Fucking miles.

Somehow, I swallow the anger, and I make the ride to Ella’s hotel calmly. Well, if you count seeing her again as calm, ’cause I ain’t. Two days and I’m batshit fuckin’ crazy without her.

I ram my fist against her door two, three, four, five, six times.

There’s a light tap at the other side of the door, then a pause, then the lock clicks, and the door opens. “Tate,” she gasps.

My lips curve to the side, and I meet her gaze. Her eyes are wide and shocked, her lips parted, her body entirely frozen. “All right, darlin’?” I ask, leaning against the side of the doorframe. “Miss me?”

She covers her mouth with her hands, laughs. “Fuck yeah.”

Her easy use of the word “fuck” spreads through me, and my chuckle eclipses hers. “Missed you, too,” I laugh, clasping her in my arms.

“Shit!” she whispers, clinging to me. “You’re supposed to be in Philly.”

“No, Els.” I tilt her head back. “I’m supposed to be with my girl, however the fuck I do it. And you’re my girl. You’re my forever, darlin’.”

Ella presses her mouth to mine firmly, gripping me, tasting me.

“And there’s someone here that can prove it,” I whisper.

“What?” she asks.

I release her and open her hotel room door. “Ella, meet Mr. Dylan Lee, the lawyer that’s gonna win your case against that motherfucker you call an ex.”

Ella brings her hand to her mouth again. “Are you for real?” she whispers, gasping, inhaling intensely. “You got me a freakin’ lawyer?”

“Mr. Lee, why don’t you head down to the café and get yourself a coffee? I need a minute with my girlfriend.” My suggestion comes out as more of an order, but my lawyer nods and disappears.

Ella gapes at me and sighs. “Tate, I can’t,” she argues quietly. “I can’t take your lawyer.”

“He ain’t my lawyer,” I correct her. “He’s yours, darlin’. He’s gonna fight your case. He thinks Matthew should eat shit, and so do I. Baby, he’s gonna send that motherfucker down for what he did to you.”

Ella grips my polo shirt. “I can’t afford him. My parents . . . I kind of walked out on them, and they kind of disowned me.”

I sink my fingers further into her hair. “You ain’t payin’ for him, darlin’. I am. I’ll pay until that bastard is on his knees in court begging for your forgiveness.”

“Hell.” Ella holds me tightly. “He won’t get it.”

“Damn fuckin’ right he ain’t.” I kiss her temple. “So be a good little Dirty B. Diva and tell Mr. Lee everythin’ you didn’t tell the cops. He’s got it all except that.” I cup her face with my hands and take a deep breath. “Can you do that, baby? Can you breathe free for me, darlin’?”

Ella reaches up so her fingers slip through mine, even though I’m holding her hands. “Will you be there?”

“You need me to be?”

“No. But I want you to be.”

“I’ll be whatever the fuck you want, Els. Now and always.”

S
he’s in Philly. With me. With my brothers. With Sofie and Mila.

She’s fucking with me, and she doesn’t give a flying fucking monkey.

“Kye?” Ella demands, banging on his bedroom door. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym?”

Kye holds his arms up, stumbling out of the room, “You’re confused, sugar. I should be in bed.”

“Mhmm,” Ella hums. “My schedule says different. Your ass, the gym, thirty seconds.” She points to the elevator.

My brother shrugs and adjusts his shirt when he walks past her. “Shit, she’s a fuckin’ slave driver. Who thought to bring her back?”

“All of you!” Ella yells down the hall.

I circle her in my arms. “I like you being back.”

“I will kick your ass, Tate Burke.” Her voice trails off when I kiss down her neck and pull her back into our hotel room.

“I’ve got another workout that will benefit us both,” I mutter into her collarbone. “Your pussy, my cock, baby.”

“Stop,” she breathes. “Don’t you know I’m in hiding?”

My phone rings, and I groan, releasing her. Pulling it from my pocket, I see the lawyer’s name on the screen and bring it to my ear. “Tate Burke.”

“Dylan Lee,” he says. “Mr. Burke, I’d like to meet with you in Philadelphia tomorrow. I’ve received some important information from Mr. Hamilton’s lawyer suggesting that his client would like to settle out of court.”

Ella nibbles her bottom lip and nods once.

“We can see you at three p.m.,” I offer. “Does that work?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies and reels off the Philadelphia address. “See you then.”

I hang up and look at the girl across the bed from me. “Sounds like a jacked-up plea bargain to me, darlin’.”

“As long as he leaves me and you alone, I don’t care,” she whispers. “I’ve got you, okay?”

“Okay? More than okay.” I cover her body with mine. “Els . . . darlin’ . . . baby . . . Every part of me you hold in the palm of your hands. Every single fuckin’ bit is yours. Squeeze me and twist me, I’m yours, darlin.’ ”

The truth of my words floods through me, and she wraps her arms around me.

“I know.” She kisses my jaw. “But . . . Tate . . . I want to know I’m yours. All of me. Every bit.”

I inhale slowly because I know what she’s askin’, but if I can’t give her that, then I’m a fucking pussy. If I can’t tell her what she wants to hear and what I know to be true, then I need a motherfucking slap upside the head.

“Allow me to oblige you, darlin’,” I murmur to her jaw.

My lips travel from her chin to her lips and cover her sweet mouth. Toothpaste and orange juice linger on her lips, and she wraps her arms around me tightly, accepting my kiss without batting an eyelid. She curls herself around me as I drop her onto the bed. Her arms, her legs, they grip me, circle me, pull me into her. My cock pushes against her core, too many fuckin’ layers between us, too many shirts and pants and shit. I murmur this against her neck and she laughs, but seconds later, her hands are snaking beneath my shirt and up my stomach.

Ella hums low, her fingers grasping the hem of my shirt as I encourage her to guide it up and over my head. Easy, slow, breathless, it happens, and my girl slides her hands up my back. Her fingers ghost up my spine as if she revels in the dip of my spine.

I breathe in every sweep of her fingers. My dick hardens. Wanting more. Craving more. Desiring more.

Every single fuckin’ bit of me needs Ella Dawson.

“Tate.”

My name is a whisper against my shoulder as I flip her over to her side and hook two fingers inside the waistband of her pants. She tilts her hips so I can tug her tiny shorts down, and I clasp the back of her neck as if it’ll distract her.

It does me.

The indescribable feeling of her lips, her mouth, her tongue, against mine—it’s too much. I lean into her, my hand curving over her bare ass, because fuck, she’s got an ass and a half. Ella grasps my hair and pushes herself into me. I grasp her ass, and my fingers sneak round to tease her pussy. She’s wet, and so fuckin’ responsive, and I groan into a kiss on her neck.

She thrusts her hips into me and fuck, fuck, fuck.

I roll Ella onto her back, whispering in her ear. I want her. I need her. I crave her. No words I could ever say out loud could come close to the way I feel for this girl right now.

Nothin’ could compare to the tightness of her pussy as I ease inside her. Nothing could compare to the irresistible way she hugs me when I bury myself so deep inside her there’s nothing but me. Nothing could compare to what Ella Dawson feels like beneath me and around me.