I also gave him a bloody nose that day. He still doesn’t know why.

“I didn’t even think twice about my actions,” I continued as she remained silent. “I spread that rumor about Stevie Stoddard, because you didn’t belong with Danny. He was a dick. They all were.”

“So you thought you were protecting me?” she blurted out, unconvinced. “But why would you do that? You already hated me by that point. That was after you’d returned from your dad’s for the summer.”

“I wasn’t protecting you,” I stated, raising my eyes to meet hers. “I was jealous.”

If I was protecting her, then I wouldn’t have turned around and hurt her myself with that rumor. It wasn’t about keeping her safe. It was about not wanting anyone else to touch her.

I continued, “We got to high school, and all of a sudden, you’ve got all of these guys liking you. I handled it the only way I knew how.”

“By bullying me?” she challenged. “That makes no sense. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t.” I couldn’t trust you.

“You’re doing fine so far,” she pressed. “I want to know why all of this started in the first place. Why did you want to hurt me? The pranks, the black-listing from parties? That wasn’t about other guys. What was your problem with me?”

I inhaled deeply, trying to buy myself some time. I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not with her.

I blew out a breath and lied. “Because you were there. Because I couldn’t hurt who I wanted to hurt, so I hurt you.”

Please just leave it at that.

“I was your best friend.” She spoke slowly, making me feel her disgust. “All these years…” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Tate, I had a shitty summer with my dad that year.” I inched closer. “When I came back, I wasn’t the same kid. Not even close. I wanted to hate everybody. But with you, I still needed you in a way. I needed you to not forget me.”

Part of it was about control, and part of it was about my anger, but most of it was about not being able to let her go. I needed to be in her life. I needed her to see me.

“Jared, I’ve turned it over and over in my head wondering what I could’ve done to make you act the way you did. And now you tell me that it was all for no reason?”

I continued moving in.

“You were never clingy or a nuisance, Tate. The day you moved in next door I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” My voice dropped to a near-whisper and my eyes to the ground. “I f**king loved you. Your dad was unloading the moving truck, and I looked out my living room window to see what the noise was. There you were, riding your bike in the street. You were wearing overalls with a red baseball cap. Your hair was spilling down your back.”

Even then, I knew Tate would be important to me.

Shortly after she’d moved in, I’d found out that her mom had passed away. My father wasn’t in my life, and Tate and I connected instantly. We had things like music and movies in common.

And the rest was out of our control. We’d found each other.

“When you recited your monologue this week, I …..” I let out a breath. “I knew then that I’d really gotten to you, and instead of feeling any satisfaction, I was angry with myself. I wanted to hate you all these years, I wanted to hate someone. But I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t really realize that until the monologue.”

Stepping in front of her, I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end. The heat from her body—so close—radiated toward me, and it took everything I had not to circle my arms around her waist and bring her up into my arms. The memory of how she felt the other night only made me think of all the things I wanted.

“You’re not telling me everything.” She looked like her head was spinning, like she was half in and half out of the moment.

I reached up and cupped her face with one hand, wiping away a single warm tear.

“No, I’m not.” My voice was barely audible.

Her eyes were hooded, but she tried to keep going. “The scars on your back,” she started. “You said you had a bad summer, and that when you came back you wanted to hate everybody, but you haven’t treated anyone else as badly as—”

“Tate?” I cut her off and closed the inch left between us, our breathing in sync as we met chest to chest. All I could see were her lips, full and soft. “I don’t want to talk any more tonight.”

She stood there, watching me close in, and the moment was a hair from coming together or coming apart.

She wanted my lips on hers, but she might not like that she wanted it.

Please don’t stop me.

Her skin was like touching cool silk, smooth like butter, and I fisted my hand in her hair.

And then she jerked, as if waking up.

“You don’t want to talk anymore?” Her strong voice broke the spell, and my legs tensed, waiting for her to hit me again.

“Well, I do,” she yelled, and I sprang into action when I saw her twist around to launch another key into the forest.

Hell!

Circling my arms around her body, I pulled her, struggling, into my chest.

Dammit! I’d explained! I knew she wouldn’t forgive me right away, but why was she still so upset? What more did she want?

You don’t apologize. You don’t beg!

My father’s mantra. Repeated over and over again that summer.

I hated almost everything he’d taught me, but that was one lesson I’d committed to practice. Apologizing was a sign of weakness.

But I wanted Tate back.

My heart only beat for her, and I’d rather spend my life hating, loving, f**king, and breathing her than losing her.

You need to apologize, dickhead.

“Shhh, Tate,” I whispered into her ear. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you again. I’m sorry,” I said, closing my eyes as I swallowed the bitter pill.

She twisted from side to side. “I don’t care about you being sorry! I hate you!”

No.

Still securing her with both arms, I used my hands to peel open her fingers and pry out my keys.

I let her go, and she stepped forward and spun around to face me.

“You don’t hate me,” I challenged with a grin before she had the chance to speak. “If you did, you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“Go screw yourself,” she spat back and turned, stomping away.

Um, where did she think she was going?

If she thought I was going to let her traipse home, in the dark, on a deserted road, she was out of her f**king mind.

Digging my feet into the ground, I took off after her, spun her around and threw her over my shoulder like I wanted to do earlier. She landed hard, her stomach caving to my shoulder, and I had a huge desire to keep her there and walk home.

Fuck the car.

Well, almost.

“Put me down!” She kicked her feet and punched my back, and I tightened my hold, willing my fingers to stay put.

Her ass was next to my head, and goddamn, I wanted to take advantage of her position in her short skirt.

But in her current mood, she’d probably cut off my dick.

“Jared! Now!” she ordered, her tone low and commanding.

Reaching the car, I swung her back upright and planted her ass down on the hood of the car. I immediately came down, placing my hands on each side of her thighs and leaning in.

Very slowly.

I knew I should just back off.

Give her time. Win back her trust.

But I’d had a taste of her, and I’d rather give up breathing.

I still made the rules, and we weren’t wasting any more time.

“Don’t try to get away,” I warned. “As you remember, I can keep you here.”

It wasn’t a threat. I just wanted her to remember. The way she’d devoured me on that kitchen counter, wanting me as much as I wanted her.

She tipped her chin down, looking hesitant. “And I know how to use pepper spray and break noses,” she retorted and leaned back, keeping a wary distance like she didn’t trust herself.

I could see her pulse beating in her neck, but she wasn’t trying to get away.

She watched me watching her, and the moment stood still as her chest rose and fell with shallow breathes.

She wanted me like I wanted her, but she didn’t like that she wanted me.

She was a mess, and I loved it.

I do that to you. No one else.

“I’m not Nate or Madoc…or Ben.”

Our noses almost touched as I searched her face. A line of sweat fell down my back, and my dick throbbed, making me feel like I was on fire.

“Don’t,” she whispered as my mouth hovered over hers.

Oh, I won’t. You will.

“I promise. Not unless you ask.” Having her feeling sorry the next day that she gave in to me would suck. I didn’t want that blame. She was going to be a part of this as much as me, and I wanted her crazed and confused over me. And then I wanted her to surrender.

I guess that’s what I’d been after all along.

I moved my lips around her face and neck, breathing her in but never kissing her.

I could still taste her, though.

My lips grazed her soft cheek, and I just about touched her lips right then when she let out a little moan.

Fuck.

Every second my mouth glided over her face, her jaw, her neck, I fought to keep my teeth from sinking into her. I was that hungry.

“Can I kiss you now?” I half asked, half pleaded.

She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either.

“I want to touch you,” I whispered against her lips. “I want to feel what’s mine. What’s always been mine.”

Please.

Her breath caught, and I could tell she was fighting it. Weakly, she pushed me away and jumped off the car.

“Stay away from me,” she said as she headed for the passenger side.

Yeah, no.

I tried to keep my laugh quiet. “You first,” I teased.

Chapter 23

“Give me two.” My father put down two cards to exchange, and my lips twisted up just a little.

No “How are you?”, “What’s new with you?”, or “Happy Fucking Birthday, son.”

Nothing.

I was eighteen today, and my father clearly didn’t remember.

Or he didn’t care.

I flipped two more cards off the top of the deck and tossed them across the table to him.

To hell with it. Ten minutes down, fifty to go.

We’d been silent since I arrived. Speaking, as usual, only when needed.

And my stomach was still rolling.

After the episode with Tate last night, I’d felt great. Relaxed, excited, calm.

But every week, I got sick before I came to the prison, and my high from last night was now gone. The dreadful anticipation of whatever lousy shit my father was going to say to me made me nauseous. I could never eat anything in the mornings. And most of the time, my hands shook so badly that driving was hard.

That’s why I opted to drive up last night after I’d dropped Tate off. There was no way I was going to get to sleep with my body in knots over her, so I just got the f**k out of there. Drove up to Crest Hill. Stayed in a motel and came here as soon as visiting hours began. I usually calmed down after I left. I felt safer the closer I got to home.

The only thing that got me through the visits week after week without throwing up was the necklace.

And I hadn’t gotten that back last night.

Right now, though, my insides were caked with acid and burning a trail up my throat. It hurt, and I kept swallowing it down, hoping that he couldn’t see me thinking of her. I knew it sounded weird. How can someone see what you’re thinking? But my father had a knack for reading me, and he was the only person who made me feel weak.