Текст книги "Indisputable"

Автор книги: A. M. Wilson

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

She feels like heaven and hell all wrapped into one.  I’m tortured with the desire to protect.  To save her from herself and her past.  Yet, she feels like the sweetest gift life could give.  The need to show her she’s worth love is almost too much.  I feel undeserving.  My own dark past and choices tug at my consciousness, trying to invade the perfection of this moment.  I need to take my own advice.

I focus on Tatum.  The soft, hooded look in her eyes.  The encouraging flex of her fingers along my spine as I increase my pace, thrusting into her.

I feel Tatum.  The consuming warm heat where we’re connected.  Her legs wrapped tightly around my hips.

I hear Tatum.  The soft moans and murmurs urging me on.  Her voice, high and needy, when she whispers into the shell of my ear, “I need you, Jacoby.”

The thread of my world snaps.  Gravity is sucked out beneath me, and I’m free falling into the wide open universe.  Up, down, left, backward, direction no longer makes sense.  I could tumble for days and no longer have a purpose but something is tugging me back.  An invisible tether pulling from my chest.  Pulling…

Pulling…

Pulling…

To her.

“I need you so much.  Please make me feel good.”

I’ve found a new anchor.  My soul feels like it’s exposed as her words crumble the old Jacoby around me.  Nothing matters.  My life, my past, my job, the consequences.  Fuck.  I think I might even love her.

Taking her mouth in a bruising kiss, I pour every amount of reverence into her.  Everything about this woman is driving me to the brink.  Losing control, unable to hold back much longer, I reach a hand between our flushed bodies, finding the spot to make her lose control with me.  I circle the sensitive nerves above where our bodies are joined, and Tatum gives an involuntary jerk.  Slowly, I circle the nerves again picking up the pace with my hips.

“Come on, Tatum.  Give it to me again,” I grit out through clenched teeth.  Trying to wait for her.  Needing to wait for her.

“Just like that, Jacoby.  More,” she cries as I increase the pressure on her clit.

She begins to crack, little spasms shoot along my dick as I pound into her.  With a long wail, her back arches off the bed, and she shatters once more beneath me.  The sensation of her climax steals my breath, taking my orgasm along with hers.

“Oh, God.  Fuck.” I can’t keep the words in my head as a burst of white explodes beneath my eyelids, and I collapse in a breathless heap on top of her.

We lie together for a long while in the pitch darkness of my bedroom.  Our breaths slowly returning to normal, our heart rates decelerating with each minute that passes.  I bury my face into her long dark tangle of waves and just breathe.  Inhaling the sweet scent of apricots and rain and Tatum.  And as the time ticks along and we both begin to drift, I vow to myself that I will never, ever let her go.

CHAPTER TWENTY  

Tatum

When faced with the ultimate decision, you have two choices.  Embrace the situation or get the fuck out of dodge.  Waking up in Jacoby’s room, in Jacoby’s bed, wrapped up in Jacoby, one could say my life was at a turning point.  After everything that happened last night: from the couch discussion, to the almost-sex, to the discovery of my secrets, to the actual-sex, none of that would mean anything until what ultimately would happen this morning.  The dreaded morning after.  We left things on a high note last night, but decisions hadn’t been solidified or agreed upon.  It was just wham-bam-thank-you…Okay, so maybe I’m not giving him enough credit.  If I’m being honest with myself, last night was the most incredible, fulfilling sex of my life.  So upon waking, I did what any sane, normal, rational person would do in this position.

I got the fuck out of dodge.

It would appear Jacoby is a heavy sleeper.  Sometime during the night we had dislodged ourselves from the makeshift comforter burrito, so being careful not to rustle blankets isn’t an issue. We’re both lying brilliantly naked in the open air.  Still, being quiet is imperative to my escape, so I execute a perfect double roll to the end of the bed and slip silently over the edge into a crouch on the carpet.  Crawling across the floor, I gather my clothing, thanking God they all ended up near the same place, and scramble my naked ass out the bedroom door.

I dress quickly in the hall before tearing down the stairs two at a time.  I don’t even spare a glance back into the bedroom to see if Jacoby’s awake.  The effort would only waste my time and possibly force a confrontation I do not want to have.

A desperation I haven’t felt in a long time is clawing at me to get out of his house.  There isn’t an explanation for the sudden anxiety.  But I feel like being in his space is suffocating me.  Maybe it’s the knowledge of what we did.  Or the fact he wants to talk about my secret.

Whatever the reason, I’m not hanging around to figure it out.

***

My apartment is blessedly quiet when I arrive back home.  Unfortunately, the silence can’t quiet the tumble of thoughts in my head.  I turn off my phone and head straight to the shower, hoping for a small reprieve.  But when I get there, bare and completely alone with only the cascade of hot water invading, there’s only one thing I want.  No, need.

Reaching around the shower curtain, my fingers fumble with the drawer of my vanity, jerking it open.  The small blade I seek is cool against my fingertips, and I cup the tool in my slippery palm, bringing it inside my quiet sanctuary.

Hot water pounds against my sore muscles as I lower myself to the cold shower floor.  Everything about this scenario is familiar: the steady heat of the shower along my back, the sweet smell of my apricot shampoo, the small rush of adrenaline my body releases as I hold my blade.  But instead of the usual comfort it brings, for the first time in my life it feels wrong.

I feel ashamed.

I feel dirty.

Salty tears mix with the wet droplets on my lips, and I taste them.  I taste my bitter disappointment and my shame.  Over and over my tongue darts out to absorb the hatefulness trying to escape me.  Bringing the tears back inside me as if I’m not strong enough to just let them go.

My right hand shakily grasps the blade as I lower it to my left wrist.  Do it! You’ll feel better soon, I chant to myself.  This is how I deal.  The only way I know how.  Squeezing my eyes tightly shut I press the sharp metal against my flesh.

Then throw it against the shower wall as a ragged scream blisters my throat.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t.

What happens when the one way to deal, the only way to make yourself feel better, suddenly doesn’t work anymore?

***

I became invisible.

I guess the nature of our “relationship” had one benefit—Jacoby couldn’t force me to talk with him.  He tried.  Oh did he ever, but there was simply no way for him to remain inconspicuous and make me listen when I didn’t want to.  He couldn’t hold me back in class (he tried) or pin me against a wall (he didn’t try) or yell my name down the hall as I powerwalked away, which is exactly what I did.

Several strings of text messages filtered through my inbox.  Curiosity was killing me.  My hands were itching to open those messages.  My soul craved to read his words telling me we need to talk.  Asking me why I left.  Telling me he cares about me.  But I forced myself to ignore them until I could figure out my head.

Without much incident, Tuesday bled into Wednesday.

Wednesday disintegrated into Thursday.

And after a long, quiet night at work, Friday arrived with a bright sunniness that instantly soured my mood.  I wanted dark storm clouds and big, fat droplets of rain to mirror the way my insides felt.  I finally knew what I needed to do.

Hi, Mr. Stephenson.  Uh, it’s me, Tatum Krause.  I know I’ve missed a lot of school lately, but I have something important to do today.  It’s, um, an emergency appointment.  I’ll come to your office as soon as I return to school.  Please don’t report me truant I promise to explain. Okay, um, thanks.  Bye.

T: I need to see you.

J:  Where are you?

T: Meet me at The Evergreen hotel asap.

J: What about school? What’s going on?

T: Call in sick. This is important. Come to the hotel. 

J: Damnit I can’t just skip class! What’s going on?

T: I need you. Find a sub.  Please.

J: OK. I’ll be there. Everything okay??

T: Rm 201…thanks.

 

The hotel room is small and smells musty with an undertone of bleach.  Like no matter how much cleaning occurs, which probably isn’t much, the smell is a permanent feature of the room.  A queen sized bed is pressed up against an old beat up wooden headboard, flanked on each side by outdated, gold colored touch lamps.  The comforter is thin and threadbare, the color of a dark beige.  Navy blue carpet riddled with stains covers the floor.  My guess would be that’s a significant source of the smell.

It’s not much, but the room will do considering the circumstances.  I want to feel on neutral territory.  Inviting him to my apartment felt too revealing, and there was no way I would have driven back to his place after bailing so suddenly and not speaking with him for three days.

I thought I could go on.  Pretend that night never happened.

My heart pumped with the desire to stay in his bed, talk out my problems, unload on someone who seemed to care.  But my mind screamed at me to escape.  My mind fought with the logic that our relationship could never work while my heart wielded the power of my need to stay and feel safe.  In the end, my mind won.

But ultimately, what happened didn’t matter.  When I got back home, something had changed.  Something I had found my strength in for so long was broken.  He’d discovered my deepest secret, and in doing so, the blade was no longer the remedy it once was.  I’d lost the control I’d craved.  I’d lost the power to utilize pain as an escape.

It’d taken me three days.  Three long, lonely days spent huddled in my apartment to come to a decision.  That maybe my vices aren’t what they once were.  That maybe I’ve been wrong all this time to stay locked inside of myself.  That maybe Jacoby can be the one to set me free.

Jacoby lit an inferno inside of me the night we’d made love in his bed.  I might have kept my heart locked inside a cage, but even steel has a melting point.

The only question remaining is: do we have the ability to fuel the flames?

A loud knock sounds from the door, and I’m on my feet rushing to the source before I’ve told my mind to do so.  Yanking the door open, I come face to face with a freshly showered Jacoby, hair damp and curling along the edges.  He smells woodsy with an underlying hint of sweetness, and it makes my mouth water.

I drop my eyes lower taking in the fitted button down navy striped shirt with cuffs rolled to his elbows, to his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his faded dark blue jeans.  He looks better than I remembered, but something feels off.

Trailing my eyes back up, I notice the tense line of his shoulders, the subtle tick in his jaw.  His eyes are slightly narrowed, a light crinkling of lines near the corners that belie the seemingly casualness of his posture.

Adrenaline spikes through my gut.  In all the scenarios I played through my head this morning, I never imagined Jacoby would be pissed.  Frustrated, sure.  Disappointed, most likely.

But he’s standing in the doorway looking as if he steps inside, he’ll snap.  And I’m directly in the firing range.

Swallowing the thick sticky feeling in my throat, I square my shoulders and take the reins before we’re stuck staring at each other all day.

“You came,” I state, thankful my voice doesn’t sound all breathy and relieved, as though I didn’t actually believe he’d come.  Truthfully, a part of me didn’t.

Jacoby nods.  “You said you needed me.”  He doesn’t continue, leaving me to confirm or continue the line of conversation without his help.  Stepping back, I pull the door further open, and Jacoby takes the silent hint, entering the room.  As I quietly close the door, I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is my move.  I need him, not the other way around, so it’s time to convince him.

“I’m ready to talk.”

“You’re ready to talk,” he replies in a voice vacant of emotion.  The sound is stiff and rough, with maybe a teensy, tiny thread of disbelief, but I can’t be sure.  My mind is probably imagining the modicum of feeling I’m hoping to hear.

“Yes.  I-I needed a few days to think,” I stammer.  As much as I hate confrontation, I hate carrying a conversation even more.  I desperately wish he’d take the lead, yell at me, interrogate me, something, so I don’t have to try to fill the silence on my own.  Instead he remains silent, his arms crossed tightly over his muscular chest.  That same chest I had naked and pressed against me three days ago.  This conversation would be so much easier if he didn’t look downright delectable.

“I’m scared of you,” I whisper, the sound riding my exhale.  Jacoby’s body visibly jolts at my words, and his brows snap down over his deep brown eyes.

“What?”

“You know so much about me.  Hell, everything about me,” I begin.  My fingers run through my hair, grasping the silky dark strands at the crown of my head.  “Every day we’re together, you learn more.  And each time it’s something deeper, something darker and you…I…”  I was trying to hold eye contact, but I can’t do it anymore.  The questions and uncertainty in his gaze is too much.  My feelings for him keep growing stronger, but I don’t know if he reciprocates, and it’s too much.

My eyes move to focus on my reflection in the mirror just behind his left shoulder.  My lungs expand and contract with the need to suck in more oxygen.  “You saw things.  More than once.  You saw things you were never supposed to see.  And then we were together, and it was like those things didn’t even matter.  But I know they do!  How can they not?  How can you even look at me when you know that I’m not okay?”

“Sweetheart—ˮ

I cut him off, lowering my voice in an attempt to hold my tears inside.  “I’m broken.  You scare me, because I know you see it, too.  Nobody wants broken.”

One second I’m standing by the door, the next I’m plastered against Jacoby’s warm, solid chest.  His arms snake tightly around my waist, securing my body in his hold.  A burning sensation rises in the back of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to extinguish it.

“Is that why you’ve been hiding? You think I might find something out and not want you anymore?

“You want me?”

He looks to the ceiling and seconds tick past.  Just as I’m about to call his name he looks back down to me.

“You have to question that?”

“Well…yeah.  Isn’t that what all this has been about?  You didn’t want me.  You said it yourself, this is wrong.   I’ve just been giving you more reasons to believe it.”

His arms around my waist give me a squeeze.  “And what would those be?”

My hands curl into fists as I struggle against his hold, but he’s too strong.  His feigning ignorance pisses me off.  Pushing against his chest, I reply harshly, “You saw me almost get raped.  You know about my situation with my mom.  You’ve seen these!” I scream at him, yanking forcefully out of his hold as I jerk the sleeves of my shirt up my forearms.  The tears I tried so hard to contain spill down my cheeks in a rapid stream.

“Sweetheart—ˮ

“I saw the look on your face.  You’re disgusted with me.  Now, I’m just so fucking angry because I went home and tried to erase your disgust from my memory, and I can’t do it anymore! It’s wrong. I’m wrong.”  My body shakes from tremors running through my limbs.  Maybe if I wasn’t paying so much attention to myself, always myself and my problems, I would have registered the shift in the room.

The air becomes tense, and Jacoby’s body stands as taut as a bowstring pulled to let an arrow fly.

“You wanna back that up a second and explain?” he asks, his voice coming out clipped and angry.  His tone takes me by surprise, and I find myself taking a step back towards the bed.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice trembling.  Jacoby looks downright furious.  Furious like I’ve never seen him before.  This isn’t the kind of anger I can jump into his arms and kiss him senseless to erase.  This fury is borderline violent, and it terrifies me.

He takes a slow, restrained step forward, his long legs placing him smack dab in my space.

“Maybe you should explain the part where you went home.  After you left my fucking bed.  After you let me fuck you in my bed.  And you went home to fucking mutilate yourself?  Because of me?”

Oh, God.  Shit.  That’s exactly how I made it sound.  I fled from his house without waking him, and the first thing I did when I got home was hop into the shower and try to vent in the only way I know how.  But it wasn’t because of him.  He has the wrong idea.  An idea I put there, but unintentionally.

“Jacoby, no.  You have it wrong.”

“Damn fucking right.  I do have it wrong.  What I have wrong is that I ever thought you’d be worth everything.”

He walks to the door in three steps, yanking it open so hard it bangs against the wall with a loud crash.

“Please wait—ˮ

Jacoby turns around and pins me with his furious gaze.  I’m frozen to the spot.  When it comes to fight or flight, apparently I can’t do either.

“No.  Listen up, and listen fucking good.  The other night, I wanted to talk.  I saw what you did to yourself, and my only thought was how I could help you.  I spent three goddamned days trying to get you to talk to me so I could help you.  I made arrangements as soon as I got your text and practically ran here so I could be here for you.”  I remain frozen as he lifts his hand extending his pointer and pinky finger in my direction, all while keeping his eyes pinned to mine.  “But you will not. fucking. pin. that shit on me.  I’m done.  You need resources to get yourself help, I got ‘em.  But I will not waste my time with you so you can blame me while you cut yourself.  Fuck!”

With his curse word still hanging in the air, Jacoby runs his hands through his hair before he storms out the door.

And I promptly burst into tears and crumble to the floor, his voice echoing in my head.

“Everything.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE  

Jacoby

“Dude, what’s gotten into you today?  You’re lifting like you’ve never been in a gym before.  If anyone here knew we were friends, they’d boycott the place, you sissy.”

Trey’s teasing voice breaks into the epic staring contest I was having with myself in the mirror.  How long had I been zoned out for?  Leaning over, I drop the dumbbell I was holding onto the rubber floor.  Fuck, I’m a mess.

“Fuck off, man.  It’s been a rough week.”  He doesn’t have a comeback, so I scoop my water bottle off the floor and take a huge swig.  I don’t know why I do it.  It’s not like I was actually doing any work.  My tee is still dry, and I’ve been here an hour.  Turning to find Trey, I narrow my eyes at the way he’s staring at me.

“What?”

Trey jerks his head in the direction of his office.  “Let’s go have a chat.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is,” he fires back.

“So talk,” I invite.  “What’s with all the damn secrecy?”

“It’s not me who needs secrecy.”

I’m not entirely sure what he means by that but the words rub me the wrong way.  My hands immediately clench into fists.  “What the fuck, man?  Spit it out.”

I don’t have time for this.  Even though I got up extra early to spend time working off my aggression before spending yet another day at school, already an hour has ticked by.  I only have thirty more minutes before I have to be there.  That includes a shower and drive time, not to mention some breakfast would probably do me some good.

“You wanna discuss your situation with Tatum in the middle of a crowded gym?  Fine.”

“Okay, fine.  Fuck.  Lead the way.”  No way in hell am I doing that out here.

We walk down a brightly lit hall to the back office I’ve seen a million times.  I’d helped him the past two years with paperwork and shit before I landed the teaching job.  Entering the small office, Trey closes the door for privacy.  Too bad shutting the door can’t erase the pungent smell of rubber and sweat loitering in the air.

“Okay, now talk,” I command, harsher than intended, but this topic has me feeling all sorts of rage.

It’s been two weeks since I walked out of that hotel room.  Two weeks of torture, of questioning my decisions.  Two weeks of staring at my cell, willing it to ring and fighting back the urge to reach out to her.  Two miserable weeks of watching her walk down the halls and sit in my classroom.  So close, yet so out of my reach.

But that’s not the worst of it.

The worst of it is, I feel a loss I haven’t felt in two years.  And that every day I see her, she looks as miserable as I feel.

I remain standing while Trey sits his ass on the corner of his desk.  And I wait.

“You wanna tell me what’s been going on?”

“Not really.”

“Too fuckin’ bad.  One minute you’re crazy over this girl, the next you’re acting like she died.”

“Trey.” My voice holds a warning I know he can hear.  He just shakes his head at me before continuing his train of thought.

“I know that was harsh, man, but listen to me.  I haven’t seen you this depressed since you showed up here two years ago.  That’s how you look right now.  It’s like a damn flashback.”

“I do not look that bad.”

“Really? When was the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?  You look like shit.”

I scrub my palms over my face.  Shit, he’s right.  I haven’t slept well in two weeks.

“Whatever.  Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Talk to me!  You’re like my goddamned brother.  I know this sounds like some girly shit, but I’m concerned.  What’s going on?”

My heart starts beating so hard it’s slamming around my ribs like a tennis ball.  Vomit crawls up the back of my throat, and I swallow hard to choke it down.  I wish I hadn’t been such an asshole.  I wish it wasn’t so hard to find the girl I want and take her—make her mine.  But that’s the thing about wishes, they always come in these fleeting moments.  A shooting star, a blowing dandelion, birthday candles, 11:11.  Wishes should be long lasting, not a spur of the moment request.  Why don’t we wish on rocks?  They never die.  Maybe more wishes would come true if we could hold the object we wished on forever.

“What’s going on is that I’m in love with her!”  The hoarseness of my voice shocks the hell out of me. Trey, too.  At least for a moment before he shakes it off.

“So what’s the problem?  Last we talked about this, I thought a decision had been made.  What happened?”

“I left her.  I can’t—she has some problems, and they scared the hell out of me.  I got angry, and I left.  We haven’t talked since.”

“What kind of problems,” Trey asks, genuine concern dripping from his tone.

I scrub my hand over my eyes.  I shouldn’t tell him.  Fuck, it’s not my place, but I don’t know how to handle this.  I need advice.  I thought I could walk away, but the past two weeks have shown me that I can’t.

“She—fuck.  I don’t know how to say this.  She hurts herself, man.”  Saying those words aloud chokes me up, and I want to throttle something.  It hurts like a physical pain in my chest.  I’ve been carrying it around for two weeks.  Every time I think of her wrists, it’s like a knife plunging into the space between my ribs.

“What do you mean she hurts herself,” he asks cautiously.

“I mean she’s a cutter.  Fuck.  I don’t think she’s suicidal, but what do I know?  We hadn’t had a chance to talk about it before I walked out on her.”

When I look over at Trey, I’m surprised to see how upset he looks.  His hands are clenched into fists by his sides, and there’s a muscle jumping in his tightly clenched jaw.  I don’t know why, but the topic has hit a nerve with him.

“Don’t leave her like that, man.  You find something like that out, you don’t fucking leave her.”

“I messed up.  I don’t know how to fix it.”

Trey crosses the small space to sit on one of the padded chairs.  “When did this happen?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks? Christ, no wonder you look like shit.”

“Can you stop saying that?  It’s really not helping,” I grumble, causing Trey to crack a grin.

“Did I bruise your ego?”

“Yes,” I deadpan.

Trey laughs, somehow managing to lighten the heavy mood.  “Dude, you are so fucked!”

“What?”

“You have it bad.  So what are you waiting for?  Go get your girl.”

I slowly shake my head feeling defeated.  “I don’t think I can.”

“For fuck’s sake, why not?” he asks, crossing his arms over his sweaty chest.  Unlike me, Trey actually did a hard workout this morning.

God, this is going to make me sound like a pussy.  But Trey’s right, if anyone is like family to me, it’s him.

“I don’t think I can be what she needs.”  Trey begins to interrupt so I put up my hand to stop him.  “Hear me out.”

He puts his hand up in a gesture for me to get on with it.  I can tell he’s becoming impatient.  The world is so black and white to Trey.  But my world has never been anything less than a huge cloud of gray.

“Even if we can get past the issue of her being my student, which is only a few more weeks from now, she still has problems.  I’m not saying that to be a dick, I’m saying it because I have my own issues too.  You know that, better than anybody.  How can I help her work through her shit if I can’t see my way through my own?”  I sigh, letting the silence linger so Trey knows he’s free to talk.  There isn’t much more for me to say.  I laid it all out there, and now I feel bare.

“Are you listening to yourself?  What issues do you have?  Because to me, it sounds like your only issues are those that deal with her.  Not once in this conversation have you brought up the past as being a problem.  Your problem is that you’re in love with a girl, and you let her go.  So get off your ass and fucking get her.  Stop thinking so damn hard, you’ll give yourself an aneurysm.”

Well that’s a huge dose of clarity if I’ve ever had one.  It’s like he just whacked me upside the head with a two-by-four of truth.

I’m silent for a moment while I think, and realize Trey’s right.  Several weeks have passed since I last sat and thought entirely about Harper.  Since I felt a crushing weight of guilt at the slightest thought of her.  Even the random phone calls from Brent don’t carry the same heaviness they first did a few months ago.

Scrubbing my forehead, I sigh.  “It’s because of Tatum.”

“What?” Trey asks quietly.

“Almost immediately after I began to focus on Tatum, I started to feel less guilty about Harper.  That weekend, where we met you at the bar, was a rough one.  I couldn’t help thinking of all the ways I failed Harper and how I was no good for Tatum.  How I’d eventually let her down too.  But when I think about it, it’s almost like that got Harper out of my system.  All my energy has been focused on one person over the past several weeks.”

The trademark, carefree grin spreads across Trey’s face.  “What’d I tell you, man?”

“You gloat, I’m gonna kick your ass.  Besides, this isn’t over yet.  I have some things to take care of before I talk to Tatum.  Loose ends to tie up.”

Trey stands and walks to the office door, opening it.  We both step into the hallway and walk towards the entrance.  “Don’t take too long.  She doesn’t seem like a patient girl if I remember correctly.”

Faster than I knew I was capable, I turn and slug Trey in the shoulder.

“Dude!” he cries.

“Don’t ever think about kissing her again,” I hiss through clenched teeth.  Trey bursts out in a laughing fit, bent double and clutching his abdomen.

“You’ve got it so bad!” he replies laughing the entire time.

“I mean it.”

Trey lifts two fingers in the air.  “Boy scouts promise.”

“Fuck off.  You weren’t a Boy scout.”

“I know,” Trey replies with a wink.

I’m about to punch him again when we’ve reached the entrance, and the door is propped open by none other than Tatum.  My heart clenches at the sight of her.  She looks utterly exhausted and worn.  Her hair is tied on the top of her head in a loose bun, tendrils floating around her face and neck.  She has some purplish spots beneath her eyes, and her skin just looks dull.  She doesn’t look quite ill but she looks…off.  I don’t like it.  This is my fault, and I’m going to do everything I can to fix it.  I just need a little bit more time.

“Uh, hey, Tatum,” Trey greets, his cheery welcoming falling just this short of genuine.  It’s obvious he’s feeling the tension between us and doesn’t know how to react.

“Hey,” she replies while looking at her feet.  Christ, she’s cute.  I’d give just about anything to tilt her chin up, kiss the tip of her nose, and do something to make her grin.  The tiredness in her features is tying my stomach in knots.  I need to sort my shit, then I can sort out us.

“You looking for me?” I ask, rather stupidly.  Who else would she be here to see?

Tatum fidgets with her black wristband on her left arm causing my eyes to zero in on the dark piece of fabric.  Are there more cuts hiding underneath there since the last time I saw them?  The thought of her hurting herself again makes me physically sick.  Shit, I haven’t been there for her.  What if she needed me?

“Actually,” she begins, cutting off my train of thought, and my eyes snap from her wrist to her face.  “I’m here to see Trey.”  She fidgets from foot to foot as though she’s nervous.  What the fuck.

My eyes flicker over to Trey, and a vein of relief slithers through me that he seems as equally perplexed as I do.  He doesn’t know why Tatum is here.  I can end any suspicions of him backstabbing me before they take flight.

But then why is she here?

“Uh, sure.  You takin’ me up on my offer to work out?” Trey jokes lightly, attempting to ease the heavy atmosphere.

“Not exactly.  Um, can we, uh, talk in private?”

Fuck. Me.

My eyes snap back to Trey’s, and he gives me a minute shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders.  If I didn’t already trust the guy with my life, I’d think he was up to something behind my back.  But he wouldn’t betray me.

Which leaves me with…

Is she trying to betray me?