Page 63 of Tell Me No Lies

One of Tate’s hands comes up to smooth down my hair, the touch gentle and caring and kind. Offering me everything I lost all those years ago. “You’re irreplaceable, Sugar.”

Knowing he genuinely believes that eases a little of the hurt I still carry. “I should have been, at least to my mom, but she became so focused on him she didn’t want to have to deal with me at all. He was the only thing she cared about. It was almost like an obsession. And he fucking loved it. Ate that shit up. I swear sometimes it seemed like he got off on her loving him more than she loved me.” A bitter laugh slides free. “That guy hated my guts.” I hesitate, knowing this will be the hard part. “For a while.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” Tate’s voice is a low growl that borders on a threat.

Not for me. Never for me.

But I keep going. If I don’t get all of this out now, I never will. And I want Tate to know me. To know what made me into the person I am. Even the ugly parts. “I was kind of a late bloomer, so I looked like a kid until I was fifteen. That’s when I started to notice things changing.” I remember thinking initially that her husband was finally warming up to me. That he decided having a kid around wasn’t as terrible as he expected.

That was not at all the reason for his change in attitude regarding me.

“I remember the first time he hugged me. It was not long after I finally started to fill out and look like I do now.” His dumbass wasn’t slick either. His attention on me was so blatant and obvious, the memory of it would make me laugh. Except it’s not even remotely funny.

“He started wanting to watch movies with me when my mom was gone and he’d sit real close to me on the couch. After a while, his hand would be on my knee. Then my thigh.” I swallow down the disgust trying to turn my stomach. “Then he’d try to slide it higher.” That’s when I’d jump off the couch and he’d pretend to be all innocent and almost make me think I was overreacting.

He was ‘just trying to be nice to me’. To ‘show me he cared’.

But his version of caring included ‘accidentally’ coming into my bathroom while I was in the shower. ‘Accidentally’ putting his hands places they didn’t belong. ‘Accidentally’ trying to get into my bed at night. The man deserved a medal for surviving as long as he did considering how ‘accident’ prone he was.

“I started showering in my swimsuit. Sleeping dressed head to toe. Dodging him anytime he got too close. As soon as I could get a job I did, just so I could be out of the house as much as possible.” But that wasn’t my only motivation. “I started saving all my money because I was sure when I told my mother what was going on, she would leave him and I wanted to be able to help out as much as I could.” I pause, bracing for the most painful part. “On my sixteenth birthday, I decided it was time to tell my mom, so I did. All of it.” I lift my eyes to Tate’s. “And she called me a liar. Said I just wanted to steal her chance at happiness. Said I was jealous and ungrateful and a whole list of other things.” I shrug. “So I left.”

Tate takes a slow breath, blowing it all the way out before asking, “Did you report him?”

I shake my head. “No. At sixteen I thought he would only get in trouble if he’d tried to rape me.” It never came to that, but I think that was only because I left. There’s not a doubt in my mind he was working his way up to something awful. “Plus, I didn’t want anyone to know I was on my own. I barely managed to find someone willing to rent to me and I didn’t want to risk being forced to go back there again.”

“Is your mother still with him?” Tate’s question has an odd edge to it and I chalk it up to anger.

I get it. I’m angry too. I thought maybe I’d get over it someday, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen.

“Yup. Still as far up his ass as she can get.” I lean into Tate’s touch as he smooths down my hair again. “I haven’t talked to her in years, but sometimes one of my old friends from high school sends me screenshots of her Facebook posts about how she has the best husband in the universe, blah, blah, blah.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s disgusting.”

Tate’s eyes move over my face. “Want me to kill him?”

I laugh even though I know he’s dead serious. Or maybe because of it. “Nah. He’s not worth the effort.” I sigh. “I would love to tase him in the nuts though.” I smile at the thought. “Sometimes I dream about it at night. I can almost imagine what a fucking baby he’d be about it.”

Tate’s hand continues smoothing down my hair in slow, calming strokes, making the trip back in time less painful than it usually is. “It’s important to have goals in life.” He traces my jawline. “Never give up on your dreams.”

25

A GIRL CAN’T KEEP TRACK OF EVERYTHING

TATE

IT'S TAKING EVERYTHING I have to hide my true reaction to Piper’s story. I knew when she started I was going to struggle, but I owed it to her to listen. She knows about all my demons, and I need to know all hers.

The problem is, I want to do something much worse than sending a few thousand volts through a nut sack. But I have plenty of time to consider how I want to handle this, so I try to push it aside. Tonight is about us. About our first night together in our home. Granted, the home is unfinished, but I'm hoping she can see the potential.

I press a kiss to her forehead before forcing my arms from around her body. I can't let her go completely, so I take her hand in mine. “Let's go upstairs.”

As Levi and Niko promised, all Piper’s things are neatly stacked in the entryway. Her lips curve into a little smile as we walk past her dresser and nightstand, and the strangling squeeze in my chest eases the tiniest bit.

My blood is still boiling though, and I don’t want to ruin this moment. Don’t want to look back on tonight and only remember my rage. So I fall back on the one thing I know will help me relax.

Leading her up the stairs, I watch every step Piper takes, settling a little when there's no sign of a limp. I've been able to keep a close eye on her the past handful of days. Whenever we stopped for food or gas, I made sure to grab ice for her ankle, so at this point it hasn't been swollen in days. Knowing that’s because of me taking care of her cools the anger coursing through my veins.

Once we hit the landing, I direct her to our room. Currently, there's nothing in it. The contractors I hired while we were gone cleared it out so they could hang and finish the drywall and lay down the rich teal paint she chose.

I watch her face as we step inside, basking in the bright glow of her smile as she does a slow spin, taking in the space. “The color looks so good.” Her eyes lift. “And painting the ceiling to match the walls makes it feel so cozy and calm.”

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