Page 170 of A Little Broken

“Let me walk you up.” Offering my hand, I help her off my bike, and we take the stairs to the second floor without a word. When we reach her welcome mat, I ask, “Is Rory home?”

Forehead wrinkling, she glances at front door. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone.”

“I’ll be okay, Pax.” But instead of reaching for the handle like I expect, she moves closer, pressing her cold fingertips to my bare stomach. My abs clench on reflex, and her lips curve up before she brushes her hand along a bruised rib and a hiss of pain slips past my gritted teeth.

Her smile falls, and she starts to pull her hands away. “Shit, I’m sorry?—”

I snatch her wrist, preventing her from pulling away entirely. “You’re good, Birthday Girl.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” she whispers.

Then invite me inside, I want to push, but I bite my tongue, forcing the words to stay locked up tight even if it kills me.

“Not gonna hurt me,” I murmur. Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss her knuckles and let her go. “I love you.”

Something flashes in her eyes before she looks down at my bare chest, unable to hold my gaze. “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”

I scoff. “Don’t mention it. And I mean that literally,” I add, tossing her own words back at her from when I found her letters to Archer not so long ago. I wonder if she’ll write about tonight. If she’ll tell him what she’s too scared to tell me. The thought leaves me hollow.

Balancing on her tiptoes, Tatum skates her lips across my cheek. “Goodnight, Pax.”

As she moves to step away, I grab her wrist again, keeping her close. “We’re not done,” I warn. “I’m letting you walk in this apartment without me because I know you need a minute to get your head on straight, but this isnotme letting you go, and this sure as shit isn’t me giving you up. We clear?”

Her eyes turn glassy as she nods again. “Yeah.” She swallows. “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

“Tate.”

Weakly, she tugs out of my grasp and unlocks her front door, killing me more and more with every passing second.

“Tate,” I beg.

“We’ll be okay,” she promises, then disappears inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I stare at Tatum’s front door for a solid minute before forcing myself to walk away. She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. She said it herself, and even if she hadn’t, I’d still fucking know it, despite tonight being a bitch. Why? Because Tatum’s it for me. I know it, and deep down, I think she knows it, too. That’s why she’s scared.

As I make my way back to my bike, my phone rings. My heart pounds faster, and I pull it out, hoping to see Tatum’s name, but only Dodger’s shines back at me.

Why’s he calling me?

I could send it to voicemail. I probably should, considering where my head is. Instead, I answer it. “Hey, what do you need?”

“Hello to you, too,” Dodger returns. “I’m calling to check in. How’d the fight go?”

I dig my fingers into my sore neck as I replay the night, unsure what to say. “I won,” I admit.

“Congrats. I knew you would.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So, if you won, why do you sound like shit?” he pushes.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale. “I took Tate to the fight, and?—”

“You what?” he shouts.

Pulling my cell away from my ear, I look at the screen, then slowly bring it back to my ear. “I said, I took Tate to the fight, and?—”

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