22. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Devon

The movie was funny from the get-go, but I fell asleep a short way in. The adrenaline from the panic attack over the blood exhausted me. The large screen is showing the home screen of whatever platform Tatum watches movies. It’s quiet in here and I’m alone, so I close my eyes, hoping to fall back asleep.

I’m not sure where my fear of blood came from or why I can’t get over it. It’s awful and embarrassing. I can deal with small things like paper cuts and scrapes, but the moment there is enough that it starts dripping and splattering to the floor, it’s an issue—even thinking about it has me wanting to vomit and pass out. Dealing with my period was a nightmare, which is why I had to go with a birth control that made it stop. I’ve never been able to sit through a gory movie without freaking out. I can do horror movies—like thrillers, but none of that slasher stuff.

Had Tatum not come down when he did, I would have passed out and bled out right there on the floor. Okay, dramatic, I know, but I really, really hate blood !

It’s a good thing he knows that about me and was able to help. Probably the one thing I’m grateful for when it comes to Tate. It’s crazy how he seems to have remembered just about everything about me. It makes me wonder if I ever knew anything about him at all or if my brain just pushed it all away to stop my heart from hurting. I’m glad my brain can work to stop that, but it needs to work to stop my heart from feeling now. All this caring and niceness stuff from him is messing with me. I know I said I’d do this for me, but if he keeps this up, I’m going to end up hurt either way.

Everything Tate is doing makes me remember why I loved him so much before. And yeah, I get how silly that sounds since we were young, but sometimes you just know. Also, sometimes you’re just wrong, because here we are…

Even though I’m awake, the last thing I want to do is get up. I’m nice and warm, wrapped in my blanket, the air conditioner blowing gently above me. Tatum probably left to find a piece of ass for the night. If he did, it would make things much easier for me. If he would just do something to prove he hasn’t changed, this would all be easier. Just one thing.

Even though I want answers to my questions, I’m not sure I’ll believe what he has to say until he proves it. What would it take for him to do that? If he tells me he’s sorry, explains what happened and says he wants to be with me for real, what am I going to do?

I have to tell him no. The thought hurts, but I don’t have a choice. Being with Tate means being here. It means not getting away from my brother and my father. Not living the life I want .

So, the only thing I can do is prepare myself for the worst and hope for the best. Things will be simple if Tate says he wants to make amends. That would be ideal, but it’s so not Tate. Which is why I have to keep telling myself I’m doing this for me. I’m going to let this play out, be nice, try my best, and move on…

With no idea how long I’ve been sleeping, what time it is, or where my phone is, I figure I should get up. I carefully get to my feet and groan at the pounding ache in my foot, thanks to the blood rushing there from being vertical now. I scoop everything up and hobble to my room, tossing it all on the bed. I use the bathroom before heading downstairs, holding my breath as I go in case he didn’t clean up the mess. Thankfully he did. Last week, Tate would have left it and laughed as I cried through cleaning it. Years ago, he’d have done what he did today…

Did I go back in time? Did he?

What is going on?

“Is that a new couch?” I blurt out. I’m pretty sure it was grey when I saw it last. Now it’s cream-colored.

“Yeah, they just delivered it.”

“Why did you get a new couch?” I move to the island, finding Tate in the kitchen again.

“Because the other one had blood on it,” he answers, sounding almost embarrassed.

It had blood on it… so he got rid of it. Because he knew seeing the blood on the couch, even if it was dry, would trigger another panic attack.

What is going on with him?

I can’t get into it with him right now. My head and my heart can’t handle it. So I change the subject .

“Do you always cook so much?” I ask.

“I’ve only made breakfast today. I’d hardly say that counts as so much .”

I roll my eyes and hop onto the stool I sat on last time.

“What are you making?” I ask, noting the oven is on and something smells delicious.

He looks at me over his shoulder, shooting a smile that has me breathless.

Screw him for being so handsome.

“It’s a surprise.”

I force myself to nod and bring my attention to my hands that are in my lap.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Come on, Devon. I’m not an idiot. I know what that means.”

I smile, biting on my bottom lip. I look up and see him facing me. My eyes so badly want to roam over the dips of his abs—since he’s still shirtless—but I force them to stay on his eyes.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for helping.”

He nods again, just like he did the last time I thanked him, and I don’t know why that bothers me. He’s acknowledging my thanks—what more do I want?

“Dinner won’t be done for about an hour,” he says.

“Well,” I start, looking around. “What is there to do in this place?”

“You can run on the treadmill.”

“Are you nuts? I can hardly walk. ”

“Lift weights?”

“Yuck.”

He chuckles, running his hand through his hair and smiling that devilishly handsome smile that makes me weak.

“Oh, I have an idea,” he says.

He goes to the far end of the sitting area and opens a drawer that’s built into the wall. Above it are shelves, all of them empty. As he’s digging through the drawer, I look around the place again. There are no personal items here. No decorations to make this place homey. No family photos. He said he doesn’t come here often, but does he have nothing he wants to remember when he comes here? No pictures, no mementos… nothing?

His footsteps pull me from my thoughts, and I see him walking toward me with a deck of cards in his hand.

“I am not playing strip poker with you.”

“You played strip poker with James Lefray in high school.”

“Are you jealous about that?” I cant my head to the side, smirking.

“What if I am?” he challenges.

I snatch the cards from his hand and pull them from the box.

“Had you stuck around, you’d have known I kicked his ass. And I’m about to do the same to you.”