Chapter Twelve

Tate

Bronson didn’t bat an eye at me ordering the kids burger and nuggets from the fast-food joint—not even when I ordered the sugar-free fruit punch. Sure, I loved my little meals, but I also knew a sugar bomb would hurt my tummy.

When we pulled up to his place, I froze. This wasn’t a house. It was a mansion, at least by my standards. The brick was dark gray, the mortar a lighter smoky shade. The accents and metal were black. The color scheme suited Bronson perfectly. A press of a button on his console opened the garage door, and I didn’t quell my gasp at the sight of a professional organizer’s wet dream. Not that I was one but damn, I’d seen the videos when I had a phone.

“Are you hurting?” he asked, sliding his hand over mine. “As soon as we get inside, we’ll get one of these pills in you.”

“No. I’m not hurting. Well, a little, but I’d rather not take the pills. I don’t like how they make my head fuzzy.”

He nodded. “Then why the gasp?”

“Your house is beautiful. Everything in its place. Even labels.”

Bronson looked out the windshield, his eyes widening as though he were seeing his own house for the first time. “I like things in their place. It makes my life simpler. Eases my anxiety.”

“Maybe sometime we can talk about what gives you stress,” I said.

“Maybe. Hold on. I’ll help you in.”

He didn’t have to assist me in or out of the car. My wolf had taken care of most of my injuries, leaving me sore but perfectly capable of walking and moving around with only a marginal amount of pain. Bronson insisted on helping me though. He opened the passenger door and wrapped his arm around my torso gently and led me inside. The interior was as impressive as the exterior. Clean. Neat.

No bullshit on the kitchen counters. Huge bonus in this omega’s book.

“You can stay in the bedroom next to mine.” I looked up at him. “You know, in case you need anything in the night.”

With this alpha around, I was sure to need something in the night. Him. Inside me.

I shook my head of the thoughts. I didn’t even know if he felt the same, and I questioned my feeling that he was my fated.

I couldn’t be trusted with my own safety and relationships after Ryder.

“Is there…” I hesitated. He had done so much for me already, but he’d asked me to make myself at home while we were on our way here. “Can I take a shower? I smell like hospital.”

He nodded. “How about a bath? I have all kinds of salts and bubbles. You can relax and ease those aches.”

When he said the word ache, I swore he glanced down at my groin. Wishful thinking, maybe.

“A bath would be perfect. Is that in another room?”

“No. There’s a huge tub in your en suite.” Bronson made sure I was settled in a chair before walking into the bathroom to fill the tub. After a moment, he came out with some bath bombs. “Which one? Cotton candy is fun, but the lavender and vanilla is relaxing.”

“Oh.” I stared at the choices. He had a basket in his hand with at least a dozen options. “Can I have both?”

He chuckled. “Of course. Fun and functional. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Once the tub was filled, he brought me to the bathroom but excused himself when it came to the getting-naked part. What a shame. I bet he would be fun for bath time.

I sank into the hot water whose steam carried all the calming and happy smells I loved. My muscles relaxed immediately and I let out a moan. Bronson was talking to someone—probably on his phone—but also, he moved around the house in a hurry, his footsteps at sprinting speed.

What in the heck was he doing?

A rubber duck perched on the corner of the tub. With one finger, I plopped it into the water, giggling as it splashed before righting itself. It was wearing sunglasses and a bandana.

Maybe Bronson liked to play with it?

Realization poured over me. I was safe. My tummy was full. I was warm in this luxurious bath. There was a non-leaking roof over my head and a comfy-looking bed on the other side of the door.

I could breathe.

That’s when I began to cry. Not just cry but sob, letting it all go.

I hadn’t been safe in months on my own or in years with Ryder.

Bronson had changed my life over the course of days.

“Tate, are you okay?” Bronson asked, knocking on the door gently. “Tate?” he repeated once I didn’t answer. I couldn’t stop crying long enough to. “I’m coming in.”

My body was hunched over, my face cradled in my hands. That position plus the colored water gave me some modesty, but honestly, I didn’t care. Bronson had seen me at my worst. Broken. Almost dead. Bloody. Ready to accept my fate.

So, I wasn’t surprised when he wrapped my shoulders up in his arms and laid his head against the back of mine. I found myself pressing into his warmth, craving more of his touch, whatever he would gift me.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Let’s get you out of this tub and into bed.”

He held up a huge towel and, when I stepped into it, I realized, he’d warmed it for me. Once he wrapped it around my body, he took another and dried my hair. At least I had cleaned up before I fell apart.

Bronson helped me into some pajamas and, judging by the smell, they were his. “I hate to leave you here, but I have to get to work tonight. I have two jobs, but I’m only a phone call away if you need me. The number and the home phone are on the bedside table until we can get you a cell.”

“Oh, that’s not…” I started to protest, but the look he gave me stopped me in my tracks.

“No arguing, omega. Not tonight.” I nodded. “How about I tuck you in? You need your rest.”

“Yes, please.”

Gods, he hadn’t said anything about being a daddy, but already he had the role nailed. He fed me. Gave me a bath. The warmed towels. Now tucking me in?

I opened my mouth, the question on the tip of my tongue.

“What is it, Tate?” he asked, leaning down to push the covers in all around me.

“Nothing. Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say…thank you.”

He cocked his head, probably able to scent my lie. Or if I was right, and he was my mate, feel my lie. “You’re very welcome. I’m going to work. Please, rest. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”