Chapter 10: Tate

I amin a straight up panic on the drive home. I nearly kill a family of five I’m driving so fucking recklessly to get back to the apartment. The stupid hospital wouldn’t let me leave unless I was completely cleared from the car crash and they wouldn’t listen to me that a sprained wrist isn’t a big deal.

Yup, that happened. Shit really hit the fucking fan after the press showed up at the mansion and the ensuing drama getting all the cars and trucks out of the driveway led to several cars piling up. Completely fucked up.

Dylan Callahan wouldn’t answer his stupid phone so I couldn’t even call in the favor his stupid ass definitely owes me and make him rescue me from the hospital. I have to wait and apparently due to an “uptick in escapes” there are guards everywhere. Why do we need guards as a hospital?

I’m losing my mind thinking about Natasha out there alone…

Terrorist could be dead by now and as for Natasha… If she’s not dead, she is going to kill me. I hope she doesn’t kill me. This is not my fault. I hate the press for a reason. This will be the second time they ruin my fucking life.

It’s not fair. I had plans for that woman and getting stuck in the hospital after saving a bunch of teenagers from an orgy gone wrong was not how I intended to spend my night. Just when I start thinking this small town is magical again, everything gets fucked up. I’m starting to think someone put a goddamn curse on me. I should have been in bed with Natasha last night… not doing this shit.

I can tell something is wrong once I get my truck in the driveway. All the lights are on inside, but I don’t see any signs of Natasha’s car. I unlock the front door which is crazy because I never leave it locked. I have guns in there for self-defense and what type of idiot would case a house with a 6’8” resident and break in when there are plenty of small potatoes who are much easier to kill?

Natasha thinks I’m wrong about locking the house so if she’s gone and the front door is locked… she’s gone too.

I search all over the apartment for her and confirm my worst fears. She took Terrorist and she left. There isn’t even a single pair of underwear left in her dresser drawer. She moved out.

It feels like I got punched in the gut. I don’t know why I raced over here expecting to see her. Expecting to at least hear from her if she got free. I didn’t want to send anyone over here to find her tied up with her ass in the air. Fuck.

I pull out my phone and text her now that I know she somehow got her hands free. The message bounces back. My throat drops directly into my ass. I have never felt such horror and rejection in my entire life. My entire world spirals around me as I consider what I could have done differently. What kind of woman would do something so horrible to someone? I didn’t think Natasha was this type of person.

She blocked me.

I move swiftly from grief to anger. What the fuck? Natasha can’t block me. I’m her roommate. We have a dog together. She can’t just shove Terrorist in the back of her sedan and bring him wherever she wants. I demand custody… Since Natasha’s crazy ass won’t answer my text messages, I have no choice but to do what any normal man would do – stalk her on social media, stalk her in real life and then get her ass back exactly where I want her…

The first thing I do is drive to Dylan’s place. Nobody home. I sit in his parking lot for half an hour and then I open social media on my phone and look at everyone’s page and story for signs of Natasha or her car in the background. We live in a small town and have a lot of mutual connections. She can’t be that hard to find…

But I still feel this sense of panic. Like I’ve lost her forever. This is not how I wanted things to end up between the two of us. I never wanted Natasha to walk away from me hating my guts. I thought I could fix things between us with shrimp alfredo, red wine, some dick, and a puppy, but I fucked things up even more.

Maybe it’s not the town that’s cursed… maybe it’s me.

I don’t know what the fuck to do, so I text everyone I can about Natasha’s whereabouts and get a good night’s sleep. So to translate firefighter time – I sleep all day after getting home and then straight through the night. Every phantom vibration throughout the night wakes me up. I want it to be her unblocking me and offering to come over and suck my cock.

But that doesn’t happen. I wake up and I’m entirely alone. It hurts like hell.

I feel terrible. Sleeping on the couch didn’t even make me feel better. She’s not coming back.

I sit up and I want to drop dead, honestly. It’s not just that I’m fucking miserable about Natasha disappearing on me. My body hurts from the hard job I worked last night. By now, it must have hit the news. I glance at my phone reluctantly. None of the texts I have are from Natasha, so I barely give a fuck, but I can tell from the previews that they are all about the goddamn fire.

Cormac: Kinda fucked up if you think about it. What they’re teaching these kids.

I have no idea what Cormac is talking about. But his text hits my phone like a sign from God. If there’s someone I need for shady as fuck activities, it’s Cormac. He owes me about ten thousand favors – even more than Dylan. And he’s willing to play dirty.

Tate: Extremely fucked up. Hey, man. Did you get my text last night? Natasha didn’t come home.

Just typing it out and acknowledging that it’s real makes me feel sick to my fucking stomach. She should be here with me.

Cormac: Damn. She fucking someone?

I hate that Cormac would even allow himself to think of the idea. He gets me fucking furious. It’s too bad I need him.

Tate: Shut the fuck up and help me find her.

Cormac: How?

Tate: Use your connections. I’m coming over.

I don’t wait for a response before I get ready. I throw on a pair of grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt, my gold chain and a big grey hoodie over that from my high school football days. I can’t believe it still fits… I am way more muscular than I was back then.

I don’t know why it would be necessary, but just in case, I load up a pistol and a couple bullets in the truck. I don’t care what it takes to bring Natasha back. She’s coming home with me. Cormac lives in a small ranch-style house a half mile down from Duke’s place. I text him that I’m outside and the stupid bastard doesn’t even come to the door. Whatever.

He at least left the front door unlocked. When I shove it open, Cormac calls out to me from the back room, “I’m back here!”

Following the sound of Cormac’s voice, I find him hunched over his laptop wearing a pair of glasses. Since when does that dumb motherfucker wear glasses? He doesn’t look up when I walk in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I grumble, already itching to get the fuck out of here and take our hunt for Natasha out on the town. Where did she sleep last night?

“Helping you,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Just researching a little bit of baseball, first.”

He minimizes two screens that appear to be gigantic spreadsheets filled with random numbers and colors representing teams or maybe player names. He’s up to some gambling bullshit.

“How are you helping me?”

“She hasn’t blocked my secret profile that I use for research.”

Cormac pulls up his “secret profile”. Hey, that Indian guy follows me…and he’s not a damn Indian guy. I want to confront him about catfishing, but he pulls up Natasha’s social media page and I stop giving a fuck about the creepy shit this gambling addict does on the internet. It’s incredible how little effort it takes him.

“I turned on notifications the second you texted me. She just updated her story this morning with three posts. Can you figure it out?”

He clicks on Natasha’s story. The first picture is a selfie she took with Terrorist. Written over the selfie, she has some stupid girlie caption.

Just me and my new baby, Timmy.

Did she fucking change our dog’s name to Timmy? Terrorist has his paws on her boobs and his bug eyes about to fall out of his apple head. I wonder if he misses me. Why are her tits out? I wish I could see who liked that fucking story, so I could put them in the ground. This is a worst case scenario.

Natasha looks like she has no goddamn remorse about running off with our dog and giving him some lame ass new name.

Cormac moves to the next story. Natasha and Terrorist at the park. I know that park.

“How do you not recognize that?” I ask Cormac.

“Recognize what?” He asks stupidly, opening up his phone and scrolling through the latest ESPN news stories. He should pay more attention to his surroundings.

“It’s one of the most famous natural sites in our part of New York.”

Cormac doesn’t show even the slightest signs of recognition. He is an unnatural phenomenon.

“We went to Taughannock Falls on a class trip. Every year.”

“I was probably in the gym,” Cormac says, staring at Natasha’s story. “Does she have any sisters?”

“Focus, Cormac. Show me the third picture.”

The third picture shows Natasha somewhere else in the woods. She must be close to Taughannock falls, but I can’t tell where. I check the timestamp. She posted half an hour ago. I smack Cormac’s shoulder.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Why? How are we gonna find her?”

“We’ll find her. We have an idea of where she is and you have access to her social media. We just have to talk to her.”

“Is that legal?”

“Do you care?” I say, trying not to lose my temper. Cormac has never shown any concern about the law before. He comes from a family with members in every branch of the civil service. He’s basically untouchable unless he really fucks up.

“No,” Cormac says, powering his computer down. “Just curious.”

“Let’s move, asshole.”

I drive my truck, although Cormac might have to drive getaway. It doesn’t take us long to get down to Ithaca, especially because I don’t adhere to the speed limit.

“That patch of woods might be the Gorge Trail. We can park at the top and either wait for her or search the trail.”

“What about the gun?” Cormac asks, reaching for the pistol that I have positioned between the driver’s seat and the passenger side.

“You hold the gun. We shouldn’t need it.”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at the sign to the state park as I drive us into the parking lot. “Pretty sure firearms are illegal here.”

“Then keep it hidden. But if we have to hold Natasha up at gunpoint to get her back… Don’t pussy out.”

“I won’t brother,” Cormac says. “I’ve got you. And I know after this, you’re gonna help me with that money I asked for.”

We’ll see about that. I hop out of the truck and we approach the trailhead together. We look terrifying. Good. I hope we scare the shit out of her.

“Shit,” Cormac says. “She updated her story again.”

It’s another trail picture.

“That tree looks exactly like that one,” Cormac says, pointing to a pine tree in front of us.

“Yes, Cormac. That’s how forests work.”

“I’m saying… This is the same background. Like… really similar.”

“Just keep your hand on the gun.”

We walk in silence. I don’t encourage Cormac to talk because his main interests are sports and gambling on sports or gambling on other shit he shouldn’t be gambling on. I can’t hear much of anything except a red-tailed hawk calling out and then birds singing.

“Really good opportunity to bet on Little League games out in Missouri,” he blurts out after too much quiet.

I can’t relax out here. Not when Natasha could be close. We walk for ten more minutes and I’m kind of freaking the fuck out because I don’t hear a damn thing.

“Any updates to her story?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“Nope. I’m taking a big risk betting against Colorado,” Cormac continues, like there is nothing more important in the world than whatever fucking sport he’s talking about. “Nobody expects the Jets to get past them in Round One but… I don’t know…

I’m about to tell him that he needs to shut the fuck up, when I hear barking. Loud, yappy barking. It sounds like Terrorist. Even Cormac shuts the hell up.

“Do you hear that?” Cormac asks, lowering her voice respectfully.

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Sounds like a chihuahua.”

The barking gets louder as we keep walking ahead, moving quietly like we’re hunting a ten point stag. Cormac doesn’t need to be told to shut the hell up this time. Once we progress down the trail, the barking gets louder and louder.

“Timmy, be quiet!”

Blood rushes to my ears. It’s Natasha. And our dog is not named Timmy.

“Back me up,” I tell Cormac as I run ahead on the trail with the lightest footsteps I can muster up. It doesn’t matter how heavy my steps are because I’ll have the element of surprise on Natasha and then Cormac coming up behind me with the pistol. I can hear his footsteps falling behind me. He’s a natural athlete like the rest of his family, so I don’t have to worry about his instincts when it comes to following my lead.

I see Terrorist first. He comes running straight towards me and then I see Natasha behind him. She freezes when she sees me, looking like some kind of evil harpy forest witch. I ignore Terrorist barking around my ankles. Natasha makes eye contact with me and says one word.

“Fuck.”

That’s it?

Natasha turns around and runs. Oh hell no.

“Cormac, get the dog! I’ll get her ass.”

“You will never get my ass, you asshole,” Natasha screeches, but she’s not very fast and she wasn’t an athlete in high school, so I’m already close enough to grab her shoulder. She glances over her shoulder and sees how close I am. She screeches. That’s enough to give me an edge. I throw my arm around Natasha and tackle her to the ground right there on the trail.

I can feel the wind getting knocked out of her body, but the superb tackle throws Natasha off immediately. She can’t even scream as I hold her body against mine and roll with it. I hear Cormac running towards us with Terrorist’s barking coming closer. Natasha looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes because I definitely scared the shit out of her.

I release her from my grasp so she can freak out a little less, but I threw her down so hard, so she looks like she’s almost about to fall unconscious or something.

Shit…

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