Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

LILY

T he grocery bag I’m clutching to my chest is weighed down with two steaks, some potatoes and greens, as well as a quart of milk. I’m never going to win medals for being a domestic goddess, but the idea of taking care of him is… I’m not sure how to describe it, but it makes me happy, and I think he deserves it. It’s kind of sad that no one does that for him. It strikes me that we’ve both had fucked-up childhoods, lacking in any emotional support or being cared for, although we’ve both turned out okay.

I can see the cabin ahead through the trees, and I pick up my pace, my feet sinking into the cypress needles on the path. I’m already imagining Tate, half-naked. I bet he’s been training the whole time I’ve been out. The man is a machine, so dedicated. But he needs other things in his life. Like love, sex and fun. These last forty-eight hours have been amazing. Our connection is stronger than ever. I’d forgotten the depth of feeling he’d stirred in me. I should be cautious about telling him how I feel, but a part of me can’t help thinking that it would mean something. That it would make him happy.

I mount the steps of the cabin and I’m about to open the door but something stops me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, telling me something isn’t right. Damn, did I get it wrong? I’d weighed up the risk of leaving him on his own, factoring everything in. Standard procedure. I’d evaluated the data, which told me the risk was low to non-existent. Has someone found him? Has someone been here?

My heart squeezes so painfully I have to stop a minute to take stock, and not burst in. Emotion is out-talking, which isn’t going to help Tate if he’s in trouble. I have to force myself not to give into the desperate need to call out his name.

Caring about someone can get you killed.

This is exactly what my dad was talking about. I haul in a deep breath, trying to quash the potential images of Tate’s broken body that are clouding the front of my mind. It’s stupid, I never think like this on an assignment. But then, I’m not normally in love with my client.

Come on, Lily. You can do this.

My arms are shaking as I carefully lower the grocery bag onto the wooden decking of the veranda. Taking a composing breath, I duck under the kitchen window, listening hard. I’m not sure what has spooked me, but my gut instinct always serves me well, so I creep around to the back of the house, my ears primed for the slightest noise. Nothing. When I reach the bedroom window, I go down onto my knees and risk peeping through the glass. My gaze slides over the rumpled bed and my usual clear-minded focus is disturbed by the mental image of Tate’s tanned skin against my pale flesh, his muscled limbs tangled in the sheets. I close my eyes briefly then force myself to scan the room for signs of anything amiss.

Reassured that it’s safe to do so, I slide open the glass door of the bedroom, easing my way in without making a sound. My heart is pounding. Shouldn’t have left him on his own. Shouldn’t have left him on his own. I take off my shoes and, keeping low, I slide my feet across the wooden floor towards the bathroom. It’s empty, although the last vestiges of steam around the bathroom mirror and the slight damp air tell me that Tate was alive and well very recently.

It's too quiet. Where is he? Knots tighten in my stomach as I edge out of the bedroom into the lounge. The only sign of life is the half-empty glass of water on the living room table.

I inch over to the kitchen. It’s clear, as is the laundry room. Relaxing slightly, I straighten up. No bloodied body and no sign of a struggle. Nothing to suggest that anyone else has been here. I should feel reassured but I’m not, the sense of foreboding is stronger than ever.

Even though I know he’s not here I can’t help calling, ‘Tate?’ Just in case he’s in hiding or something. There’s no answer. I swallow and try to consider the possible rational options. Since when have I found it so hard being sensible?

He could have gone out for a run. Something spooked him and he’s outside somewhere in hiding.

I step out of the front door of the house and call his name again. The only response I get is a couple of pigeons taking flight and skimming the tree branches in their haste.

Where the hell is he?

Come on, Lily, you can’t walk around in circles all afternoon, I tell myself. There has to be a logical explanation. He could walk back through the door at any moment. He’s probably gone for a run.

I go back into the house and, determined to keep myself occupied, I unpack the groceries, stashing the steaks and the bottle of wine, which he may or may not share with me, into the fridge.

With that done, I wander back into the lounge and pick up the glass of water, which is when I spot the pen and paper on the sofa. My pulse speeds up in response to the alarm bells ringing in my head. It’s almost a relief to see that there’s nothing written on the pad but then I begin to wonder why he would have taken them out from wherever they lived. The sense of foreboding is suddenly heavier and punchier. I take the notebook over to the window and tilt it so the surface is bathed in light. I can see the indentations left by the sheet above and Tate’s strong handwriting.

Lily. I’m sorry

I grip the pad and the words settle into my brain like they’ve been branded with a red-hot poker. For a moment I’m stuck, as if my feet have taken root, and then it all starts to add up. I sink onto the sofa, my knees stupidly wobbly. He can’t have…

I’m cold. I’m hot.

He has.

Tate has gone. He’s left.

I’m so fucking stupid. He’s gone. Of course he’s gone. He’s got a football game to play.

How could I have even believed for one fucking second that he would stay?

How long after I left did he hightail it out of here? Did he watch until I was out of sight?

Did he walk in the opposite direction so that there was no chance of us bumping into each other?

Hot tears threaten to spill and I brush them away, angry at myself for being such an idiot. For falling for Tate all over again. For letting history repeat itself. Football is always going to come first. Caring for someone is a fool’s game. I let my guard down and made a huge mistake.