Unraveled (16 page)

  
I cannot believe this. Noah started this mess today and here I am defending him
to my brother. It figures. Why do I always end up defending the men in my life
until I am blue in the face?

“So things
are now just platonic between you two?” Tate asks cautiously.

“Yes.”
Except for that kiss we'd shared playing video games, but that doesn't count
since I've been trying to put it out of my mind since it happened.

“You said he
likes you, does that mean he wants more and you don't?”

“Seriously?
Do we have to talk about this?”

“I'm trying
to figure out how pissed to be at my best friend, so yes, we do,” Tate says
firmly.

“Fine. Yes,
he wants more. I don't. He's too good for me.”

“Wait—what?”
He looks at me with a frown. “You don't really believe that, do you?”

I give him a
droll look. “I have so much baggage I'm surprised I don't resemble the Hunch Back
of Notre Dame. He needs someone who can give him what he wants and needs. I
can't,” I say simply as I reach for the plate. I really wish this conversation
would die a quick death.

Tate falls
silent. “I love you, Blayre,” he say finally.

I had been
about to eat another piece of turkey and my hand pauses near my mouth, my body
stiffening. I don't think I've ever heard those words uttered to me before. It
makes me uncomfortable.

“Even though
you can't say it back, I know you love me too,” he says gently before he rises
to his feet.

“Tate?”

He pauses
and turns to look at me.

“I'm trying,
okay? I'm trying to make things better,” I say earnestly.

He nods,
looking relieved. “Good. It's a start,” he says lightly before he heads for the
door.

Breakfast is
beyond awkward the next morning. I find myself concerned about leaving Noah and
Tate on their own so I get up at the usual time and sure enough, they are both
in the kitchen. Noah is at the stove making an omelet and Tate sits dressed in
his uniform, drinking a glass of orange juice while reading the newspaper at
the island counter.

Both men are
completely silent and ignoring each other. Well...Noah every so often glances
at Tate while my brother outright ignores him. I miss their usual banter.
Without a word to either of them, I head for the refrigerator and pull out a
banana. When I head for the stool next to my brother, he smiles warmly at me. I
smile back and hope for the best. Today will be a good day if no one talks to
me about my issues.

Tate sets
the newspaper aside and looks at me. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

I sigh. It's
Thanksgiving break, which means no school until next week. “I don't know. Paige
is gone and Cole and I are done, so I guess I'll just be sitting around all
day.”

“Laundry
needs to be done.”

“I'd rather
clean the upstairs bathroom with a toothbrush,” I say with a shudder.

My brother
laughs and rustles my hair before rising to his feet. “We're having dinner
tonight, so be ready by five,” he says lightly before he saunters off.

As I pick up
my banana and begin to peel it, I wonder if I should be worried. Was he going
to grill me over dinner tonight? I sure as hell hope not. My attention shifts
to Noah who had just put his omelet on a plate and is looking at the island
counter hesitantly, obviously debating where he should sit since I'm currently
mad at him.

Or I had
been.

It's
impossible to stay mad at the man, especially since his eye is all black and
blue, and slightly swollen. I wait until his eyes shift towards my face before
I tell him he can sit by me, that I won't attack him.

He studies
me for a second before he walks over and sits down. He looks all rumpled and
cute this morning. His hair is slightly messier than his stylishly messy look
and he's wearing a pair of jeans torn at the knee and an old tee shirt.

I turn to
him and he looks up from his breakfast and watches my lips curiously. “I
shouldn't have thrown you under the bus yesterday,” I confess.

Surprise
flickers in his brown gaze and then he shrugs. “He would have found out sooner
or later,” he says lightly.

“Probably,
but it was still wrong to do what I did. I was really upset and I took it out
on you.”

“I didn't
want to hurt you, Blayre. I'm just worried.”

“I'm fine.
Have you tried talking to Tate?” I ask, quickly switching the topic.

“I figured
I'd let him cool off first before I approach him.”

“I'm worried
about him,” I say with a sigh. “He has a nasty temper and I'm surprised he's being
so calm about Steve and Julie.”

Noah shakes
his head. “That's what he wants you to see. He's pissed and I'm sure Vince
talked him down from whatever he originally had planned. But he will go after
them and you need to let him.”

“I just want
to forget about them,” I mutter before staring at my banana with troubled eyes.

“You can't
forget about them when they haunt your every move,” Noah points out bluntly.

My body
tenses and I reluctantly look at him. “No, they don't.”

“No? The way
you react, the way you feel, it all comes down to what they did to you. The
pain you inflict on yourself—that's their doing as well. Until you acknowledge
it and get better, they'll always be with you. You can't put them in the past
until you let it all go,” he says seriously.

“And I
suppose this is where you bring up rehab again, isn't it?” I ask sarcastically
as I glare at him.

“Why are you
so afraid of it? Don't you want to get better, to throw all the shit they did
back in their face? Going to rehab will give you your life back.”

“I can do it
on my own. I don't want some stranger picking at my brain. There's no way I'm
going to just sit and let some freaky doctor try to pull all this crap out of
me. If I don't want to talk about it to you or Tate, what makes you think I'd
want to unload it all on some shrink?” I demand.

“Have you
considered that talking to a stranger might be easier than talking to someone
you know? They'll have no preconceived notions of you and they won't judge you
because they don't know you.”

I look away
and study my banana as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. I want
to get better on my own because the idea of allowing a stranger into my head
scares me. So did going to a rehabilitation center. I had no doubt that I'd be
under twenty-four-hour surveillance because of my need to harm myself. It'd be
like a prison and I'd have no way to help control my emotions and no way to
feed my need for pain.

Noah reaches
out and touches my arm gently so that I reluctantly look at him. When I do, he
says, “If you seek the help you need, Tate and I will be right beside you the
entire way. Whatever you need during that time, we'll do. We'll help you get
there and we'll be here when you get out. I promise.”

I pull away,
my mouth now dry with fear and anxiety. “I can't,” I say as I rise to my feet.

“You mean
you won't,” Noah says quietly, his eyes full of disappointment.

“Don't look
at me like that. I've had enough of that in my life,” I snap before I grab my
banana and walk away.

When Tate
takes me out to dinner that evening, I am beyond nervous. We end up at a burger
joint near the mall and even though it's in the fifties, we choose to sit out
on the back patio. Because of the lower temperatures, the patio is practically
deserted and I appreciate it.

Once we
place our orders for burger and fries, Tate relaxes in his chair and his green
eyes scan my face intently. My bruises have faded so they were now easier to
cover up with makeup, but I knew he saw them even through the foundation I'd
put on.

I reach for
my soda and take a sip as a soft breeze stirs my hair. “How's work?” I ask
lightly.

“Interesting
enough. Still mad at Noah?” he asks bluntly.

“Are you?” I
counter back.

He sighs and
rubs his jaw, staring off at some of the decorative shrubbery on the patio.
“Yeah, I am.”

“He's your
best friend. You should go easy on him.”

“I did,” he
says dryly. “You think I put all my force into that punch? He's deaf, I don't
need to blind him as well. Ah hell, he saw it coming and could have easily
blocked it but didn't. I feel like an ass but I have every right to be mad.”

“You do,” I
agree. “But part of the blame falls on me too, you know.”

“I'm well
aware of that.”

“Good. You
need to talk to him.”

“When I'm
good and ready,” he says simply, reaching for his beer.

I sigh
inwardly because my brother could be just as stubborn as I can be.

“Can I ask
you a question?” Tate asks, his eyes on mine.

“Depends on
the question.”

“If I would
have come to visit you in Minnesota, do you think you would have told me?”

My heart sinks.
I had known he'd likely bring it up but I'd been hoping he'd give me a break
before trying to delve into the mess that resembled my life. “I don't know,” I
say honestly.

He nods, not
looking surprised. “Will you at least meet with Bryant, the attorney I know?
Just because you meet with him doesn't mean you have to file charges or a
lawsuit. It would be nice if you knew your options, Blayre.”

“There are
no options,” I say, shaking my head. “They're out of my life. End of story.”

Tate's
expression turns grim. “If you won't go after them, then I will.”

“Tate...”

“No, you
can't talk me out of it. I'm not going to do anything illegal if that's what
you're worried about. I'm a cop, I have a ton of resources at my disposal and
I'm going to start digging and dissecting their life. If there's any way at all
that I can legally cause problems for them, I will,” he says flatly.

“Let it go,
it's not your fight,” I point out with irritation.

He glares at
me. “No, it's
your
fight but you won't fight for yourself. Now it's mine
because I refuse to let them get away with what they did to you.”

Frustration
flows through my veins as I shake my head and look off into the distance. I can
see the busy intersection near the mall between two shrubs on the patio.

“Blayre,
you're strong and you're a fighter. Why won't you do something?”

“Because I
don't want to. I don't care about them,” I snap
back.       

“What about
yourself? I'll pay for counseling or rehabilitation, whatever you are willing
to do. Will you let me help you?”

“If I wanted
your help, I'd ask for it,” I say darkly.

Tate pinches
the bridge of his nose with frustration. “Damn it, Blayre.”

“Damn
yourself for being pushy.”

“If pushing
is what it takes,” he says, dropping his hand and looking at me intently.

“For the
millionth time, I am fine. You and Noah act as if I'm going to flip out and cut
my wrist or something!!”

My brother's
green eyes drop to the scar that is on my forearm and I quickly jerk my arm off
the table and out of sight. “I think you've taken a lot of chances and one of
these days you're going to go too far,” he says tightly.

“It was an
accident!”

“So that
makes it okay? What happens when the next accident happens to be when someone
isn't home?”

“Tate, this
conversation needs to end or I am leaving,” I warn.

His mouth
opens to say something but our waitress walks up with our order. We both fall
silent as she sets out our meal and smiles widely at Tate before sauntering
back inside.

I reach for
my burger and arch an eyebrow at him. “She thinks you're hot. You should get
her number.”

Tate's eyes
shift back to the door the pretty blonde had disappeared through. “She's kind
of young,” he muses.

“She's older
than me,” I point out.      

“By what? A
year?”

“So. You
need to get out and have some fun.”

“What you
really mean is you want me to be distracted by a woman so that I'll leave you
alone,” he says dryly as he picks up a burger and takes a huge bite.

“Congratulations,
you can put one and one together and come up with two. I'm proud of you, Tate.”

“Ha-ha.
You're a brat,” he says with a laugh before his expression sobers. “I'm leaving
for Minnesota tonight,” he says bluntly, putting an end to our light banter.

I choke on
the bite of burger I'd just tried to swallow and wave my hands in the air with
panic when it lodges in my throat. Tate looks momentarily alarmed before
leaning over and slamming his hand on my back hard enough to bring up the food
I'd choked on. I'm surprised I didn't cough up a lung or two as well. The
chewed up piece of burger falls with a
splat
on my plate as I cough and
draw in a couple of deep breaths of precious oxygen.

“Are you
trying to kill me?” I ask hoarsely as I wince. My ribs were still sensitive and
now my back ached.

“I was
saving your ass. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I
mumble as I grab my napkin, pick up the wad of burger I'd just choked on, and
wrap it up into a ball. Ick. I look around and finally just set it next to my
plate.

“The least
you can do is thank me for saving your life,” Tate teases now that the drama is
over.

With a roll
of my eyes, I say, “Thank you, Tate.”

“You're
welcome.”

My appetite
has disappeared as I study him. “You're really going to Minnesota?”

“Yes,” he
says as he reaches for some fries. “My flight leaves in a couple hours and I'll
be back Sunday afternoon sometime.”

“You said
you weren't going to do anything stupid,” I protest.

He finishes
chewing and meets my gaze before saying, “I'm not. I'm going to have a little
talk with them, that's all.”

“You'll lose
your temper,” I argue.

“Not if I
bring Bryant with. He's the voice of reason right now.”

I'm so bored
I feel like I'm going to go out of my mind. I'm no longer mad at Noah but that
doesn't mean I quit avoiding him. If all he's going to keep talking about is
counseling or rehab, then I am going to continue treating him like he's got the
bubonic plague.

Out of sheer
boredom, I walk outside and get the paper before settling down on the couch and
reading the news. The robbery is now old news and it wasn't getting as much
news coverage as it did when it had first happened. I feel like total shit
knowing that the odds were in Cole's and my favor. We were going to get away
with it but that didn't exactly make me feel better. It just made the guilt
worse sometimes.