Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (16 page)

He glances back up at me. “So, since you’re obviously not going to follow instructions and take a shower, we have time to talk about tonight.”

Damn me and my inability not to snoop.

“What are you going to do with these lyrics?” I ask, unsuccessfully trying to segue back into the previous conversation.

“What happened at Cash’s?” he counters.

“You first,” I deflect.

Sighing out loud, he sets the journal back down on the dresser before answering. “Well, I’ve been writing them since my mom died. It was really the only outlet I had at the time, so I took it. I’ve been writing ever since. They’re my deepest, most intimate thoughts. Like I said, no one’s read them except you. I should be pissed that you did, but it’s strange. I’m almost relieved.”

I feel my face turning red, but I’m not really worried. I’m pretty sure he can’t tell with all the bruising.

“What does your dad think? I mean, Noah, you could put music to these. They’re beautiful.”

The left corner of his mouth shyly tips up as he once again looks downward, breaking our stare. I find it odd that someone who’s good at everything he attempts is so uncomfortable with compliments.

“What happened at Cash’s, Tate?”

Damn it. I thought I had him. I sigh deeply, knowing I’m eventually going to have to come clean, no matter how embarrassing it is.

“Well, I walked in, and he was making out with that blonde bitch. I completely lost it. I hurled myself across the room, climbed up his back like a spider-monkey, and hit him. Then he repaid the favor. Multiple times.”

His jaw clicks, eyes still looking at the floor. I watch his fists clench, and for the first time tonight, I notice his knuckles are bruised and swollen. I mentally make a note to ask him about that later as I prepare myself for the “childish behavior” lecture I’m about to receive.

“I know, I overacted…”

His head jerks up, and he pushes himself off the dresser, stalking toward me until he’s standing directly in front of where I’m sitting. Crouching down, he places his fingers under my chin and forces me to meet his brown eyes, burning with anger.

“Tate, a man should never raise his hand to a woman. That shit is unacceptable. There’s nothing you could have ever done to warrant that type of reaction. Do
not
try to justify his actions to me, ever. I don’t want to hear any of that bullshit you spew just to make other people happy. I’m not
them
.”

His brown eyes peer into mine, the intensity of his statement suddenly making it hard to swallow. I clear my throat and once again try to redirect the conversation.

“My turn,” I say as he lets out a frustrated breath. If nothing else, we’re both extremely good at avoiding conversation when we want to be.

“Have you put your lyrics to music?” He releases my chin and sits back on his heels.

“Yes. I’ve done almost all of them actually.”

“Can I hear one, please?” I ask. “Your favorite.”

He debates for a while, as he sits on his haunches staring at me, the warring in his mind evident.

I shouldn’t have asked.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” I begin to rise off the bed, figuring this is probably the best time to make my exit to the shower. I’ve most likely already worn out my welcome here, with my gazillion questions and prying fingers, but the truth is I need a place to stay tonight before I face Mother’s house tomorrow. Just the thought of going back there is like a blow to the stomach, so I need to be on my best behavior for the rest of the night.

Before I can even take my first step, Noah is in front of me, gently pressing my shoulders until I’m seated again. I look up at him to see that his features have softened, the rigidity in his face eased into a subtle smile.

“I would like to play one for you if you’d allow me a second to pick the one that I want you to hear. They’re kind of all my favorites.” He squeezes my shoulders before releasing them and walking to the other side of the bed, where a guitar case lies propped in the corner. Grabbing it, he comes back around and pulls the chair out from underneath his desk, dragging it right in front of me. After taking a seat, he bends over and unlatches the case, removing a pick from between the strings and places it between his teeth. Taking out the guitar, he gives me quite possibly the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen as he wraps his fingers around the neck and sets the body on his leg.

After removing the pick from his teeth, he positions his fingers along the strings and strums downward, his knuckles beginning to look more inflamed as he plays. Just as I start to say something, a haunting, heartbreaking melody fills the room, and I become captive to it, no longer able to speak.

“A light that could burn so bright,

An inferno in her soul,

Smoldered by her pain,

Her sadness hinders her from being whole.

She hides it well,

Puts on her clever mask,

Shields it from others.

Just let me in, that’s all I ask.

Let me heal you,

To fix the broken pieces,

To take on the torment,

So it releases.

I know you,

So much more than you realize,

Because I am you,

My heart drowns in the same sorrow that fills your eyes.

So let me in,

Please, just let me in…”

Never before has my soul been moved, so touched. I can feel his words wrapping around it as he sings. They intertwine with it. They soothe it. They comfort it. They mend it.

As I continue to listen, I find myself completely overcome with emotion.

Before he even finishes the song, I’m on my feet. Tears overflowing, I reach for his guitar and remove it from his hands, setting it gently on the ground before my eyes meet his. Taking in his beautiful face, the song echoes throughout my heart, and I find myself no longer in control of my own body. Slowly, I crawl into his lap, one leg on each side, and place my hands on his cheeks.

With one gentle stroke with my thumbs while holding his stare, I slowly bring his mouth to mine. Parting my lips, I test the waters as he does the same. His warm tongue enters my mouth and his hands grab the sides of my dress, pulling my hips into his, while my hands fall instinctively to the nape of his neck, urging him closer. Our mouths begin to work insatiably — the ignited passion between us now uncapped and overflowing. Together our breaths are heavy, laced with need, as our bodies begin to move in sync, the kisses becoming more and more urgent.

I want him. So much my heart aches for him almost as much as my body.

Just as my fingers trail their way from his neck to his chest, his body jerks backward as he places his palms on my shoulders, pressing me away while breaking the kiss. His face turns away from me and my forehead falls to his cheek, knowing I just crossed a line that should have never, ever been approached. We sit in silence, breathless while trying to regain our senses.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, finally backing away and sliding off his lap. Just as I turn, he grabs my hand, forcing my body to pivot around while he rises from his seat. Maintaining his hold, he raises his other arm, his hand sweeping slowly down my hair as he shakes his head.

“Not tonight. Not like this, Tate.”

Cupping my chin, he gazes at my mouth while he runs his thumb deliberately across my bottom lip, before bringing his reluctant eyes to mine. “
I’m
sorry.”

With that he releases me and leaves, his boots echoing as he walks down the hall while I stay standing alone in the middle of his room, completely overwhelmed and under-equipped to deal with the emotions resulting from our kiss.

Glancing down at the guitar still sitting on the floor, I bend down to pick it up, and gently place it back inside its case. I run my fingers along the strings before shutting it safely in and setting it back in the corner where it came from.

His words still penetrate my heart. Every single one of them.

Let me in.

I am you.

Not tonight.

I’m sorry.

Taking in a deep breath, I grab the boxers and oversized t-shirt he laid out for me to wear from the bed and head to the shower. One glance in the mirror and I’m brought back to reality and reminded exactly why I can never allow myself the luxury of someone like Noah Reese. The way I felt, the way I feel, when he touches me…

He will absolutely shatter me.

And there will be no coming back from that.

It’s Thursday, and it’s been almost an entire week since I’ve seen Tatum.

The first couple of days working at the duplexes were manageable, but for some reason this morning, I find myself bored out of my mind without her to entertain me. I gave her some time off from both the bar and here, figuring she needs some time to heal, both mentally and physically. But not having her here, singing to every single song that plays on the radio or saying something off the wall to make me laugh, well — it’s safe to say I miss her.

The rest of Friday night was...awkward. She definitely maintained a safe distance from me, but I can’t really blame her, I’m sure my asshole move of kissing her, followed by the even more asshole move of pushing her away and leaving her at her most vulnerable had quite a bit to do with it. Or it could have been the mind-crippling lecture she received from Sadie when she showed up with Daniel at my house, regarding her need to stay away from the male population — the
entire
male population, including me.

It was at that time that I decided to remind Sadie
gently
that Tatum would, in fact, be staying with me for the night because there was no way in hell I was letting her out of my sight. Okay, so it wasn’t as gentle as it could have been, but seeing as though I just beat the shit out of some fucktard for hitting a girl that I’ve come to care about, it was pretty tame in comparison. Needless to say, Sadie left unhappily and I smiled as I showed her to the door. Work at the bar tonight should be interesting.

From that point on, Tatum was pretty quiet. She did insist that I ice my right hand and I, in turn, insisted that she ice her left eye, so together we sat at my bar in silence, condensation from the plastic bags leaking all over the place. After a while, she started doodling in the pools of water, avoiding eye contact with me as she drew. Three hearts and two flowers later, she finally found the courage to ask what I knew she wanted to ask me since her eyes landed on my hand in the bedroom.

 “What did you do to Cash?”

“Nothing he didn’t do to you. I simply repaid him for his favor. Multiple times.”

That was about the limit of our conversation for the rest of the evening. She went to bed soon after, and I took the couch, making sure to call Daniel and set up arrangements to get her car to the shop in the morning. After a useless attempt at sleep, I was already awake when he stopped by. Together, we went to get Tatum’s car from Cash’s, where we found his truck back in his driveway. After much internal deliberation, I decided to leave it alone, even though every fiber of my being wanted to storm back in there and pick up where I left off.