Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(71)

“Sometimes, I think I would. I don't like being scared.”

Jameson's voice was soft, almost like he was afraid to say it out loud. Sanders frowned and looked out a window. He didn't like hearing those things. It was one thing for him to assume them about Jameson, it was another for Jameson to admit them. Jameson was a powerful man. Not just in Sanders' mind, but in real life. In the world. A man not to be reckoned with – and Tatum O'Shea had managed to scare him.

“I will be right there with you, sir,” Sanders assured him. Jameson snorted.

“Sometimes I don't know whose side you're on,” he grumbled.

“When are we leaving?” Sanders asked.

“Do you really think she would stay with this man?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really think I have a chance?”

“... um ...,”

“Por que perder el tiempo con usted?” Jameson groaned. Sanders stood up.

“If you are going to complain about me, I prefer it in German. I understand the subtleties better,” he said.

“Du mein Leben zur Holle zu machen, sollte ich dich verlassen habe, wo ich dich gefunden,” Jameson spat out, but he stood up as well.

“A vast majority of the time, I make you're life better, so saying I make it hell is a gross overstatement. And yes, you could have left me on that street – but then you really would be the devil,” Sanders said, heading towards the door. Jameson caught up with him. Wrapped his arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

“Mein Sohn,” Jameson kissed the top of Sanders' head.

“Ja. Jetzt, um unsere Familie zu beheben wollen wir,” Sanders told him. Jameson nodded.

“We can try, Sanders. How often have you known her to be compliant? Hard to fix what she won't admit is broken,” Jameson warned him as they walked out of the room. The secretary glanced at them, then went back to her paperwork.

“We won't know if we don't try.”

“I've been thinking. Instead of flying -,” Jameson started as they got on an elevator.

“Oh, so you have been thinking about this?” Sanders asked, glancing up at him.

“Of course. Constantly. You can't just forget a woman like Tatum O'Shea. Getting her back the last time was a battle. This time, it's going to take a war. We have some ground work to cover, before we reach her. I was thinking,” Jameson began again.

“Now I am afraid.”

“How about we drive?”

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“We take the Bentley, and we drive. It would take us a week, at most.”

“Why do you want to drive?” Sanders asked.

“She doesn't do well with memories. There are a lot of them in the Bentley. I'd bring the goddamn house if I could. The car will have to do,” Jameson explained.

“If we take turns,” Sanders added, “we can get there in about three days.” Jameson laughed.

“Three days. I was hoping for a little more time.”

“It is plenty of time. You will use most of it to think of how you are going to say it.”

“Say what?”

“It.”

“What?”

“Love.”

“You have completely fu-cking lost me,” Jameson said, staring down at Sanders. “What are you talking about?”

“You will use the time it takes to drive out there to think of how best to tell her that you are in love with her,” he spelled everything out. Jameson lifted his eyebrows.

“You just don't quit today, Sanders. Just because you believe everything is peachy keen, and just because she believes in fairy tales, does not mean I -,” Jameson started to grumble. Sanders held up his hand.

“Then say you don't,” he challenged.

“Huh?”

“You are such a man of honor, you claim. You 'never lie', you say. Then say you don't.”

Jameson pressed his lips together hard for a moment, glaring lightning bolts at Sanders. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked away. Stared at the elevator wall for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat.

“Nunca miento,” he said softly. I never lie.

“That's what I thought.”

“Jesus. Maybe you should be calling me 'mein Sohn',” Jameson grumbled, still not meeting Sanders' eyes.

“I have often had similar thoughts.”

“This is all going to blow up in our faces. You realize that?” Jameson warned him. Sanders nodded.

“Probably. I am prepared to face that. Are you?”

“No. But let's get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid.”

The two men walked out of the building, sucking all the air out with them.



*



Tate hurried across a street, holding her hand up as a car honked at her. She held her phone to her ear with her other hand, listening to Ang bitch at her. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I'm sorry, all I'm hearing is whomp wuh whomp,” she laughed at him.

“Seriously, Tate. Two weeks ago you called me, all crying and sobbing, and now this!?” he snapped at her.

“I've gotten over the crying,” she assured him.

“Yeah, but do you still do it?” he asked.